Fortune Feimster didn’t just play to an audience in Atlanta; she greeted them like relatives she hadn’t seen since Thanksgiving. The October 18 show at the Atlanta Symphony Hall wasn’t massive in scale, but it was dense with laughter, and even denser with recognition. That kind of familiarity doesn’t come from fame—it comes from trust earned slowly over time.
Her set moved between memory and moment, weaving stories of Southern awkwardness with reflections on navigating adulthood as a queer woman raised in the church. There was something strikingly similar between her cadence and the easy rhythm of a family dinner table—where everyone knows everyone, and every joke lands a little softer because it’s rooted in shared history.
Fortune Feimster – Atlanta Show & Career Snapshot
| Detail | Information |
|---|---|
| Full Name | Emily “Fortune” Feimster |
| Profession | Comedian, Actress, Writer, Podcast Host |
| Comedy Style | Autobiographical storytelling with Southern wit and LGBTQ+ perspective |
| Popular Specials | “Sweet & Salty” (2020), “Good Fortune” (2022), “Crushing It” (2024) |
| Current Tour | “Takin’ Care of Biscuits” (2025–2026) |
| Atlanta Show Date | October 18 at Atlanta Symphony Hall |
| TV Credits | “The Mindy Project,” “Champions,” “Kenan” |
| Podcast Work | Co-hosts with Tig Notaro and Mae Martin |
| Recurring Themes | Family, childhood, Southern identity, queer joy |
| Source Link |
The show was part of her “Takin’ Care of Biscuits” tour, an evolution from her earlier “Live, Laugh, Love!” run. As with her Netflix specials, it’s not just the punchlines that resonate. It’s the pauses. The eye-rolls. The shrug that comes just before she admits, “My mom still doesn’t know how to use Netflix.”
Feimster’s approach feels remarkably effective. Not because she yells or provokes, but because she does neither. She speaks calmly, humorously, and with that exceptionally clear style of someone who’s been listening for a long time before deciding what to say.
During her set, she told a story about her childhood theater performance—one where she was cast as a tomato. “Not a talking tomato. Not a singing one. Just a tomato.” The image was ridiculous, but endearing. You could almost see the red fabric and the little paper stem. I found myself smiling before the joke had even landed.
In recent months, Feimster has spoken openly about the challenging climate many LGBTQ+ Americans face, especially in states where legislative hostility seems to be on the rise. But she doesn’t turn her set into a policy commentary. Instead, she redirects focus—bringing attention to shared laughter, small absurdities, and the joys of belonging.
She’s particularly innovative in that way. While others may lean on outrage or shock to get a reaction, she walks a gentler path. Her material builds community without making it feel like homework.
For Atlanta, a city layered with Southern history and progressive energy, she fit right in. “You all really do have the best biscuits,” she said at one point. “I ate one yesterday that made me emotional. It had layers.” She paused. “Like me.” The timing was impeccable.
Feimster has spent time in Atlanta over the past few years filming movies and connecting with local talent. That presence showed—not in name drops, but in familiarity. She joked about traffic, humidity, and the oddity of a city filled with trees but somehow lacking shade. It was observational comedy, but rooted in affection.
What makes her act incredibly versatile is the way it speaks to both identity and universality. You don’t need to be queer, Southern, or even particularly nostalgic to find something in her storytelling. But if you are any of those things, the resonance deepens.
She also spoke of friendship, especially her podcast with Tig Notaro and Mae Martin—two comedians whose tones, like hers, lean toward the contemplative. Through that project, she’s offered listeners a quieter kind of comedy: one shaped by listening, vulnerability, and exceptionally durable friendship.
It was heartening to watch an audience that included teenagers, older couples, and plenty of queer folks share the same moments of joy. For many, the night was more than a comedy show—it was a release valve. An hour and a half to feel lighter. And that, right now, is particularly beneficial.
Feimster’s comedy does not ask for applause after statements. It earns laughter that arrives naturally—laughter that rolls forward and sometimes lingers in the space between jokes.
One standout moment came when she described coming out in her 20s. “It wasn’t some big, dramatic speech,” she said. “I just kinda eased into it. Like getting into a hot tub one toe at a time.” It was funny, but also disarmingly real.
By choosing levity over lament, she’s positioned herself as someone who brings people together through joy. Not by denying difficulty, but by showing how we live through it. Her stories are rooted in a life spent paying attention, particularly to moments others might ignore.
For early-stage comedians, Feimster’s career offers a kind of quiet blueprint: lean into the small things, the honest things, the specific stories that only you can tell. Build slowly. And don’t be afraid to make space for tenderness in a set built on laughter.
As the show wound down, she thanked Atlanta with a sincerity that didn’t feel rehearsed. “Y’all are the best,” she said, before adding: “Seriously, thank you for being here. I needed this.”
The crowd stood. Not out of obligation, but because the room had shifted. Something had landed—not just a punchline, but a reminder of what happens when someone tells the truth and makes it funny. The lights faded gently. People lingered longer than usual.
