Nate Bargatze, America's son-in-law
Let's look at the Guys of Online, shall we?
Hello, VDL readers! 2025 is up and running, and we’re going to try something new this year. Here, I’m starting a recurring feature called The Guys of Online.
What will this consist of? It’s pretty self-explanatory, actually! We will look at some of the podcasters and comedians who occupy such a large chunk of real estate in our culture right now. They will mostly be male, hence the name, but I’m a firm believer that the term ‘guy’ can be gender inclusive, and so we might very well cover other slots on the spectrum. We’ll see! Let’s keep it loose!
Why ‘Guys of Online,’ you ask? Because—as you may have noticed from our recent election, from social media, from, oh, basically anywhere in our mediascape—such guys exert enormous influence, reaching audiences in the hundreds of thousands, the millions, even more. Yet these guys are weirdly under-discussed within the spheres of cultural criticism. Perhaps that’s owed to some kind of bias or blind spot; perhaps it’s simply a matter that there aren’t many templates for discussing them. Critics know how to review a movie or a profile an author’s oeuvre. But how do you review a podcast? Parse the subtext of a YouTube comedy special?
I’m not entirely sure myself. But I hope to find out! And I hope you come along.
“Southern comedian.”
What does this phrase bring to mind? For a millennial like myself, forged in the fires of 90s popular culture, a few names leap outward from dusty corners of the cultural attic. Jeff Foxworthy, of course, he of the “you might be a redneck if…” school of comedy. There’s Brett Butler, more caustic than Foxworthy, star of the ABC sitcom Grace Under Fire. There’s Larry the Cable Guy, though in his case, Southernness becomes something of a costume that anyone can wear, all exaggerated effects. A transnational, even transglobal, identity that anyone can find resonant and try on for size.
Nate Bargatze knows all of this. He knows it, and he knows you know it. He plays into it, yes, but he also plays against it when necessary. And he always, always knows his place.
Bargatze is a comedian, originally from Tennessee, who has become incredibly successful, with multiple specials on Netflix, appearances on TV, gigs hosting Saturday Night Live, an obligatory podcast called Nateland. He is also, perhaps, on the verge of becoming something of a mogul. A greenlighter as much as an onscreen personality, where he occupies the C-suite of a media empire while also appearing on-camera. Did I just imply that Bargatze may be the White Millennial Tyler Perry? Very well, then. My crystal ball declares it thus.
But unlike so many other millennial media figures, he does not shout his ambitions from the rooftops. He does not post odes to grindset culture. He is polite. He is modest. He is a gentleman—a southern one, for sure, but with little of the culture war baggage that might otherwise imply. He is, in short, the ideal son-in-law.
What is the role of the son-in-law? What does he bring to the table? As a son-in-law myself, having carved out space in my wife’s extended, talkative, gossipy family, I can speak to this. The son-in-law fits in, yes, but he also doesn’t shrink into the background. He adds something to the conversation, but he doesn’t dominate it. He pokes fun at your aunt’s quirky decor, but he does not make fun of it.
This has made Bargatze very, very successful. (Me? Well, it’s earned me the respect and support of my Uncle Doug, which sure counts for something!) And his success is rather different from that of other comedians. Unlike Dave Chappelle, he does not touch hot button topics; unlike Anthony Jeselnik, he does not tiptoe up to the lines of good taste; unlike Nikki Glaser, he does not offer graphic dispatches from the dating trenches. He works clean, as they say, never swearing once. You can bring him home to the family.
And audiences have! His tours sell out stadiums, his specials rack up millions of views. This, it appears, is what many, many people want. A nice young man, who tells a funny joke without getting all artsy about it.
Bargatze is a Southerner, born, raised, and currently living in Tennessee. He did do his sojourn out East, though, living and working in New York City for a decade to establish himself as a comedian, returning to his hometown once he reached that plateau. This mirrors the experience of many of his fellow millennials, especially post-pandemic. So many of us came from smaller, quainter communities, then went off to college and thence to the larger cities where our credentialed skills could be put to use, earning income we couldn’t have otherwise. And we went to the restaurants, we went to the boutiques, but eventually, we wanted to come home. We wanted to slow down. Reconnect with families.
Bargatze is the bard of the back-to–home millennial. The one who’s perfectly happy to have date night at a chain restaurant, rather than a boutique eatery. Especially since you have can grandma watch the kids for free instead of hiring a sitter that costs more than the meal itself.
While he’s no one’s idea of a coastal elite, he does hail from showbiz, of a sort. His father is a magician, successfully working parties and fairs to support his family. He has this in common with Taylor Tomlinson, another comedian who comes from a socially conservative background. Her father was a comedian from the Christian circuit, and she followed in his footsteps. Unlike Bargatze, though, she left her that world behind, shedding her Christian background and appearing on Conan. The rebellious daughter, as compared to Bargatze’s dutiful son. Perhaps that’s what you get with stricter, all-or-nothing evangelical upbringings. If the children of such environments can’t stay firmly in the fold, they flee.
Maybe Bargatze can offer a lesson for boomer parents as well as Millennials.
Bargatze is, in many ways, conservative-coded. Much like mainstream country music, to mention another cultural product that hails from Tennessee. Yet he is a son-in-law, rather than a Facebook uncle. Just as he would never let sip a four-letter word, he would never go long on, say, Trump’s deportation policy.
This tells us something about the possibilities of the coming TrumpVibes, as well as, perhaps even more importantly, its limitations. There is, I think, a kind of ambient conservatism in the cultural waters nowadays, one that reaches much further than previously thought, as populations once thought leftish, or simply apolitical, find themselves leaning right. Yet Trump himself remains polarizing, and his many followers, even more so.
But Bargatze is anything but polarizing. He seeks to appeal to parents, their parents, and their own kids, such that it is perfectly normal to see three generations together, watching one of his specials, each one of them getting enjoyment out of it. Myself included! His latest Netflix special, Your Friend, Nate Bargatze, provided me with multiple laugh-out-loud moments. Including, as an opener, the gentlest, sweetest 9/11 joke I have ever heard—a type of joke I didn’t even think was possible. One of the group chats I’m in, consisting of several dads of the NYT-reading variety, love his comedy. For Bargatze, along with being a son-in-law, is also a brother-in-law. A master of the knowing wink across the dinner table, the intimation that you know what he’s talking about, and he knows you know, and nothing more need be said in polite company.
Perhaps this is one of the possibilities available in this cultural moment. A comic like Bargatze, with his clean act and family-friendly appeal, manages to reach a wider, broader audience than our current political demography might suggest. Maybe niches aren’t the future, after all. Maybe big tents are the way forward.
Been watching Nate for a long time, enjoyed your take on him, hope you’ll consider Josh Johnson as somebody to take a look at.