The Roast of Cissy Stag and the Birth of Tittygate

Alt Text: “An illustrated redheaded woman with freckles and flushed cheeks sits on a stool at an open mic, holding a microphone stand beside her. She looks embarrassed yet composed, with a large round emoji censoring her chest. The background features a warmly lit comedy club with an audience in silhouette and stage lights illuminating the scene, capturing the mix of vulnerability and humor in the moment.”

Last night, I introduced myself to someone new the same way I introduce myself to an audience: “I’m Cissy. I’m the girl who got stalked and ended up stalking one of the women back.” My unconventional introduction caught them off-guard, but their response rattled me even more: “Cissy. I’ve heard that name. Are you the comedian who flashed an audience?”

Suddenly, I found myself scrambling—overexplaining the context of the moment, justifying why I bring up my history with stalking upfront, and feeling utterly flustered. What I’d hoped would be a kind, normal interaction quickly reminded me that there’s no such thing as “normal” in my world.

Owning Tittygate: What Would You Do?

Tittygate. A name that sounds more ridiculous every time I say it—and yes, I named my own scandal.

It started as an accident: my nipple slipped out of my tank top during a set at an open mic. Embarrassed, I tucked it back in immediately and kept going. It was over in seconds, a fleeting moment in a lifetime of performances. But instead of hiding the incident or pretending it never happened, I made the choice to share it—censored, of course—with a purpose.

I wasn’t trying to court scandal or be provocative for the sake of it. I wanted to amplify a message that mattered deeply to me:

“Someone in Atlanta Comedy contacted my stalking victim without my knowledge and without my consent. This is unacceptable. I have a HARD boundary when it comes to this: do NOT contact my stalking victim. It is important that she is able to heal unbothered by anyone in my social circles.”

But the reaction to Tittygate taught me something crucial: even when you try to control the narrative, people will see what they want to see.

The Roast of Cissy Stag

What makes Tittygate even more ironic is the subject matter of the set itself. I was performing The Roast of Cissy Stag, a self-deprecating routine where I mocked my own supposed need for attention. During a line about how “Cissy Stag has such a malignant need for attention that if she can't get a laugh, she'll shake her titties for free,” I intended to reveal a slinky, satin tank top underneath my sweatshirt for comedic effect.

Instead, in the chaos of the moment, I accidentally revealed more than I intended—leading to the now-infamous nip slip. It was embarrassing, sure, but the intent behind the joke wasn’t to scandalize or provoke. It was to lean into self-awareness and make fun of the dynamics of performance, attention, and vulnerability.

What Would You Do?

Here’s the question I keep coming back to: What would you have done?

Imagine this: you’re on stage, fully immersed in your set, and a wardrobe malfunction happens. In a split second, you have to decide how to react. Do you panic? Do you hide? Do you quit performing altogether?

For me, the answer was simple. I chose not to let an embarrassing moment define me. I chose to laugh at it, own it, and use it to say something important. And that choice—to own my humanity and vulnerability—has been misinterpreted by so many people as something it’s not.

The Hypocrisy of Scandal

Let’s be honest: stand-up comedy is no stranger to provocative content. Jokes about bodies, sex, and even titties are staples in countless sets. Male comedians are often celebrated for their vulgarity, their ability to “push boundaries” and “tell it like it is.”

But when I, a female comedian, have an accidental nip slip? It’s scandalous. It’s controversial. It becomes a reason to judge me—not just for the moment, but for everything I’ve ever done.

The same culture that celebrates crude humor suddenly can’t handle an actual, human moment. The hypocrisy is exhausting.

It’s Only Scandalous If You Don’t Get It

I’ve received harsh criticism for sharing my open mic journey online. People have called my content provocative and scandalous, as though I’m trying to stir the pot for attention. But here’s the truth: my comedy and my stories are only scandalous if you don’t understand the dynamics of my private life.

The stories I tell are deeply personal, rooted in my experiences, relationships, and the complexities of my life. To the outsiders looking in, it might seem like I’m courting controversy. But to the people who know the context—to those who live in these dynamics with me—my work isn’t provocative. It’s honest.

The problem isn’t the stories I tell. It’s the lens people use to view them.

Why I Chose Not to Hide It

The night of Tittygate, I could have chosen to let the moment fade into obscurity. I could have ignored it, hidden it, and pretended it never happened. But that’s not who I am.

Instead, I chose to post the video—overly censored with a large emoji covering my entire chest, not just the partial nipple, to comply with Instagram’s guidelines.

It wasn’t about shame. It was about owning the moment while protecting my account. A partial nipple showing could have easily gotten my content flagged or banned, and I wasn’t willing to lose the platform where I connect with my audience.

The Lesson: Tittygate Isn’t About a Nipple

The real joke of Tittygate isn’t the nip slip—it’s the reaction to it. A single, fleeting moment has been blown out of proportion, turned into a scandal by people who choose to focus on the wrong things.

But here’s what I know to be true: it was just a nipple. A body part. Something we all have. And the fact that so many people latched onto it as something scandalous says more about them than it does about me.

Standing By My Journey

I stand by how I handled Tittygate. I stand by my choice to share my open mic journey, even when it’s misunderstood. And I stand by the stories I tell, even when they make people uncomfortable.

Because at the end of the day, I’m not here to cater to people who don’t understand the context of my work. I’m here to tell my truth, to share my experiences, and to own my humanity—even when it’s messy, embarrassing, or vulnerable.

So, what would you do if it happened to you? Would you hide? Would you let the world define you by a single moment? Or would you take control of the narrative and turn it into something meaningful?

For me, the choice was clear. And I don’t regret it for a second.