Despite ending the five days feeling tired, sad, and hopeless, I don’t actually despair for the future of comedy. What I was watching those nights was not the future. I was watching the past desperately holding on for relevance. It was heartening to hear the undeniably louder laughs for the comedians who were younger, more diverse, and more thoughtful, but it’s not enough– because the Cellar does not make as much room for this younger generation. But comedy exists outside of two venues in the West Village, and maybe with time the Comedy Cellar will catch up. White men who refuse to accept sexual assault as a problem and treat women’s pain as a punchline will soon no longer be the status quo. They can yell about it night after night it in a dimly lit basement at 1 a.m. as much as they want, but above ground, a new generation has better things to laugh about.