The consensus is that the Edinburgh Fringe is at breaking point, having grown so big that costs – especially for accommodation – have skyrocketed, pricing out all but those with the deepest pockets. We're asking participants if they have any ideas to make the festival better, and here stand-up Sian Davies – who set up the Best in Class initiative to help working-class comedians – gives her thoughts...

I’ve been campaigning for change at the Edinburgh Fringe since 2018, a year after my first visit to the festival. I was struck immediately how few working-class comics were performing and how many barriers there were preventing people like me from taking part. 

When I set up Best in Class as a platform for working-class comedians to access the festival, I had no idea how successful it would be. It wasn’t just me who was hungry for new working-class voices at the fringe. Audiences and the wider industry embraced the idea and championed the ethos of the show. We now have a growing network of working-class comics under the Best in Class collective. We work together to cross-promote our shows, organise for change and support one another within the industry. 

When Best in Class won the Edinburgh Comedy Award panel prize in 2022 I was quick to point out that what we offered was not a solution to the problem. Best in Class offers nothing more than a sticking plaster over a gaping wound. The issues around class and the Fringe are systemic and deeply entrenched. We haven’t fixed the problem, but we have hopefully created more awareness of it and given some working-class acts more opportunities. 

The truth is, the Fringe has always held a mirror to wider societal issues. It is, like our society, underpinned by capitalism and competitiveness. So in order to ‘fix the Fringe’ we are going to need a full-scale luxury revolution across the UK first.

All we can do in the lead-up to the revolution is add some more sticking plasters to that ever-widening wound (while reading Marx and sharpening our spears, of course).

Sticking plaster 1: Say no to the extra show

Every year at the Fringe a handful of shows excel and sell out their run. What follows is a scramble to add extra shows during the Fringe so more people can see the show. I completely understand why people do it - the show is popular, there is a chance to make some more money and offset any deficit in your budget. It’s also a great accolade to add extra shows in a bigger room and sell them out. 

Most comedians would be thrilled for their show to be so popular that they get to add in extra shows. But what they probably don’t realise is that they are actively taking audiences from other shows. The desire to make a bit more cash (having already sold out), is taking money directly out of the hands of their colleagues and friends.

Fringe audiences are finite, there is a given number of people looking for a show at a particular time each day. As a comedian with a show at 4.15pm at City Cafe, I am naturally competing with any other comedy shows around Blair Street in that time slot. Plus comedy shows in other areas, shows from other genres and shows in the time slots either side as people plan their day.

I will strive to get a room full of people to choose my show each day. I will market my show with posters, flyers and articles like this. I will do spots at other shows and will meet people and chat to them. I will try to get them to pick my show in that slot, above all others. We will all be doing some version of this, syphoning off a slither of that finite audience block each day.

When you put on an extra show, you take a portion of that finite audience number. A new audience isn’t created solely for your extra show. They are choosing to watch you and not watch other shows that are available. You are taking them directly from other shows, from other acts, from your friends. 

If your show is one of the sell-out sensations this year, I urge you not to put on an extra show. Encourage those who can’t get a ticket to see you during the Fringe to come to your inevitable tour and Soho Theatre transfer. Recommend audiences go and see another show instead, use your profile to shine a light on someone without that buzz around them.

Sticking plaster 2: Name your sponsors

Recognise your privilege and tell people about it. How can you afford to be here doing what you do? Did you win the lottery? Did you inherit some generational wealth? Is your grandfather landed gentry? Are you the child of a politician? Did you make millions in insider trading? Is your agent bank rolling you? Do you have a trust fund?

Just be honest about your position.

As the totemic figurehead of the working class revolution with the arts, people often fall over themselves to tell me why they too are working class. If your grandad was a miner but you grew up in a five-bed detached house in Surrey, you are not working class. If your family had an estate with acres of land but you wore hand me down jeans because you were asset rich not cash rich, you are not working class. 

That doesn’t mean you haven’t struggled or battled through adversity. But it does mean you started off with a point of privilege. Be honest about that. Talk about it in your show, or mention it to your friends at the fringe. People will value your input much more if you are honest about your origin.

I often like to blindside people by telling them I own my own house. Because there was a time in the not so distant history when working class northerners could manage that. My parents bought their ex council semi in 1986 for £23,000. When my dad died in 1999 the compulsory insurance paid the mortgage off. 

When my mum died in 2013, my sister bought me out of my share. I bought a derelict Victorian terrace in the most socio-economically deprived area of Liverpool in 2016. I did it because I was acutely aware of how close to homelessness I could be, with no parents to take me in. I lived in two rooms of that derelict house for five years whilst I worked out what to do next. 

Both of my parents died before I was 30, which I would not recommend to anyone. But I must admit that financially it put me at a point of privilege. When I started in the comedy industry it meant I had fewer bills to cover, so I could reduce my hours in the day job sooner than some of my peers. Not having rent or a mortgage during the cost of living crisis has left me largely unaffected by the increase in interest rates and spiralling rents. It has meant I could develop my comedy career whilst also running Best in Class and supporting others.

I recognise this privilege and I talk about it to other people. My comedy career is sponsored by my dead parents. Who is sponsoring yours?

Sticking plaster 3: Offset your profits with equity

I recently had an email from an established act, who apologised for being middle-class. They said they were making some jokes about privilege in their new show and had a realisation that it wasn't enough to joke about it. They had been well paid for a recent job and asked if they could make a donation to Best In Class. Obviously, I bit their hand off. Any money coming in goes directly towards supporting working class comedians, through bursaries, workshops or helping with their costs. 

It was refreshing to have an act put their money where their mouth is. In the past, we have also had established acts donate their bucket cash to us after the Fringe, for no publicity or agenda. Some TV production companies have reached out with donations to help with our campaigns and they have been gratefully received. We also have Best in Class alumni who regularly donate back to the organisation, recognising the value in what they got out of it.

The common theme with all of these donations is they are acknowledging that the stakes are not equal. The game is rigged. That due to systemic inequalities within our society, the arts are not a meritocracy. What these donors have done to tax themselves, by offsetting their own profits into helping people who start at a point further down the ladder to them.

I’m not asking everyone who makes a profit to donate to Best in Class (but you can if you want). I know some acts who directly support working-class acts by paying for their PR or venue. But I’d like to see production companies, PR companies, and venues setting special tariffs for working-class acts. I’d like people that agree to bankroll other people’s runs to prioritise working-class acts over those who could afford it themselves. I’d like to see more equity in our industry, and I believe everyone is responsible.

If you are in the position of making a profit this year, absolutely cover your own costs, have a holiday, celebrate, pay your bills! But if you have something left after that, consider how you might offset that profit into supporting someone from a less privileged background.

This is an opinion piece, you can choose to agree or disagree. Either way I’ll be plotting the full scale luxury revolution at 4.15pm at City Cafe from August 1 to 25. Bring your spear and a copy of the Communist Manifesto.

• Do you have any ideas on how to Fix The Fringe? Email any suggestions to feedback@chortle.co.uk