Nicole Aimee Schreiber

Detroit, then the Strip

Nicole Aimée Schreiber comes from Detroit and works out of Los Angeles as a comedian, writer and actress. The outline of her route is the unglamorous one: open mics into club spots, club spots into festival slots, festival slots into the slow business of becoming a name a booker trusts with a room.

The first marker worth dating is 2016, when she won the joke competition at Hell Yes Fest. Her material from that period onwards has been pitched into the territory her own biography describes without euphemism — dark, irreverent and, in its words, delightfully filthy. That self-description has been copied more or less verbatim into club listings ever since, which says something about how settled the act is.

The structural turn came in 2019, when The Comedy Store made her a Paid Regular — its class of 2019. In the Los Angeles ecosystem that status is less a trophy than a job: it means a reliable supply of stage time in front of real paying audiences rather than a room of other comics. She has since accumulated the same standing at the Comedy Cellar, the Laugh Factory and the Hollywood Improv, which is a rarer combination than it sounds, because it requires passing the taste tests of four separate and mutually suspicious institutions.

The work on screen

Schreiber's screen record is mostly made of other people's shows, which is the normal shape of a career at this level. She appeared on Oxygen's Funny Girls, Hulu's Deadbeat and Comedy Central's Roast Battle, and has turned up on Comedy Central's This Week At The Comedy Cellar and Lights Out With David Spade. She also features in the 2018 documentary Poop Talk, made under the Sklar brothers, and has hosted for Reese Witherspoon's Hello Sunshine network. Netflix Is A Joke Radio has carried her sets.

The material that has travelled furthest is not broadcast at all. In 2024 she released two short stand-up specials through Don't Tell Comedy, the secret-location live series, and those have passed 400,000 views on YouTube between them. The individual clips cut from those tapings — one built around growing up with an unstable mother, another on the reason she ended a relationship — are the versions most people encounter first, and they do the work a half-hour special used to do: they establish the voice before the ticket is bought.

Also in 2024 she appeared on Iliza Shlesinger's Iliza's Locals for Hulu, and she was a featured performer at that year's Netflix Is A Joke Festival in Los Angeles, one of more than a dozen festivals she has been selected for. Her biography lists a utility voice role in Kevin Hart's animated series Lil Kev, slated for BET in early 2025.

Behind the camera she has worked as a producer and writer on the Whitney Cummings Presents OnlyFans Roasts and contributed to the same platform's LMAOF, with venue copy also crediting production work connected to Bert Kreischer. No full-length special or comedy album has been released under her own name.

Learning the road behind Dave Attell

The most useful line on her CV for anyone judging what she does live is the feature work. Schreiber has been a regular opener for Dave Attell, including on his headlining runs and the Bumping Mics tours — an apprenticeship in late rooms, drunk crowds and material that has to hold its nerve after midnight. She has also shared bills with Sarah Silverman, Bobby Lee, Andrew Santino and Rachel Feinstein.

That history explains the register of the act. A feature act for Attell learns to be fast, to be unembarrassed, and to win a room that did not come for her. It is a different training from the theatre-tour route, and it shows in a set that is built to survive a two-drink-minimum club rather than a seated arts centre.

She has also played outside comedy venues entirely. Talking on the Long Time No See podcast in October 2025 alongside Will Burkart, she discussed the particular indignity of doing stand-up at music venues, where the audience discovering a comic is next tends to greet the news audibly. In the same conversation she handled her own appearance as material, noting that nobody looks at her and assumes she is the one who will do the filthy bit.

Where things stand, late 2026

The current picture is of a working headliner building out a touring circuit rather than a comic in the middle of a press campaign. In June 2025 she played Comedy Up North in Anchorage, a 7pm slot running an hour and a half. In December 2025 she headlined Big Laugh Comedy in Fort Worth, taking the late Saturday show at 9.30pm with doors at 8.30 — a 90-minute, over-18 booking with a two-drink minimum and a no-recording rule, which is a fair snapshot of the rooms she is headlining now.

Through autumn 2025 she kept a steady run of podcast appearances, the Long Time No See episode of 6 October 2025 among them, which is currently how an act at this stage reaches audiences in cities it has not yet played.

November 2026 is the busiest documented stretch. On 8 November 2026 she takes the 8pm Sunday Headliners slot in the Original Room at The Comedy Store. Four days later she opens a full weekend at the Punch Line on Battery Street in San Francisco: Thursday 12 November at 8pm, two shows on Friday 13 November at 7.30pm and 9.45pm, and two on Saturday 14 November at 7pm and 9.15pm. Five shows across three nights is a headliner's weekend, not a guest spot, and it is the clearest evidence so far that the clubs outside Los Angeles are willing to put her name on the door alone.

What does not yet exist is a body of national reviews of a headline set. The critical record is thin — podcast appearances, club copy and the view counts on the Don't Tell Comedy tapings — so judgements about the live show have to rest on those rather than on broadsheet notices.

What the set is made of

The subject matter recurs across every taping and interview that can be checked: family, and specifically a difficult mother; relationships and the reasons they end; her own body and how audiences read it; and the mechanics of being a woman working late club rooms. The approach is confessional in substance and crude in delivery, which is an unusual pairing and the thing that distinguishes her from the storytelling comics she might otherwise be grouped with.

Venue copy, which is marketing rather than criticism, bills the act as bold and brutally honest with a promise of raw storytelling, dark humour and no filter. The claim worth taking seriously inside that is the structural one — she has been doing roughly this act, in roughly these words, since at least 2019, and four separate clubs pay her to do it.