This is a guest post by Kyle Sanders.

At this year’s annual Golden Globes, Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin presented the award for Best Actor in a Comedy or Musical Series. While it was nice to see the stars of one of the best comedies ever made, 9 to 5, it was also exciting to see these two talented actresses reunite on stage in what was of course a quick promotion for their soon-to-debut Netflix series, Grace and Frankie. But what was most notable was the tongue-in-cheek banter they had on stage, discussing how “nice” it was to finally put at rest the “negative stereotype” that men aren’t funny. Of course, it is not exactly true that men have never been funny, but for some reason it has always been heavily debated whether or not women are funny. What I found most ironic was the fact that Tomlin led this conversation, because of all the talented comics out there—male or female—I have always regarded her as my greatest (and funniest) comedic muse.

It is no secret within my social circle that I am absolutely bananas over Lily Tomlin, and from an early age to boot. While I was in grade school, I was introduced to Tomlin from a Laugh-In reunion special that aired in the early ’90s and upon being exposed to her widely popular Ernestine the telephone operator and Edith Ann characters, I found Tomlin’s comedic creations imitable. From that moment, I was hooked. Back before the days of IMDb, I would spend hours in a video rental store, searching through the “Comedy” section for her name or her face on a VHS sleeve (remember those?). It wasn’t before long that I found a “best of” compilation of a little sketch comedy show called Saturday Night Live that featured two of Tomlin’s hosting stints. This newfound discovery of nostalgic humor led me to my first love of comedy. To put it simply: I owe my adoration of sketch comedy and my obsession with SNL to Lily Tomlin. Because of Tomlin, I found the courage to move to the land of improv, Chicago, in the hopes of performing sketch comedy and turn it into a career. Ya hear that? A woman—a FUNNY woman—inspired me to find a career in making people laugh.

And why not? Lily Tomlin is one our most premier comediennes as of all time. Hell, The Laugh Factory includes an artist’s rendering of her among many of the greatest comedians who ever lived. Why we are even still debating this “women are/aren’t funny” theory is beyond my own belief, because as an aspiring comedic performer, I have always touted Tomlin as one of the greats.

First and foremost, Tomlin revolutionized comedy for women. Before Tomlin, most female comics were self-deprecating (Phyllis Diller) or performed material regarding marriage and children (Joan Rivers). Tomlin’s turn in the spotlight did away with joke-telling and produced sketch comedy acts involving a variety of characters inspired by people she had known while growing up in the diverse, blue-collar environment of Detroit. Tomlin’s act embraced the counterculture of the 1960s, during the time of the civil rights movement and the sexual revolution. Gender dynamics were changing, and Tomlin was at the forefront of the women’s lib movement in comedy. She performed material that focused on the working class and the poor, material that required an edgy intelligence that did not go for punch lines or cheap laughs. She certainly didn’t limit her comedy to material about her looks or motherhood or married life—though her sketches didn’t shy away from such matters either. Tomlin was not a standup-comic, but a cerebral comedic performer.

Tomlin’s talent for creating eccentric, offbeat characters landed her a spot on NBC’s Laugh-In, and her prolific career took off overnight. Some of her most beloved characters came about on this variety show, including Ernestine, a snorting, nasally-voiced telephone operator who controlled the phone lines with her sharp tongue and smart-alecky insults. She also gave us Edith Ann, a philosophizing seven-year-old who sat in an oversized rocking chair spouting off words of wisdom while sticking out her tongue. Tomlin’s knack for producing dozens of three dimensional characters would eventually provide her enough material for her own television specials, of which landed her several Emmy awards. These specials reflected the changing times involving racial and gender politics, material that did not involve a lot of punch lines or pratfalls but certainly served as intelligent yet controversial material that not even Louis CK or Chris Rock would have the balls to produce back in the day (and if anyone can track down these specials in DVD format, please let me know!). I would even say Tomlin should be given credit for introducing comedian Richard Pryor (whom collaborated with Tomlin on a few of these specials) to the mainstream when most producers were too scared to let Pryor have any air time. Tomlin was an underground comic almost too dangerous to showcase amid the still-shrewd comedy scene of the 1970s.

Throughout the ’80s, Tomlin starred in films that showcased multidimensional females that could lead to strong box office returns. She has always chosen roles that project a strong persona, never submissive to authority let alone a male figure. Tomlin’s characters are in essence Tomlin herself: offbeat, eccentric, but always strong and independent. Tomlin proved she could stand toe-to-toe with comedy legends like Art Carney in The Late Show. She had a physicality that could keep up with the comedic ferocity of Steve Martin in All of Me (and possess his body no less!). Tomlin’s strong sense of humor and femininity also proved successful alongside other actresses, sharing the screen as well as countless laughs. In 9 to 5, Tomlin’s Violet Newstead is one of three women who take down their “sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical” male boss, Franklin Hart. Violet delivers a speech of disgust towards Hart that’s one of Tomlin’s most pivotal moments in her acting career:

“Okay, okay, I’m gonna leave, but I’m gonna tell you one thing before I go: don’t you ever refer to me as ‘your girl’ again…I’m no girl, I’m a woman. Do you hear me? I’m not your wife or your mother—or even your mistress.  I am your employee and as such I expect to be treated equally with a little dignity and a little respect!”

Violet’s demand for equality was a calling that every working woman heard loud and clear, and with the chemistry between Tomlin, Jane Fonda, and Dolly Parton, women AND men came to the movie theaters in droves, paving the way for comedic actresses in film that proved female-driven comedies could bring the masses to the box office. Without Tomlin’s collaborative talent in 9 to 5, there would be no Outrageous Fortune, no Big Business (another Tomlin film—this time paired up with the Divine Miss M, Bette Midler), no Baby Mama, Bridesmaids, or The Heat.

Even as an older actress in today’s Hollywood—when most “women of a certain age” are relayed to playing mothers—Tomlin has never been one to play a matriarch as paper thin. She portrayed Mary Schlicting, Ben Stiller’s mother in Flirting with Disaster, as a post-’60s hippie living in a ’90s world and still producing LSD. In Eastbound & Down, her Tammy Powers character was a bowling champion that could spout out more profanity than Danny McBride’s Kenny Powers while exchanging pharmaceutical drugs. In Admission, her Susannah character is a highly renowned feminist author who nearly kills Tina Fey’s date with a shot gun. In Web Therapy, her Putsy Hodge dons an array of costumes, from a fu Manchu beard to a prisoner jumpsuit, to the annoyance of her daughter Fiona, as played by Lisa Kudrow. These performances certainly don’t read as “motherly matriarch,” but as performed by Tomlin, they certainly scream “hilarious.”

With her new comedy, Grace and Frankie, Tomlin proves again how relevant and hilarious her talents still are in a series co-starring Jane Fonda involving two older women whose husbands come out as gay and have fallen in love with each other. For Netflix to add a comedy series (from Friends co-creator Marta Kauffman I might add) about two older women beginning anew, it proves that the old adage of women not being funny is untrue, and with Tomlin in tow, this comedy series will no doubt succeed in continuing to prove that theory wrong.

Late last year, Tomlin was awarded a Kennedy Center Honor for her contribution to the American arts. As one of Tomlin’s biggest fans, I had been petitioning for this recognition for years. Yet the moment was bittersweet, because while this was certainly good news for one of my favorite all-time idols, the fact was I would not be there to salute her at the event. One of my career goals in life was to speak on Tomlin’s behalf at the Kennedy Center. Tomlin and I have a few similarities: we both have southern roots planted in Kentucky, we both have an eye and ear for characterizations and impressions, and we both happen to be gay (in fact, Tomlin became the first outed lesbian to received the Kennedy Center honor in its entire history). I owe a great debt to Tomlin for helping me discover comedy, for helping shape my sense of humor, and for helping me define a sense of identity that might not have ever emerged without her. How can anyone argue that women aren’t funny, when my sole entire reason for making people laugh was inspired by a (funny) woman? Women may not have always been considered funny, but thanks to Tomlin’s efforts, women (as well as men) have reason to be funny.

Kyle Sanders lives in Chicago and plans to take improv classes at the Improv Olympic (as soon as his rent gets paid). In the meantime he occasionally contributes to NewsCastic: Chicago and GiGa Geek Magazine among other blogs that deem his thoughts worthy.