DUBAI: What does it mean to be a ‘modern’ woman in a changing Saudi Arabia? Saudi content creator Amy Roko, without intending to, has found herself at the center of that question. From the moment the 29-year-old comedian, rapper and multi-brand ambassador became an accidental social-media star, she has delighted a loyal audience of millions by being unapologetically herself, showing that she can embrace the spotlight and stay true to the modest traditions of her culture and faith. Now, she’s quietly making moves that could make her a global star.
“The best part is, this is all still so fun to me. I wake up each morning and think of ways to make fun of aspects of life, family, or society, or to talk about depression or ADHD. Even though a part of me knows these little skits I post are my job, it’s all so enjoyable,” Roko, who first shot to fame in 2014, tells Arab News.
As much as she’s reveling in the present, Roko is fully focused on her future. But in an era when everyone wants to be an influencer, where does someone with genuine influence go next? That’s the conundrum she’s facing. The acting gigs she’s been offered, for example, would have required her to step away from the daily content grind and brand ambassadorships for a fraction of the money she makes at the center of her own social-media empire. Nevertheless, she’s aware that this is all a fortunate problem to have, as she can move forward guided solely by passion.
“I’ve got so many things in the works. I started a podcast last month, I’m in the early stages of developing material for a stand-up comedy debut in English so I can speak to a different audience, I’ve been working on writing a series and trying to find the right project to act in. The dream, honestly, would be if Ramy Youssef called me up to guest on ‘Ramy.’ I adore his work,” Roko says.
Still, wherever she goes, people ask about the niqab. “Every interview begins with that, and it’s so tiresome,” she says. As much as she’s fed up with the focus that people put upon it, she does acknowledge it’s an important part of her character, one that was never forced upon her, nor one she would ever push upon others. While the veil is, in part, a reflection of her Muslim faith, perhaps the most important motivation is the power it gives her to show her true face in her actions, the same power she once saw it give her mother.
“As a kid, I didn’t even have a concept of ‘modesty.’ I just thought of it as the thing that makes you an adult. My mom is very softspoken at home, but when she’s veiled I feel like it makes her tougher, louder, stronger. I wanted to be like that, and I started just to imitate her. I would hide in my room and cover my face in the mirror, the same as other little girls try on their mother’s heels,” Roko explains.
In all aspects of her life, if you want to understand how Amy Roko came to be the way she is, look to her family. Her love of comedy came from her parents, for example, as she developed her sense of humor sat beside them at the kitchen table, finding ways to make them laugh as much as they did her.
“When we had coffee, we would roast each other. I would sit there and imitate my dad’s mannerisms — the way he coughs, the way he puts on his glasses when he wants to read — and he would always crack up. I started taking mental notes all day observing him, figuring out little bits to imitate back to him later,” says Roko.
Amy Roko says she is preparing an English-language stand-up routine. (Supplied)
Some of those jokes became the inspiration for her most popular videos years later, including the way she would dance to the BBC theme song as her father tried to watch the news.
“The next day I noticed the video had gotten millions of views overnight, and I thought, ‘What on earth? I should make fun of my family more!’” she jokes.
Her family, meanwhile, were wholly unimpressed with her newfound internet fame, first centered around the now-defunct app Vine before moving to Instagram and TikTok.
“When I realized that my first video had hit big, my dad was reading the news, and my mom was on her phone. I screamed, ‘I got 100,000 followers overnight!’ My dad just stared at me and said, ‘And?’ They couldn’t have cared less. I’m still annoyed to this day!” Roko says with a laugh.
As soon as she began gaining fans, however, critics started to appear in her comments. Instantly — because she is a Saudi woman and because of how she presented herself to the world — she was turned from a girl trying to make people laugh into a symbol, one that everyone seemed to interpret differently.
“Early on, I would read everything — people saying, ‘You’re embarrassing, you’re crazy, you’re bringing down women all over the world.’ But I’m also grateful for the hate because haters are a dedicated audience, and every video would get millions of views in a matter of hours. And most of the people those videos reached were supportive, albeit not as loud,” says Roko.
“It would get to me though. At one point, I really thought I was ‘destroying women,’ but then I said to myself, ‘But no, this is me.’ I was showing people who I truly am, and I felt honesty was a more important guide than the people trying to take me down, and I started ignoring them,” she continues.
s comfortable as Roko now is in the region, she is sometimes jolted by the ways in which her veil still restricts her globally. (Supplied)
As her fame grew, Roko was also amazed at how many brands began to flock to her, wanting to leverage her authenticity to promote their wares — including those she already adored.
“It was crazy to me. My sister and I had one pair of New Balance shoes that we would fight over, and suddenly I’m their regional brand ambassador, and have rooms full of New Balance shoes. I used to wish I could have my own single pair, and 10 years later I’ve manifested what I once dreamed of,” says Roko.
Still, as comfortable as she now is in the region, accepted for who she really is, she is sometimes jolted by the ways in which her veil still restricts her globally.
“I was planning to go to the Formula One race in Belgium just a few weeks ago, but then last minute I learned that women wearing the niqab cannot travel there. Later, I saw a video of a woman whose niqab was ripped off her face in Spain. I’m, like, ‘Why do these people hate us?’”
That’s part of why she wants to do start doing comedy in English, to talk directly to people who may not understand where she’s coming from, to get them to see her for who she is. That’s why she loves “Ramy,” a show about a man who she thinks is just like her in many ways — a man who sometimes struggles to reconcile his deep faith with his own complex humanity. It’s his honesty in communicating that, she believes, that has helped new audiences worldwide understand what it means to be a modern Muslim man. Perhaps, she, too, can show the world what it means to be a modern Saudi woman.
