On a recent episode of Saturday Night Live, the cast member Sarah Sherman dropped by the “Weekend Update” desk in character as the accountant Dawn Altman, the latest in her repertoire of high-strung weirdos. Altman was theoretically there to give one of the co-anchors, Colin Jost, some bad news about his tax returns. Instead, she proceeded to accuse him of using cocaine, allowing his personal plane to be used for ICE deportations, employing the financial services of Jeffrey Epstein, and, finally, running some sort of sex-slavery ring right behind the “Update” set. All the while, Jost endured this barrage by cycling through a number of pained, embarrassed responses—sighing, shaking his head, muttering “Okay, okay,” and eventually putting his head in his hands.
When Jost first took the job as a “Weekend Update” co-host in 2014, he came off like a cocky prep-school kid doomed to discover that the rest of the world does not share the high opinion he has of himself. Some armchair critics and social-media users sighed that of course Lorne Michaels had given the show’s most prestigious job to another “bland white guy,” a sign that this most hidebound of institutions was unable to adapt to a changing world. But eventually, Jost seemed to find that he could win the public’s goodwill by acknowledging its disdain. Leaning into his unlikability gave Jost a distinctive comedic energy—and, funnily enough, made him a lot more likable.
“Default punch line” is probably not where Jost thought he’d end up after joining the satirical news segment. When he first started on the “Update” desk, Jost tried to channel the energy of past anchors, an effort that did not do him any favors. He had solid chemistry with his co-host, Michael Che (who often plays the part of a perpetual scoundrel, a counterpoint to Jost’s straitlaced affect), and could capably land a punch line, but he had a “replacement-level player” quality that he struggled to shake.
He also had a tendency to stick his foot in his mouth by making tone-deaf jokes, or flatly seem like a jerk, or maybe even just a little bit lazy in his joke writing. Take a bit from early in his tenure about how America is like a roller coaster that only the privileged should enjoy. “I just want it for me and my ethnicity, and then it’s closed forever,” Jost mused, a blunt criticism but delivered with enough smugness that it also made him seem like a guy who could hover above the country’s misfortunes. That moment came a few weeks after Donald Trump had hosted SNL, which invited criticisms that the show had helped normalize his political ascent by treating him like a sideshow.
To his critics, Jost’s smug humor felt noticeably anachronistic at a time when the #MeToo and Black Lives Matter movements were calling for a greater awareness of society’s deep inequalities, and for ostensibly liberal institutions to do better. Jost’s central flaw as a comic was that he could come across as flippant; he sometimes seemed like a human embodiment of a newspaper op-ed telling you to calm down. He could crack jokes about Trump’s corruption or Hollywood’s panicked reaction to the Harvey Weinstein revelations, but you never really got the sense that he treated these subjects as much more than simple fodder—and although, to be fair, his job is to tell jokes, the jokes he tended to pick often seemed a little lazy.
Every great “Weekend Update” anchor must eventually put their stamp on the desk. Tina Fey communicated moral authority by shredding the misogyny of the 2000s; Seth Meyers brought a wry humanism while also coming off like the world’s most exasperated MSNBC addict; Norm MacDonald crossed every possible line and didn’t seem too worried about it. Jost, meanwhile, found his groove by appearing to accept that many people were eager to tell a guy like him off. He didn’t exactly shed his entitled persona, but he settled into a role as a sort of pressure-release valve—a way for others to process their cultural anxieties.
For example, Sherman, who joined the show’s cast in 2021, is his greatest tormentor. I almost called her a sparring partner, but that would imply that Jost ever gets a word in edgewise. From her earliest appearances, Sherman demonstrated a talent for nimbly turning every innocuous thing Jost said against him, at one point insisting that he kiss Che and accusing him of being a homophobe for refusing—and, when he finally agrees, accusing him of now mocking the queer community by pretending to be gay. Her jokes depict him as representative—fairly or not—of an antiquated mindset (his discomfort about the idea of him kissing a man) that Sherman’s open-minded peers are perpetually butting up against. But she also paints Jost as someone who can’t win, because he’s unable to keep up with the speed of her humor—and the more she piles it on, the funnier the exchange becomes.
Part of the tension is instinctively visual. Jost is clean-cut and buttoned-up; Sherman is young and hip. Across SNL history, the show has poked fun at the establishment and counterculture alike. But in their working relationship, Jost is the establishment—and by taking it on the rhetorical chin, he and the show subtly demonstrate an understanding of why counterculture types like Sherman get enraged.
It’s not just Sherman who gets in on the flogging. Che likes to insist that all of Jost’s worst detractors are completely valid in their assumptions, such as when he recently noted (as was rumored at the time) that if the next pope came from Africa, he’d “have to travel over Colin’s dead body.” Bowen Yang instructed Jost to introduce him as “Asian Cast Member”—then feigned indignation when it actually happened, before gleefully boasting, “I set your ass up.” Bill Murray, the ultimate lackadaisical blue-collar guy, took his turn with the whip during the Saturday Night Live 50th Anniversary Special by pointedly not including Jost on his list of the best “Update” anchors of all time, while Jost looked on.
In real life, Jost has kept his personal politics a secret. But his actual beliefs, whatever they are, don’t really matter in this role. All the jabs boil down to the idea that he is a stand-in for white men in positions of power—and that mocking him is really a way to mock them. To Jost’s great credit, none of it would work without his willingness to stand there and serve as a punching bag, something that previous smug anchors, such as Dennis Miller, would have never allowed. He’s found many ways to sigh and signal his pained realization that this is really what they think of me, as he telegraphs with every look—a forbearance that counterintuitively makes him more sympathetic. (The title of his memoir, A Very Punchable Face, also communicates this self-awareness.)
Jost is now the longest-running “Weekend Update” host in history, and it’s rumored that he might be leaving the job soon. If that’s true, then I’ll miss him. But against all expectations, he achieved greatness—by embracing his image. His legacy is secure.
