I did a clowning masterclass in France a few months ago. (That was a whole, wild experience that I’ll be haunted by for years). While I was there I realised I’ve been operating under a certain kind of dumb philosophy my whole life without realising it. The philosophy is something like this: “I believe if I’m “good” enough, nobody will reject me for being “bad” and people will like me.” And fill in whatever you want for good - be clever, say the right things, get a good mark on the test, remember everyone’s name, be competent, and so on.
When I was at clown school, I realised that philosophy is totally wrong. We don’t like people who are perfect. We like people for their flaws. At the heart of clowning is something called “the flop”. That is, when something doesn’t work and it’s seen to not work, instead of going down into shame, working with the flop is looking at the audience and acknowledging it. Everyone’s acknowledgement is different - but in that moment of failure we’re all deeply connected. And the clown being ok with it is catharsis for everyone.
I think the clowning philosophy is something like: “When I make mistakes, people connect with me the most. But it has to be real. I have to enter with a dream, and when it falls apart they love me when they see my eyes”. Or something like that. I think I can’t quite articulate it yet.
Anyway, of course there’s a set of clear psychological traits associated with comedians. It’s not because comedians are uniquely messed in the head. It’s because connecting to others through failure is different from connecting to others through success. They can both be used as coping strategies. And both can be used to bring out the best in us.
It was quite the slap in the face for me to realise my perfectionism meant I was doing everything all wrong on stage. I cried a lot. But there’s also something beautiful in it. In having new ways to show up. I like it.
I've reflected long and hard on the same pattern of thinking in myself. Despite lots of downsides, it's been a hard thing to part with.
I think rooting my self-worth in competence is the only reason I've been able to achieve anything remotely worthwhile through a learning disability which affects focus and concentration. It's a great way to summon determination.
The downside of this way of thinking is that it ties one's internal qualities (which can always been controlled) through uncertain exterior outcomes (competence being measured by the capacity to affect a desired change within the scope of possibility). The consequence is an excessive degree of uncertainty in one's own skills, and assessments that are doomed to be imprecise because luck now uniquely has the ability to affect the outcome of a self-assessment of character.
I think what you're describing is that clowning moves the assessment to a more consistent measure (intent, divorced from outcome). Shifting from a consequentialist to a non-consequentialist perspective on the self is indeed a tremendous change. From the perspective of wellbeing, a non-consequentialist worldview is probably easier to reckon with over the long term because the outcome is more controllable.
Good on you. I'll have to put clowning on the bucket list.
> I think rooting my self-worth in competence is the only reason I've been able to achieve anything remotely worthwhile through a learning disability which affects focus and concentration. It's a great way to summon determination.
This echoes what I'm discovering the hard way in my own life: to have learned to force oneself through grit and determination and be successful and self-confident in those aspects of life where that grit is a major contributor (work, sport, empirical accomplishments), only to notice that interpersonal relationships and inner self struggle with self-worth, connection, compassion and empathy, especially towards one-self. The fight for competence and some form of perfection become the battle cry leading into abject loneliness.
Maybe this is part of many men's struggle to not end up at the bottom of the rat race, inadvertently failing to tend to inner wounds and needs in the process.
This year is the one where I've been reflecting. Over the past N years of being focused on self-improvement and perfectionism and a self-evaluation/grind/progress loop in quantifiable fields (code, research, combat sports, exercise), in an ugly twist, led to sort of entitlement or an implicit expectation of rewards from the interpersonal domain.
Echoing exactly what others above me have said, "if I'm good enough, do xyz well enough, people will have no choice but to like me and love me."
Turns out that the parts of _myself_ I admire when it comes to my pursuit of "things" are not at all what people like about me.
Things, you can pursue - if you want to get good at C++, C++ has no choice in the matter, right? It's up to your own grit and determination. C++ can't reject you if you learn it well enough.
People? People like each other for unknowable, unmeasurable reasons and I need to understand more of how, not just that interpersonal is "out of my hands", but specifically treating interpersonal relationships as "things to improve on" is counterproductive, pushes it farther away.
Have you ever heard the expression "if you stop chasing things so hard, you'll get them?" When it comes to things, bullshit; the best in their field are the ones who chase it the hardest.
But maybe when it comes to people, it's actually true...
I realized this for different reasons, but it resonates with me.
I’m a perfectionist. The pursuit of success can be consuming. When you achieve it and try to connect with people over it, you’re typically coming from the wrong place. It isn’t really sincere, it’s misguided, it’s often achieved through unsustainable behaviour. The whole thing is a bit uncomfortable. Whether people are conscious of it or not, you aren’t coming from a relatable place. People will typically be kind and supportive, but typically, the perfectionist causes people to pause and analyze. They might make others feel worse about themselves, they might be obnoxiously modest or self-deprecating, and so on. It’s a hard way to be and it’s hard to be around.
You can turn it into something great, though. A retired perfectionist can be one of the most compassionate, supportive, understanding, and encouraging types of people once they let go of their inward obsession and put that energy towards others.
If you enjoy characters accepting the flop, you'll love the Czechoslovakian stop motion series "A je to!". Might just be my nostalgia goggles, but I think it's a gem. Example: https://youtu.be/tQ_sBzSaJIo?si=asx9J2nLex6QMpIy
> We don’t like people who are perfect. We like people for their flaws.
Entirely this. It even applies to physical beauty. People who appear physically flawless are generally perceived as less beautiful than ones that don't.
The paradox seems to be, by trying to be flawless or perfect, we will/want to climb the social ladder in hope of getting respect and being taken seriously. But being higher, means more people are below you, leading to jealousy, envy and people trying to compete with you to get to the same level. They want to prove they are at least as good as you. In fact, just the opposite of what we tried to achieve; admiration, respect, love.
Yes, although it's not always (or maybe even often) that the reaction is because of jealousy or because people want to compete to get to the "same level".
I think that it often has more to do with the fact that nobody is actually "perfect", and so people who seem to be, or are perceived as trying to be, appear inauthentic or "fake". People tend to like real people, and real people have real flaws.
> “I believe if I’m “good” enough, nobody will reject me for being “bad” and people will like me.”
My philosophy is different. If I know my values are where they should be and I live in accordance with them then it does not matter if people like my actions or not. Judgments slide right off. It's an impenetrable armor.
I hear that. I would have said something very similar a few years ago.
But now, I think it’s healthy to have our armour penetrated by the world. To be seen. To be vulnerable. To fail and have it fall apart and be able to weep.
As far as we know, we will die. And so with everyone we know and love. I don’t want impenetrable emotional armor. I want to, sometimes, sob uncontrollably. Feeling our feelings fully is the only path through life that is truly present with the reality of it all. Being impenetrable is too close to being numb.
I'm not saying you should become an emotionless robot. I'm saying you should build a strong foundation and know where to go from there. People will question you along the way. Consider their opinions but always reserve the agency to move your foundation. They don't do that just by scaring you.
A world where we let people's failings and faults dominate their success and virtues is a world inherently destined for incredible mediocrity and the creation of only tepid works.
Then I think we should all be cold, because I'm sure that at the time fire was invented by cavemen, that they were all rapists by today's standards ;). Unless it was a woman that invented fire.
I perform stand-up comedy a few nights a week. I completely relate to this. Whenever I "bomb" a joke now I'll say something like, "Well everyone, you just witnessed the first, and last, time I will ever say THAT joke" or "Well, THAT didn't work!" and I'll always get the laugh.
Classic beginner's mistake is to try to make yourself "look good" on stage. I did the same thing. Nobody wants to laugh at jokes told by someone who thinks they're better than the audience :)
I go to every live standup show I can, especially small ones where new comedians are learning the craft. Being in the audience when one is bombing is incredibly uncomfortable (probably not as much for the audience as for the comedian, but still...).
I like it a lot when the comedian "acknowledges the suck" in a way that isn't self-pitying or audience-blaming. It really decreases the discomfort level a lot.
The audience is (usually, anyway) on the comedian's side and wants the comedian to be successful, so doing that makes the "we're all on the same team here" aspect more overt.
I think you're on the right track, but it's more complicated than that. It's not just success/failure, it's success/failure relative to one's perceived innate abilities. Take this example:
The fact that the audience member wearing the cargo pants clearly had a learning disability changed everything. The source of the comedy switched from teasing someone about poor fashion choices to being in the presence of a zen master who wore whatever the fuck he wanted. (It was actually a brilliant response on the part of the performer.)
This is almost universal. We celebrate (say) people confined to wheelchairs playing basketball, but only if they have no choice but to use a wheelchair. Able-bodied people playing wheelchair basketball would be a grotesque farce. (But it's not completely universal. The DAAA games [1], for example, are not nearly as widely known as (say) the special olympics [2].)
I see a parallel with that to "art". My favorite description of art is that it is "creativity under constraint". Pure, raw creativity isn't art -- art happens when that creativity is expressed inside of limitations. The limitations of paint, for instance, or of a particular literary or musical form, etc.
That is beautifully said. I too have had to learn in my life with a not entirely neurotypical brain that what connects people in everyday life is just that flawed humanness, and one's attitude towards it in oneself. There is admiration and dislike and other, more generic feelings towards others, but true connection comes from those little points of cognition and relating. Maybe that insight comes more naturally to many, but some of us had to think about this a bit more than others.
The process of learning clowning - at least where I went - was a process of getting up on stage, again and again, and being made vulnerable to the audience and to our own inadequacies. Which is a nice way of saying that the instructors were low key abusive. They encouraged us in the audience to yell “money back!” when the performers were boring us. Or the teachers would give feedback like (direct quotes): “I didn’t understand why women want to date other women until I saw you on stage. You are so unlovable that I understand abandoning men completely.”. “Do you not think he looks like a tub of yoghurt trying to dance?”. “This one is a cancer on the stage.” And so on. A few days after clown school my partner and I were chatting to a pair of American sisters from an army family on a bus. The older one had served. Before we mentioned clown school she said we had the same haunted look people had right out of basic training.
It was definitely abusive. But we’re also definitely looser for it. 1 month of class and my social anxiety is basically gone. It feels a bit like I have an opportunity to relearn how I want to show up socially and on stage. It’s taken a few months to recover, but I’m so much more present with people. I don’t understand why, but I’m really not sure we could have learned what we learned without feedback like that. I’ve done improv comedy classes for years. But clowning at Gaulier melted so much of my bullshit. We spent a month being seen. And then told, honestly, brutally and repeatedly what people see when they look at us. Once you get over the shock of it, there’s a joy in that. A game. But it’s been months and I still haven’t quite put myself back together again yet.
If anything, saying the experience was haunting is a massive understatement. For good and ill, that class will be with me until the day I die.
IMO the moment you start questioning why you like/don't like somebody you're already on a precarious path.
The reason why you like someone is just because you like them; or the opposite. No need to complicate things. Learn to trust your gut and let your own inner self tell you if you feel like another person should be in your life or not. Things fall naturally into place this way.
Yeah, I suppose the thing I was trying to say was the inverse: We are not liked for our perfection. We are liked for our flaws. Stressing out about how we’re perceived is another precarious path. But still - I think there’s something deeply healthy about giving up trying to make friends by being impressive. You’re already deeply lovable through the ways you’re an idiot. If you accept that, so does the world.
The symbol of happy/sad drama masks (Thalia and Melpomene) is an ancient reference to this same dynamic.
Was prompted to look up the definition of the word "pathetic," recently, and it means evocativeness of emotion, but typically sympathy or pity instead of laughter. Being comical and pathetic seem like the same thing, we just don't understand the word well because it's an epithet in pop culture that nobody considers the meaning of. When you look at a lot of art or music as pathetic in that they are aimed to stir a kind of nostalgia or sorrow, it's the same underlying art that produces laughter and joy. It's like a spectrum of Handel to Chopin, where one evokes soaring joy and the other a sense of nostalgia and memory.
I'm very funny, but I also make very pathetic art as expressions of the same underlying capacity for pathos. In the essential meaning of the word comedy is a pathetic artform that refines out the neutralizing emotions and produces pure involuntary laughter. Whereas the well of personal experience the performer uses is going to have all the "sadness" (in the form of wistfulness, nostalgia, romance, etc.) as well. Someone who is funny or brilliant or entertaining operates using pathetic (evocative) means. This "sadness" of clowns is only a problem when we judge or criticize it.
Really, if you can just see your comedic sadness as a natural capacity for pathos, (and take the Zen view of not being your feelings) it's another source of creative energy.
This immediately brought the Dolly Parton song Jolene into my head.
First time I heard it I was struck with how pathetic it was. It was very jarring hearing a superstar like Dolly singing from such a position of inferiority.
But the song is incredible. You feel her feelings of inadequacy so deeply. It's a masterful example of this mechanic.
Blues itself as a genre is similar. A lot of what became known as alternative music was defined by a related sense of pathos, where a lot of it was about indulging and wallowing. Pop music is like an opposite of comedy because comedy is about the unexpected, where pop is about simple satisfaction. When we say "pathetic," it's usually a shorthand for disgust, but a lot of beauty in the world is evocatively pathetic by virtue of its fragility or temporariness. In a more generalized sense, comedy and humour are a pathetic way of relating, and it's not a criticism so much as a way of emphasizing we should develop a better understanding of pathos, as forgiving or having compassion for it by recognizing it for what it is seems like it could relieve a lot of suffering.
This whole thing is pretty damn well-argued, paints a compelling picture. I see myself in it, but it could be in a horoscope / med student way.
Humour is definitely a way to de-fang the world, and smooth over difficult situations. The "making other people" laugh bit is interesting, considering the smile / bared teeth dichotomy.
> I see myself in it, but it could be in a horoscope / med student way.
Thank you for saying this. Anecdotally, I jump to self identifying as someone who uses humor to deal with trauma, but it’s good to be reminded that everyone has some level of trauma in their lives.
My favorite example is Jack Point from Yeomen of the Guard [0]:
Point:
Oh, thoughtless crew!
Ye know not what ye do!
Attend to me, and shed a tear or two —
For I have a song to sing, O!
All:
Sing me your song, O!
Point:
It is sung to the moon
By a love-lorn loon,
Who fled from the mocking throng, O!
It's a song of a merryman, moping mum,
Whose soul was sad, and whose glance was glum,
Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye.
The dialogue is useful context for the song in which the jester explains to a would-be jester the troubles of being paid to be funny.
Gilbert enjoyed a spot of paradox, some more patent than others. In The Pirates of Penzance a leap year forms a paradox (, a paradox, a most ingenious paradox) as the protagonist has lived for twenty-one years, yet reckoning by his natal day he is a little boy of five. As for Patience, it is subtitled “or, Bunthorne’s Bride”, yet ends with everyone except Bunthorne scheduled to be married.
Yes, Oh! a private buffoon is a light-hearted loon is also an excellent choice, too, and one that I'd debated referencing instead.
But ultimately the "Whose soul was sad, and whose glance was glum," line in I have a song to sing O! and its reprise in the finale was what led me to pick that song to quote here. (Plus that song and the music is probably my favorite among the G&S canon. :-)
There's a related phenomenon I've seen a lot, sometimes firsthand, of people who consider themselves shy while others consider them the life of the party.
To me both phenomenon are about about a disconnect between a person's internal and external self. An introvert is someone whose internal feelings do not naturally coincide with the mindset and behaviours necessary to be socially active and successful. But since they still want to be social, or at least reap the rewards that come from being social, they construct a separate external self who acts more in accordance with expectations. Extroverts do not suffer from this separation: Their internal and external selves are aligned.
For many introverts, maintaining this separate external self requires an act of continuous will, hence the idea that being in social situation drains them of energy. This is especially true the less they socialise: The less practice they get, the harder it is to "play the part" of their external self and the greater the sense of disconnect between the two.
Conversely, the more an introvert socialises, the more easily they can adopt and maintain the external self, and in time it can feel less like an act and more like a different facet of their character. But there will likely always be some sense of disconnection, with a feeling that the internal self is the "true" self, which perhaps only a few close friends and family have access to, and the external self, which is what most people see, is only a mask.
This is a fascinating analysis of the introvert/extrovert thing.
I call myself an "extroverted introvert". I prefer not to engage in social situations that involve more than one or two people at a time. I can function very well in larger social situations, though, and don't feel like I'm "trying" at all. People who have only seen me in those settings tend to think I'm an extrovert.
However, it does exhaust me relatively quickly. Perhaps your explanation is why.
There was a documentary about one of the biggest party organisers in Denmark. He was a self described introvert, yet organised and invited the rich and the beautiful to big one-off club events.
If I remember correctly, he felt as an organiser, he already had a reason to talk to guests and as an organiser he always had an excuse to leave a conversation, which are basically two very common fears of an introverts who still wants social interaction.
Organizing parties and attending are very different things. A bit like directing a movie vs acting, taking pictures vs modeling, etc...
You can totally organize parties while being an introvert, it may even be a desirable trait, since a good part of the job is to hide all the gory behind-the-scenes details. For having staffed a few events, one of the thing I find most satisfying is when shit happens (sometimes literally!) and in the end attendees don't notice and leave happy.
Being shy doesn't mean you are silent. It means you have to use energy and courage to break that silence.
So while most people would say someone who doesn't dare to talk is shy, it is totally possible to still be shy and be the life of the party.
As an introvert who has zero stage fright and good talking skills: I am still an introvert. Being around people costs me energy, while for extroverts not being around people costs them energy. I would not be perceived as an introvert by most.
You're describing the popular usage of "introvert", but to me the definition of "shy" has always been about the demonstrated bahaviour and not the internal feelings.
I have a lot of resistance to go and meet people, break ice, try and engage in conversations even with people I know very well or supposed to work with on a regular basis. I feel drained afterwards and need a break after every meeting. The meeting itself usually goes well, and I am fairly engaged even if not the most talkative -- if the subject matter of discussion is my work or something I am reasonably interested in I might be the most vocal even -- and people who meet me (without knowing me and my preferences closely) might very well picture me as a "normal" or even an extroverted person.
But (I just came up with this thougt experiment:) if someone were to interrupt my social or professional meetings at any random point and give me a choice of either continuing or immediately going back to "me time" without any consequences -- I think I would choose the latter 90% or more of the time.
I was just visiting a friend and the exact opposite happened to me - she suggested I was reserved when I would describe myself as outgoing. It was an offhand comment on her part and I'm not given to introspection but it did make me think.
I remembered another friend who seemed entirely different depending upon his girlfriend being around or not. The thing that confused me was I couldn't figure out which version of this friend was the "real" version of him and which was an act - an act for the benefit of the girlfriend or an act for the benefit of the people who only knew him as he was without the girlfriend's presence.
They're both "real". People tend to modify their behavior according to who they're near. They aren't "faking it", though. It's that we tend to behave as those we are around behave. And, conversely, those people who are around us tend to behave as we do.
Once you notice this, you can't stop seeing it.
All versions of ourself is still the real us, though -- we're just emphasizing and deemphasizing different aspects of us according to the social situation.
I just accept a new job, in part, because people I knew from a previous job are so happy there. I'm afraid of the increased workload, but they are feeling the same increase, and I would have to believe we are extremely different to think that my experience making the same move won't be like theirs.
I always figured it was just human nature, I think it is something like.
Interacting with unknown people is slightly stressful, you feel this stress yourself but it is hard/impossible to see in others(unless they actually are really bad with interaction). so when self diagnosed most people will say they are introverts, or on the introvert side of the graph(they feel this way based on what they see). but when graded externally would be average or extroverted.
Yes introversion/extroversion is not binary or really even a 1 axis continuum.
Clearly it is multi faceted / multi dimensional or multi-layered. Like the concept of a persons personality having layers like an onion and few if any know your most interior true self layer.
My wife & I could be perceived as more/less introverted by situation. Work vs family vs friends, talking to known acquaintances vs talk to strangers and making new ones. Who is on social media vs who has 10 text groups of intimate friends they talk to throughout the week. Planning social gatherings vs complaining about plans and wanting to cancel.
Some of that phenomenon may be that people want to be considered shy. Like how people say they were a "nerd" in high school, so their current them is "but look at me now!".
"To me, clowns aren't funny. In fact, they're kinda scary. I've wondered where this started, and I think it goes back to the time I went to the circus and a clown killed my dad."
Almost all comedians are fucked up emotionally, it's kind of a truism. Only the most desperate for approval go through as much work, practice and humiliation it takes to occasionally get laughs
I do it for the challenge and community mostly. Comics are pretty funny and very inclusive. Delivering jokes to strangers takes a lot of courage, and as you said, to actually get laughs takes a lot of work, practice, and humiliation
I think this is similar to mistaken belief like there is link between "bipolar disorder and artistic ability".Kay Redfield Jamison proposes such a thesis. There is substantial number of artists who don't have bipolar as well large number of bipolar people who don't have artistic ability
"the distribution is the same" is a clear disproof of a link.
"substantial number who don't" and "large number of people who don't" is not disproof of a link.
A substantial number of people with cancer never smoked, and a large number of smokers don't get cancer. That sentence is completely true despite the strong link between the two.
Also I was specifically talking about the artists and bipolar claim, not clowns. But where is that info about the distribution of sad people? I don't see it in the article. Or was it a hypothetical?
On average everyone is the same. In reality everyone is very different. Science deals with averages. Believing in averages rather than one’s experience goes oft awry.
"A study conducted by Fisher found humour-orientated individuals likely to identify their mothers as demanding, unsympathetic and distant. They were seen as avoiding the nurturant role, commonly falling on the father to fulfil this role for the family.[21] "
Wow I didn't expect to read a wikipedia page written explicitly about my life today. Except in my case, my father didn't nurture either.
I never thought of my tendency towards humor as a tool for disarming family conflict, but it feels very accurate
Professional comedians are…. Well known to have issues. It’s not a type of direction someone takes if they’re able to get what they need from a normal life.
Just being funny != being a professional comedian.
What about someone who starts acting classes as a kid and naturally turns toward comedy?
Then again I understand that being compelled to trigger something in someone all the time (laughter) can be pretty demanding.
That's also an internal work of the mind and how to deal with one's thoughts and emotions, it doesn't have to be so stressful.
It's not just demanding, it's pretty anxiety inducing as the comedian has no direct control over if the audience will find it funny or not! It's basically the opposite of Stoicism, for instance. Their happiness/success depends on being able to make other people happy/laugh, which... yikes.
Do you have any examples of anyone who has done so long term?
Looking at the list of professional comedians, I'm not seeing any obvious examples.
A few do. Like actors and musicians. It’s a pretty short list in each field, and a lot of new talent start each year.
I’m not sure how much of that is network effects or what, if they did find a good way to balance it out long term?
When their private lives get exposed, it never seems like there was a good thing going there - but honestly, most people are pretty fucked up anyway, and if it bleeds it leads?
And who cares if someone is a cult headliner or part of a sex cult if they are sufficiently entertaining I guess?
The way I understand it is that humor is a defense mechanism. And it's notable that the people who get drawn to or perfect their humor until it becomes an art or profession might have a higher incidence of depression or other disorders. Perhaps because they found humor earlier and/or used it more during childhood.
It seems that misinformation when the crowd of low-life online celebrities who took the chance to relentlessly virtue signal "awareness of mental illness" around Robin William's death will never truly leave us.
He was depressed from being diagnosed with Parkinsons (ultimately diagnosed as Lewy body dementia) and feeling like he was already losing control of his mind while suffering severely with related complications for over the final year of his life, slowly escalating from signs he was actively seeking healthcare professionals to understand before he got a diagnosis.
Do you see a possible connection between feeling a loss of control with thoughts in your mind with a Parkinsons diagnosis and being depressed, or that he was depressed his entire life while holding an emotional front and the fatal diagnosis was just unrelated and no one could have seen it coming and that we need to be aware of the signs? It's so disrespectful to every party involved to chalk up what happened as something that couldn't have been noticed or prevented.
So, reading the comments.. there seem to be an internal and an external explanations to the paradox.
Internal explanations are that people who want to do comedy tend to be somehow messed up somehow.
External explanations are that the world itself is messed up, and if you want to do comedy, you have to understand it, and that makes you sad.
I think to determine which one is true, we should look at people curious about the world who don't do comedy, for example, scientists or activists. Are these often sad too?
> Comedians typically were in sad environments and coped by making people (and themselves) laugh.
According to Richard Belzer's wikipedia page, he "declared that his comedy career began when trying to make her laugh to distract her from abusing him and his brother". Which is may be an extreme case, but illustrative of what drives some people to comedy.
Sounds like every programmer I know, including myself. Either you feel like the dumbest idiot alive or literally the omnipotent god himself, and nothing in between.
Doesn't seem paradoxical to me at all. If you learn enough about the world, quite a lot of it turns into a big joke. It's a surreal feeling. Like nothing you do matters because it's all just an absurd joke.
I see it as reaching for a point it doesn't quite get to. It's pointing out that comedians are focused on opposites (up / down, good / bad, big / little), and they play with the contrast between extremes.
It echoes the section about internal / external contrast (happy facade, sad inside).
Yeah they really fluff the delivery of it though, basically give you the punchline first and then at the end reproduce a purposely bad retelling of it in full.
When I was at clown school, I realised that philosophy is totally wrong. We don’t like people who are perfect. We like people for their flaws. At the heart of clowning is something called “the flop”. That is, when something doesn’t work and it’s seen to not work, instead of going down into shame, working with the flop is looking at the audience and acknowledging it. Everyone’s acknowledgement is different - but in that moment of failure we’re all deeply connected. And the clown being ok with it is catharsis for everyone.
I think the clowning philosophy is something like: “When I make mistakes, people connect with me the most. But it has to be real. I have to enter with a dream, and when it falls apart they love me when they see my eyes”. Or something like that. I think I can’t quite articulate it yet.
Anyway, of course there’s a set of clear psychological traits associated with comedians. It’s not because comedians are uniquely messed in the head. It’s because connecting to others through failure is different from connecting to others through success. They can both be used as coping strategies. And both can be used to bring out the best in us.
It was quite the slap in the face for me to realise my perfectionism meant I was doing everything all wrong on stage. I cried a lot. But there’s also something beautiful in it. In having new ways to show up. I like it.