As we enter the ever-exciting awards season, the art of hosting will no doubt continue to be debated as the world’s most coveted — yet daunting — gig. But in the digital era, the eyes are not all on the lucky, or unlucky, bloke who gets onstage between celebrities and tries to hold a celebrity audience’s attention while pandering to viewers at home.

A perhaps more enticing job has been revolutionized, realized to be a prime opportunity to get a few more laughs: the red carpet interviewer.

As an entertainment journalist and future red carpet correspondent — fingers crossed — the thought of influencers and comedians encroaching on the already uber-competitive job does not excite me. However, as an audience member and a person who is actively trying to limit my egregious screentime — my New Year’s resolution is not going very well — I could not stop laughing at Mary Beth Barone’s charmingly awkward interviews at the Golden Globes.

Nikki Glaser hosted the Globes this year for the second time, but this time, she was not the only one who garnered attention. Up-and-comer Barone had many incredible moments that quickly circulated online. 

While I’m certainly not one to pit women against each other, and both delivered great performances, the difference in their comedic styles stuck out to me because it represents a broader shift in Generation Z’s comedic appetite. Not only does the red carpet interviewer now perhaps have an even greater chance than the host to connect with audiences at home, but what audiences want from these comedians is changing.

The typical host quips — mocking the celebrities in attendance — just aren’t quite as funny anymore. When we live in a time when bullying is so normalized, even punching up doesn’t tickle the funny bone. People want to see authentic moments that make them think, “Stars: they’re just like us.”

Both Glaser and Barone attempted to bring A-listers down to earth; the difference lies in how they did it. Glaser’s humor leaned into teasing Kevin Hart’s height and Timothée Chalamet’s weight, aspects of Hart’s and Chalamet’s personhood that are deeply personal and fundamentally unchangeable. Barone, in contrast, asked everyone on the carpet the same straightforward question: “Is there anyone here that you’d like to apologize to?”

Rather than berating the celebs, Barone treated them like normal people, because they are. In doing so, she successfully put herself and her audience — even though they were online rather than in the seats — on the same level as her notable interviewees. She threw the celebrities off balance, managing to pull out a genuine human moment from people who are trained to memorize and recite a script they’re given. 

Even when Barone got a little messy — asking, “are there any actresses nominated tonight that you think are kind of annoying?” — the tongue-in-cheek delivery revealed that she was commenting on the many awkwardly personal queries celebrities are known to be asked. Glaser, on the other hand, for her roasts to land, had to act as though she truly believed what she was saying and say it with conviction, which doesn’t come across quite as well.

Glaser gained notoriety for this style of comedy, but while the roast was once lauded, it now feels overdone. When this type of cruel comedy hits too close to home in their real lives, audiences don’t want to see even more of it on TV than is already shown in daily life or on the nightly news. At least, I don’t. 

Instead, people want to laugh, not at others, but with them.

Comedy, at its best, brings people together. It heals. It is the great equalizer. If you watch a stand-up’s set, I would wager that the jokes that kill are not the tried and true lament of bad experiences — like the widely hated airplane food, airport experience or traffic. It’s the self-deprecating ones, the shared experiences that say: “We’re the same, you and I.”

In our limited and coveted moments of leisure, when we turn on awards coverage, we, the people, want an escape from the heaviness of the world, if only for a brief moment. We want that indescribable feeling when your chest tightens, your smile appears involuntarily and laughter escapes before you can stop it. 

In the wise words of Nicole Kidman, we chase “that feeling we get when the lights begin to dim, and we go somewhere we’ve never been before, not just entertained, but somehow reborn. Together.”

Nina Kremer is a sophomore writing about comedy in her column, “Comic Relief,” which runs every other Wednesday. She is also Arts & Entertainment Editor at the Daily Trojan.