She didn’t make a big deal out of it or leave in the midst of a scandal. Like the rest of her career on Saturday Night Live, Aidy Bryant’s exit was sincere, humorous, and profoundly emotional. It wasn’t just another Weekend Update moment when she drew her last sketch in May 2022. She looked at Bowen Yang with a smile that conveyed much more than words, and it turned into a gentle, spontaneous farewell.
During his ten seasons on Saturday Night Live, Bryant created remarkably realistic yet humorously ridiculous sketches with characters. She had a comedic clarity that few of the cast members were able to maintain, whether she was portraying a grotesquely accurate Ted Cruz or a teenage talk show co-host with a side ponytail.
| Name | Aidy Bryant |
|---|---|
| Born | May 7, 1987 – Phoenix, Arizona |
| SNL Tenure | 2012–2022 (Seasons 38 to 47) |
| Notable Characters | “Trend Forecasters,” Ted Cruz, Morgan from “Girlfriends Talk Show” |
| Major Projects | Shrill (Hulu), Cheeky (Peacock), Human Resources (Netflix) |
| Departure Reason | Pandemic-delayed exit, creative growth, milestone fulfillment |
| Legacy Moment | Emotional final sketch with Bowen Yang and Michael Che |
| Credible Source | Variety Interview |
She had originally planned to retire in 2020. But those plans were derailed by the pandemic. She was drawn back in by unpredictability in the news cycle, remote shows, and filming delays. Intentionally, not grudgingly. She later said, “It felt too strange to leave during such an unfinished moment.” Her stay was prolonged through Season 47 as a result of that choice, which was notably based on loyalty and artistic timing.
She balanced starring in and co-creating Shrill, a show that remarkably reflected her voice—funny, fat-positive, and unafraid of nuance—with Saturday Night Live during those last years. She managed to balance her time between studio tapings and Hulu’s production schedule, which left her feeling both drained and content. With a tone that was equal parts proud and practical, she told Variety, “Everything that has worked for me has been by writing it myself.”
The main factor in her decision to leave was momentum. When it comes to leaving on your own terms, there’s something very obvious. Bryant left just as her creative arc was developing, in contrast to others who age into irrelevance or comedy fatigue. It’s incredibly effective to change without waiting for approval from others.
Her final sketch wasn’t particularly noteworthy or high-concept. The ridiculous, campy scene with Bowen Yang in “Trend Forecasters” turned into an emotional capsule. Through the latex and glitter, you could sense the genuine farewell as the characters joyfully exclaimed, “Goodbye forever!” It served as both closure and comedy.
Intentionally understated but incredibly potent, that moment demonstrated Bryant’s ability to make an impression without resorting to spectacle. She made a name for herself with her versatility in a cast that is frequently dominated by breakout stars and political impressions. Her humor frequently rested on an undercurrent of subdued resistance, challenging gender stereotypes, body standards, and the expectations placed on women in late-night comedy.
Then there’s what followed. She uses real people to voice the awkward, messy, and liberating body stories in her animated Peacock project, Cheeky. Because it denotes a shift away from celebrity and toward creative authorship, this change is especially novel. She is not making an effort to “stay relevant” in the conventional sense. She is creating something that is based on vulnerability and voice.
Bryant is incredibly adaptable and is now writing stories that don’t have to follow someone else’s format. Her skill extends beyond character sketches to include storytelling, production, and cultural commentary. She is developing a creative identity with a wider, more sustainable reach rather than just expanding her career.
Bryant notably reassessed his priorities during the pandemic, when many others did. When the moment felt artistically finished, she waited, went back in, and then left. Delayed, purposeful, and intensely felt, that arc provides a master class in self-awareness and timing.
The fact that her departure didn’t deplete the cast’s vitality is especially commendable. She left space—actual space—for the next generation, alongside Kate McKinnon, Kyle Mooney, and Pete Davidson. Her tone was devoid of irony as she stated, “It’s going to create more space for people to shine.” It was uplifting, giving, and remarkably genuine.
Aidy Bryant achieved something uncommon in comedy: longevity with integrity by working with writers who recognized her cadence, elevating sketches that focused on emotion as much as punchlines, and remaining rooted in her gut.
Her legacy will probably feel even more significant in the years to come. She warmed the bench. Rather than making the joke about big girls, she made them funny. She also elevated strangeness.
It wasn’t over after leaving SNL. It was a particularly helpful reset, enabling her to not only carry on with her work but also to begin establishing structures and environments that align with her own conception of what comedy can be.
In hindsight, her departure was unimpressive. It was simply—complete. And maybe that’s why it’s so remarkably resilient in memory.
