What you talk about is the single factor that most defines comedians. It’s not the only choice comics make – some do music, some speak through characters, some are sincere while others are ironic, and all comics fall somewhere on a political spectrum. Ultimately though, what we talk about is going to shape what kind of comic we are and it’ll define who our audience is.

Jim Gaffigan has a reputation for talking about food. It’s not the only thing he discusses but he’s built a massive career on it. Hari Kondabolu is known for intelligent discussion about race, as is Kamau Bell who also muses on all things PC. Jerry Seinfeld’s known for musing on the banal minutiae of life. Nikki Glaser talks about sex. Josh Blue and Adam Hills talk about disability.

Comics rarely emerge fully formed. We’re works in progress and it’s highly unlikely that a comedian will “find their voice” in the first year . This means we don’t think too consciously about what we’ll focus on. We’re more likely to have a clear idea of what we don’t want to do. We start out writing and talking about what interests us and what we think is funny.

I remember looking over my first comedy sets and wondering whether fast food and internet dating were even close to the artistic statement that I wanted to make (yes – stand-up is a fucking art-form). I wanted to talk about the nature of life and death and sex, make insights about relationships and society, speculate about ethics and religion and alien lifeforms. My bits about Google Home and Tinder and Subway seemed pretty hacky… and that’s because they were.

But I also knew that I was a beginner and I’d have to master the basics before getting ambitious. It’s the same for any other kind of skill but the thing about about comedy that’s unique, awesome and shitty is that you have to learn it on stage.

A guitarist can start with Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and eventually get great with their instrument before ever going on stage. Comedians have to do their learning in public – struggling through their Twinkle Twinkle hell in front of everyone, getting known and judged for it until they get better. And getting better takes a really really long time in comedy. It’s painful and there’s no avoiding it.

So yeah… I wasn’t thrilled about my early subject matter either, but I knew I wasn’t ready to take on the big stuff. The brilliant nuanced and significant bits I love from other comics were all crafted with a skill level I didn’t have (and still don’t).
I had my comedy training wheels on and I knew it would be a long time before I could do the material I admired.

You can almost gauge a comic’s experience from the things they talk about. If you start telling a a story about a prostate exam I’m going to assume it’s probably your first time. I’ve been hanging around open mics for years now and I know that there’s a very large overlap between first-time open-mic-ers and prostate exam bits. The overlap is nearly as large for mammogram and stool-sample material, all of which are regular fodder for first timers at open mic nights.

That’s as it should be. We probably shouldn’t tackle big complex themes until we have the mastery to handle them. I just finished reading Adam Hill’s excellent book Best Foot Forward and he talks about the feedback he received after one of his very early sets in which he got laughs with jokes about his missing foot. He was advised not to do that again, but not for the reason he expected.

He thought his critic might be uncomfortable or even offended by jokes about his disability. Instead the guy told him that he’s not a good enough comic yet. Going to that topic as a starting comedian would waste something he could handle more effectively and meaningfully later on. He said it was some of the best advice he ever got.

I think I instinctively suspected this idea. There was a strong temptation to talk about things that are really personal and meaningful, but I knew those topics had to be handled with expertise I didn’t have. Only now (2+ years in) do I have the confidence to discuss my depression, my relationship with alcohol, real relationship insights instead of hacky internet dating stories, etc.

I’m personally glad to be entering a phase where I feel like I’m able to discuss mental health, relationships, sexuality and the trickier parts of my own life with more honesty. People have asked me lately whether this is a new thing I’ve just decided. I’ve explained that I’ve been training to do exactly this for a while.

For a comic, you are what you talk about (as well as how you talk about it). My aim has always been to tackle topics like life, death, sex, religion, mental health, relationships, work, politics, money, technology, society etc… what Carlin described as “big world topics.”

I do have some criteria about what premises I choose, though. Some look full of promise and potential but they’re clearly goldmines that have been well and truly plundered, and I know not to bother looking there. And some topics have a difficulty level, like Adam Hills’ discussion of his disability – maturity/skill/experience is required to do justice to it.

It also has to interest me. I don’t know anything about sports and I don’t care about sports at all. I’m sure there’s lots of comedy potential there but I’ll leave it to others. I have to know about the topic and feel like I can contribute something worthy to the conversation. I can do this when the topic is relationships or music or theology. Not so much for things I don’t know or give a shit about.

I avoid funny premises. It’s a trap when a comedian picks a topic because it’s inherently funny. The magic trick we do is take a premise and make it funny. There’s a few ways we do this but the important thing is that we’re doing something to a premise. We’re flipping it, looking at it a different way, re-contextualizing it, extrapolating it beyond it’s intended scope, reacting strongly to it, whatever.

When a comic chooses a funny premise they’re like a chef choosing an ingredient that’s already a delicious meal. They just hand it over and ask for credit. Or they do something that’s redundant and ask for credit. Or they make it worse and ask for credit. If you take something already funny, and you don’t make it funny then people like feel like you’re cheating them or wasting their time.

I’ve seen so many bits about prostate exams or stool samples where the comedian obviously thought that the topic was inherently hilarious. Then they either point to it or present it to an audience without actually doing much to it. Usually the audience responds with the least enthusiasm possible that they won’t look rude.

I suspect it’s a tactical error that Dave Chapelle made. Relax, militant comedy nerds. I’m not an arrogant open mic-er presuming to tell the self-proclaimed greatest of all time how to do his job. I’m just speculating about why some of his material wasn’t received so warmly. Stop writing your DM. There are already plenty of people in my life who think it’s their job to keep my ego in check.

What I’m referring to is his obsession with trans people in recent years. He keeps going back to that premise, so much that his last special was entirely all about it, despite masses of us saying we’re not onboard (because we don’t agree or we don’t care).

Personally I’d be avoiding that premise purely on the basis that it’s already been plundered so much it’s doubtful that even Dave could find anything new to say. He did offer versions of “why do we care about gender when the only issue is race?” but that’s kind of a false premise. Also, it’s hard to milk for a whole hour.

Mostly, though, I’ve seen him do what I mentioned: expecting us to laugh because the premise is inherently funny, like a chef pointing at a tasty ingredient. This clicked when I heard him say that he keeps using the premise because he just thinks that trans people are funny.

Obviously we don’t all agree with that opinion, but it’s not even the problem. Comedians don’t identify funny premises and point at them. Comedians find premises and make them funny. In most basic comedy terms, the punch goes in the punch-line. If the punch in the setup, it’s not actually a joke.

That’s just my two cents worth. There’s a million fans and a massive industry dedicated to telling us how supremely superior Dave Chapelle is, so I don’t expect my humble view to be anything more than a few lines in my personal blog. But here it is…. funny premises are lazy and the punch belongs in the punch line, not the setup.

This just means I won’t be choosing my topics because of how funny they are. It’ll be about whether they interest me and what I can do with them. As long as the world keeps being absurd, frustrating and ridiculous I’m not likely to run out of premises.