Becoming ‘Starstruck’ with Rose Matafeo
Photo creds: Shamil Tanna/Avalon/ BBC I wish I could say that I was a fan of Rose Matafeo before it was cool. But, I’m a bona-fide idiot when it comes to ‘what’s hot’ (this applies to my taste in both pop culture and men), so I only started watching her most recent comedy Starstruck last week. And, to be frank, this is only because BBC iPlayer was screaming at me to put something different on after my fourth re-watch of Fleabag.
I first heard of Rose Matafeo from my cool, artsy, finger-on-the-pulse-of-comedy type friends. Matafeo made waves in comedy circles, being the first person of colour to win the Edinburgh Comedy Award in 2018, which was followed by a run on Taskmaster and then her one-off stand-up special Horndog (available from BBC Three). I was sceptical, as I normally am of anyone or anything new and popular. But, putting my reservations aside, I sat down to Starstruck with my bowl of pasta and fluffy socks and watched. And watched. And finished it in one night, with warm fuzzies in my belly (and I don’t think it was acid reflux from the pasta).
Starstruck is a show full of painfully relatable moments with an un-relatable plot. I was howling in the first few minutes when Jessie, the protagonist played by Rose, glazes over as a man bores her to death talking about Bitcoin in a club. But it’s when Jessie’s NYE hookup turns out to be a world-famous actor, that the show really takes off.
The famous hookup and Jessie (played by Rose) in StarstruckJust as the show relaxes into the ‘relatable girl in London’ trope, there are jarring moments where Jessie has to contend with paparazzi or increasing hordes of fans as she becomes more involved with Mr Famous (who is, to be honest, a pretty normal and sweet guy). We see London and her almost-relationship take its toll on Jessie, as we feel her increasing anxiety at being alone, both romantically and as an immigrant.
While Starstruck is both hilarious and full of artistic integrity, the reason I warmed to it (and Rose) so quickly is because it’s cosy and full of heart. It’s prime pasta-eating-fluffy-sock-wearing viewing; familiar because it places itself in the newly created tradition of female-led comedy, but fresh as it manages to remain totally unique.
Since then, I have basically been injecting Rose Matafeo content straight into my veins. Now I can’t get enough of Horndog, her stand-up special, and her podcast Boners of the Heart, hosted with fellow Kiwi Alice Snedden (which makes for great washing-up listening). I’m even considering braving the barrage of (arguably less funny) male comedians in Taskmaster to watch Rose do more Mesmerising Rose Things.
A lot of critics describe Rose’s style as ‘anxious millennial’ and ‘excitable’, but I think she’s just honest and passionate. She has the dry, self-deprecating sense of humour that is the hallmark of a New-Zealand comedian, but is still earnest about her love of crochet and obsessive, nerdy behaviour. As someone who spends most of their nights crafting, reading, and stalking my favourite celebs on Twitter, I really relate to her - and I think so many other women do too.
Rose also articulates what it’s like to be a teenage girl perfectly in her show, starting with the casual, but very real, double standards around female sexuality: ‘Teenage girls were never taught how to masturbate, or even encouraged!’. And ending with the downright hilarious and relatable: ‘When I was a teenage girl and I had a crush on a teenage boy I didn’t imagine what his dick looked like, I made a fucking collage!’ . Every part of Rose’s comedy is rooted in a half-forgotten time of being a dorky and confused teenage girl, molding the experience into a fresh and unique take on young womanhood.
Rose shows us that being uncool is cool, that having passion for the things we love makes us interesting rather than complete saddos, and that being completely obsessed with boys in our twenties is okay.
Most importantly, I feel comfortable writing all of these vomit-worthy things about Rose because I know that she operates on the same level, she knows what it is like to be obsessed with things and people.
As Ganter’s founder Meg Jordan says in her article on Daisy May Cooper, I hope Rose’s comedy encourages women to own their nerdiness, passion, and sense of humour. Because women are often shamed for their interests and wit; even from a young age we are labelled ‘fan-girls’ and ‘try-hards’. But Rose is the role model that I wish I’d had in school. She is testament to the fact that you can be cool, successful, nerdy, and funny.