She moved home and started whispering about Wawa. Then she went viral.

Of all the things Betsy Kenney thought she might go viral for, whispering about Wawa wasn’t one of them. But the 38-year-old comedian’s Philly “ASMR” videos have taken off on TikTok and Instagram, turning Kenney — who spent more than a decade pursuing a comedy career in New York City — into an unlikely local celebrity.

In case you aren’t familiar, ASMR is a relaxing sensation triggered by soft sounds or repetitive patterns. People watch ASMR videos of soft tapping, scratching, whispering, or crinkling to unwind. A video of someone getting a scalp massage? Pure bliss. A video of someone with a strong Philly accent asking if you know their cousin while scraping a spoonful of Rita’s water ice? Less so. And therein lies the joke. “People find the Philly accent to be like nails on a chalkboard,” Kenney said. “And I thought it would be funny to combine the two.” The contrast clicked immediately.

Kenney’s videos have racked up millions of views, circulating through group chats and comment sections thick with recognition and debate. They’ve drawn fans far beyond the region and even earned an endorsement from Kylie Kelce, who rated Kenney’s Philly accent an 11. For Kenney, the sudden attention has been somewhat surreal, considering it only arrived after she stopped chasing it.

For years, she had been grinding through the familiar comedy circuit in New York. She took improv classes at the Upright Citizens Brigade, acted in commercials to stay afloat, and wrote constantly. “I really wanted to do comedy as a living,” Kenney said. “And it turns out it’s really hard.” There were moments of traction. Kenney and her writing partner had a short film debut at the Tribeca Film Festival. They created a web series that was acquired by IFC. They hosted a podcast that found a sizable audience. “That was big,” she said. But none of it added up to stability. Then came COVID, two babies, and a move to Kenney’s hometown of Philadelphia, a return that quietly reshaped how she worked.

Back home, the pressure shifted. Kenney was no longer measuring every idea against an imagined career outcome. She was tired, busy, and short on time, and that looseness made room for something new. In September, she posted her first TikTok: an impression of “Phillies Karen,” aka the lady who stole a baseball from a kid at the Phillies game. It went viral. Before that, she said, she’d always been too self-conscious to post comedy online. Now, with less to prove and less time to overthink, she kept going.

She began posting whenever inspiration struck. Ideas surfaced in the slivers of time she had to herself, like in her car after school drop-off, or before pickup. Some of her best brainstorming happens in the shower, which is why her hair is often still wet in her videos. “I’m not trying to do a soaking wet Kim K thing,” Kenney said. “It’s literally the only time I have.” (Kenney is a full-time parent.)

A few days after “Phillies Karen” took off, she posted her first Philly ASMR video. Then came her impression of Ms. Rachel if she were from Philly. She tried non-Philly bits, too, but they didn’t land the same way. Viewers were clearly responding to the specificity of her hometown voice.

Kenney isn’t the only creator to build a fan base on the back of the Philly accent. There’s also Olivia Herman, whose no-nonsense impression of a Philly mom has attracted over 200,000 followers and a brand deal with Burlington Coat Factory. But where Herman leans into parody, Kenney aims for recognition. The humor doesn’t come from exaggerating the accent, but from treating it as ordinary. That’s no small task considering how difficult the Philly accent is to fake. “It has one of the most complex vowel systems of American English dialects,” said Betsy Sneller, a professor of linguistics at Michigan State University, which makes it difficult to imitate if you didn’t grow up with it.

Kenney did. She was born and raised in Northeast Philadelphia by two parents from the area. “Philly is all I knew,” she said. Sneller said that familiarity is evident in Kenney’s use of Philly-specific phrasing — “it’s so expensive anymore,” “youse” — and regional slang and cultural references like Mom-moms, bo-bos, and the Roosevelt Mall. “There’s such an identifiable feeling of place,” Sneller said. “It feels so specific.”

In fact, Kenney has found that the more specific she is, the more people connect with her work. In the comments section of a video where she asks which parish “Father John ended up at,” viewers pile on with recognition. “Wow, so we all had a Father John then, lol,” wrote one. “We all Father John in eastern PA,” wrote another. Even the Eagles chimed in: “My kinda ASMR.”

Now that she’s back in Philadelphia, the specific details her audience loves are easier to access. Kenney improvises most of her videos, following associations as they surface. So a trip to Franklin Mills might trigger a memory about a childhood birthday, which turns into a video about Stock’s pound cake. Her family is another steady source of material, especially her father, who works in a Philly courtroom as a stenographer and comes over every week with fresh stories. “If I ever need inspiration,” Kenney said, “there it is.”

Back home, surrounded by the people and places that fuel the work, Kenney isn’t in a hurry to turn her TikTok success into something bigger. She isn’t chasing the next step the way she once did in New York. “This is the first time in my comedy career that I’m just having fun,” she said. “And now that I’m back in Philly, and that’s what’s blowing up, I’m just really happy.”