“You don’t seem like a comedian” is the second most common response when I tell people I’m a comedian. The first, of course, is “OK, tell me a joke.” I don’t know any comedian who enjoys either of those comments. We fucking hate those comments, which is why we didn’t mention it earlier.
I’ll typically respond to this with “No actual comedian wants to be funnier offstage than onstage” which is usually received as a revelation, a profound truth they’d never considered before.
It’s not the only answer I give. Sometimes I’ll say “Oh, trust me, I’m extremely bitter and messed up” or, if I’m in a mood to challenge someone, I’ll ask them what a comedian seems like.
Sure, that’s a dick move, but it’s actually an interesting question to me.
What is a comedian like? What does a comedian seem like to the people who’ve never met one? Do they imagine (mimicking Steve Martin) “a wild and crazy guy?” Do they expect our conversation to feel like a podcast, with both of us waving obnoxious cigars around and bitching about how woke everything is? Am I supposed to be an extrovert? Loud? Offensive? Is there an expectation that I’ll be negging the person I’m conversing with? Am I supposed to talk in puns? Do they expect everything I say to be a cheap zinger?
I hate that shit. I think most reasonable people hate all that shit. If this is what they expect a comedian to be, no wonder so many people say they hate comedians.
For a long time people’ image of a comic was of a wise-cracking narcissist but lately it’s shifted to “podcast bros” who’ve traded jokes for banter and fill the room with their assumptions and opinions in a way that doesn’t rely on audience reactions.
That’s the difference, by the way. The comic needs to be on the right side of audience reaction, always. We’ll put ourselves in the wrong side of audience reaction temporarily, to quickly reverse it for the misdirection laughter we’re looking for, but stay on the wrong side of audience sentiment for more than the acceptable number of milliseconds, and you’re failing in the most painful way. Podcasts don’t have that instantaneous audience feedback loop and don’t worry about walking that real-time tightrope as much. Some of these podcast guys (like Joe) proudly claim they don’t read comments, listen to feedback or care about what their audience thinks at all.
A lot of people, when they hear I’m a comedian, expect me to present as some kind of “fuck your feelings” edgelord who revels in transgressions and crude shocks. I don’t even default to that on stage, but I’m sure not bringing it to my day job or family get togethers. If you expect me to, you’re some kind of psycho.
Whichever mental model of a comedian we’ve built, we all expect them to be extroverts.
Sorry to let you all down. I’m just me.
Sure, I have my extroverted moments. Maybe I’m one of those ambiverts people have started talking about. But most of the time I don’t want to interact with people. I’m pretty good at it, so it’s been a common denominator in almost every job I’ve ever had. But, honestly, when I’m not working I’m a lot like my cat and most of the time just want to be without constantly communicating.
I can see why extroversion fits the job naturally, but so many comics I know aren’t. I just listened to Taylor Tomlinson’s audiobook which, like her specials, is good. But she opens with a discussion in which she reveals that she’s an introvert. If you were watching her on stage you might not have guessed it, but if you were listening to what she talks about it makes total sense – to me, at least.
I know lots of extrovert comics, as you’d expect to, but I know just as many introvert comics. To me, if I can offer a generalization that’s probably very wrong, I suspect that the smart comics I like who have something substantial to say, tend towards introversion… while the comedy I don’t love – crass crowdwork, dick jokes, attention seeking physical antics, excessive crudity, “shock and awe” tactics and stool-humping (Joe) are in the toolbox of extroverts. If they want you to look at them, probably an extrovert. If they want you to listen, might be an introvert.
Yes, I have my crude moments. Attention seeking in it’s various forms has been a lifelong theme. I can roast with the best of them, and I might even have the capacity to be meaner than most. But I’m also pretty secure in myself, thanks to my advanced age. I don’t need to wow with constant zingers and pepper every conversation with puns and innuendos. I hate that shit.
When people talk to me like that, I feel like they’re trying too hard. I feel like they’re doing their best imitation of what they think a comedian is because that’s what they assume we’re all like. We are not. We generally don’t take anyone who’s genuinely like that too seriously. It reminds me of Jean Paul Sartre’s example of a waiter when explaining that conflating people to social roles is an example of bad faith.
One of the great things the comes of being a comic and meeting other comics is discovering that they’re people. They’re not social roles or caricatures. Most of them will have built their stage persona around their actual self, but they know there’s a difference and have a church-and-state firewall separating them. There has to be, for our mental health.
Comedy is best when it comes from someplace real and delivered by someone who’s being at least a bit real. But we are not our stage personas. You might find that the best comedians, the ones with something real to contribute to the canon, are actual three dimensional humans.
Check out Uncanny Agency! Gamebooks for grown-ups, by Sean Cooper
