(2) What is it like to be incredibly funny?

Matthew Manning, I'm dashing. (- - - - - - -)

528 votes by Sara Pellicori, Richard Melman, Jason Thibodeau, (more)

Difficult to enjoy things. You constantly evaluate the irony of the situation you are in. It’s hard to purely enjoy something, you feel like a sell-out if you do. You want to enjoy things more, but can't help feeling this sense of self-betrayal if you give in completely.
Curious. You love nuance and idiosyncrasy. You note the small pieces that make up things, rather than searching for the “essence” of the whole – mannerisms, motives, motifs are your specialty.
A well-honed insight into people. You are highly self-reflective and, consequently, self-critical. You usually dig about six levels deeper than normal as you evaluate why you really feel or think a certain way. You have meta-analytical thoughts about your thoughts, and begin to consider the immovable nature of your thought processes as a whole. The alarming level of self-honesty attunes you not only to yourself, but also (deeply) to others.
Alienation/Isolation. Your mind is naturally wired for pattern-recognition. The recursive nature of social interactions, the mechanization of life choices, the strangeness of formality – all of it is very frustrating and confusing. Because people are averse to confrontation, you are often left with no choice but to point out the absurdity of these social tropes through humor. You just hope people don’t realize that you’ve told them to go to hell until after they’ve gone home.
Not so good at relationships. Partners often feel betrayed that the whole world gets to enjoy the gregarious and charismatic “you,” and they are stuck with the self-doubting neurotic version. To compound the problem, you are extremely sensitive – over-sensitive at times – and you often try to play two to three steps ahead of your partner, which leads to a lot of emotional misfiring.
Profound conversational agility. You feel as though you almost have an unfair advantage over others. You marvel at the difficulty that others have stringing together a few simple thoughts in conversation. You even feel sorry for some people as they make small talk with you, helping them along as they struggle to make a point or a lukewarm joke. You rarely meet a person with whom you can’t seamlessly engage, though you often wonder if you're being manipulative, and you're often bored. You consider that you should put this skill to better use, though you haven't figured that one out yet.
Profound divergent thinking capabilities. You are hypercritical of everything, and constantly evaluating the reality around you from multiple angles. Consider a blanket and a brick. How many ways could you use these two items to create something funny? A really funny person could probably think of about 20 different ways in a minute.
Profound emptiness. It’s a cliché, and it’s very often true. Most funny people develop their humor as a secondary social advantage because they weren’t able to gain advantage in the other categories (money, attractiveness, alpha-status). Humor was a way to make it to the inner-circles, but often at the cost of one’s self. You begin to wonder whether people love you for you, or for the show that you put on. You constantly wrestle with the duplicitous nature of yourself, and even begin to think of your humor as a mass deception that you propagate on anyone you meet.
Hurt. You know that you are funnier than other people around you; you control crowds with ease, people are in awe of how fast you string together different ideas and relate conversations back to their roots five stages later. You have a group of people in stitches for an hour. And then, just like that, you take a play off and they could care less. You didn’t earn anything. You were only useful as long as you could do that “thing,” and then it was over.
Gifted. You have this ability, this talent, this gift. You don’t know why your brain works the way it does, but at the end of the day, you get to make people happy by simply uttering words and gesturing. You bring joy to people’s lives, perhaps even at the cost of yourself. A lot of times, the cost is well worth it. Life is hard, sometimes it’s nice to just laugh.

I'm not a professional comedian, I'm just a funny person who has thought a lot about what that means and what it feels like. These things won't be true for all funny people, but I bet they're true for most of us.

I'm sorry if this wasn't very funny. I tried very hard to be honest.

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James Hesky, Comedian, kind of

47 votes by Sridhar Ramesh, Marc Bodnick, John Clover, (more)

While I don't really feel comfortable answering this on behalf of the "incredibly funny" people, I can at least give you an answer of what how working to become a comedian impacts your relationships and social interactions.

There are certainly some advantages. It's a lot easier to make jokes in conversation once you know how to interact with a crowd and craft jokes on stage, you get to meet and work with some famous people that you would otherwise have no business knowing, and there is no feeling in the world quite like having a great set and then have people come up to you after the show and tell you how much they liked it. But when it comes to dealing with your personal relationships, it can be more of a hindrance than anything else.

One of the biggest challenges for is that the best way to come up with material is just to constantly be thinking about what's funny about our every day lives. So for me I often times spend too much time people watching or over-analyzing every situation I'm in rather than just being in the moment and enjoying it for what it is. If I'm at a baseball game, I'm focused on stupid people in the crowd, or if I'm out to lunch with friends I'm thinking about material about people complaining about their food.

I try to compartmentalize my life so that there are times where I just don't think about material (like when I'm at work or at some sort of family function) but as soon as I start to get bored my mind usually drifts to trying to find the absurdity in the situation that I could make a joke out of.

The other thing that's hard is that it's a job that most people don't really understand, but are totally fascinated with and usually have some sort of concept of what they think "being a comedian" means. So as soon as someone at work or at a party finds out I'm a comedian, I usually end up having to spend a few minutes explaining to them that I have to spend four or five nights a week out at open mics or shows working on material and that crafting a joke is a long process. It's not like I can just go up on stage and start talking about my day and be funny every time.

For that reason I don't hide the fact that I'm working to become a comedian from anyone, but I don't advertise it either.

One of the other issues is that there is always a sense of insecurity that comes with being a comedian and that always bleeds into your everyday life. Comedians tend to be outsiders of some sort. It could be something like having anxiety, or some kind of weight problem, or your sexuality, or something about your beliefs not lining up with your family's beliefs or the cultural norms you grew up with. And on top of that, now we are doing something that is further outside the cultural mainstream by spending most nights out at bars and clubs rather than focusing on getting a promotion at work or spending time with a girl to finally settle down and get married.

Whenever you go home for the holidays, you start to learn that your story of what you've been doing is vastly different than everyone else's story about going to grad school or working their way up at their company. And even if everyone is incredibly supportive, it's hard not to feel different than everyone else. Despite the fact that that is exactly what we're shooting for, it's a bit unsettling nonetheless.

On the other hand, at this point about 90% of my friends that I see with any regularity are comedians, so we are able to bond over these things just like any group of people who work in the same field. We have our own social rules in some ways where we will purposefully take jokes too far, and we say the C word way more than we would around non-comedians (That may just be a Philly thing, but it does get said a lot to describe anything from another comedian, to a bachelorette party in the crowd, to a pen that won't work).

Plus, being freinds with comedians makes my facebook feed worth reading. Rather than seeing pictures of what someone at work ate for lunch, I just get to hear some of the funniest people in the area joke about whatever is going on.

So in effect, there isn't that much difference between comedy and any job that requires a lot of time and effort. I'm sure during law school that law students hang out with a lot of law students, and that after they graduate they hang out with the lawyers they work with. Just throw in some more anxiety and drinking and you have the life of a comedian.

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Andrew Luzincourt suggested edits to this answer:

While I don't really feel comfortable answering this on behalf of the "incredibly funny" people, I can at least give you an answer of what how working to become a comedian impacts your relationships and social interactions.

There are certainly some advantages. It's a lot easier to make jokes in conversation once you know how to interact with a crowd and craft jokes on stage, you get to meet and work with some famous people that you would otherwise have no business knowing, and there is no feeling in the world quite like having a great set and then have people come up to you after the show and tell you how much they liked it. But when it comes to dealing with your personal relationships, it can be more of a hindrance than anything else.

One of the biggest challenges for is that the best way to come up with material is just to constantly be thinking about what's funny about our every day lives. So for me I often times spend too much time people watching or over-analyzing every situation I'm in rather than just being in the moment and enjoying it for what it is. If I'm at a baseball game, I'm focused on stupid people in the crowd, or if I'm out to lunch with friends I'm thinking about material about people complaining about their food.

I try to compartmentalize my life so that there are times where I just don't think about material (like when I'm at work or at some sort of family function) but as soon as I start to get bored my mind usually drifts to trying to find the absurdity in the situation that I could make a joke out of.

The other thing that's hard is that it's a job that most people don't really understand, but are totally fascinated with and usually have some sort of concept of what they think "being a comedian" means. So as soon as someone at work or at a party finds out I'm a comedian, I usually end up having to spend a few minutes explaining to them that I have to spend four or five nights a week out at open mics or shows working on material and that crafting a joke is a long process. It's not like I can just go up on stage and start talking about my day and be funny every time.

For that reason I don't hide the fact that I'm working to become a comedian from anyone, but I don't advertise it either.

One of the other issues is that there is always a sense of insecurity that comes with being a comedian and that always bleeds into your everyday life. Comedians tend to be outsiders of some sort. It could be something like having anxiety, or some kind of weight problem, or your sexuality, or something about your beliefs not lining up with your family's beliefs or the cultural norms you grew up with. And on top of that, now we are doing something that is further outside the cultural mainstream by spending most nights out at bars and clubs rather than focusing on getting a promotion at work or spending time with a girl to finally settle down and get married.

Whenever you go home for the holidays, you start to learn that your story of what you've been doing is vastly different than everyone else's story about going to grad school or working their way up at their company. And even if everyone is incredibly supportive, it's hard not to feel different than everyone else. Despite the fact that that is exactly what we're shooting for, it's a bit unsettling nonetheless.

On the other hand, at this point about 90% of my friends that I see with any regularity are comedians, so we are able to bond over these things just like any group of people who work in the same field. We have our own social rules in some ways where we will purposefully take jokes too far, and we say the C word way more than we would around non-comedians (That may just be a Philly thing, but it does get said a lot to describe anything from another comedian, to a bachelorette party in the crowd, to a pen that won't work).

Plus, being freinds friends with comedians makes my facebook Facebook feed worth reading. Rather than seeing pictures of what someone at work ate for lunch, I just get to hear some of the funniest people in the area joke about whatever is going on.

So in effect, there isn't that much difference between comedy and any job that requires a lot of time and effort. I'm sure during law school that law students hang out with a lot of law students, and that after they graduate they hang out with the lawyers they work with. Just throw in some more anxiety and drinking and you have the life of a comedian.

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While I don't really feel comfortable answering this on behalf of the "incredibly funny" people, I can at least give you an answer of what how working to become a comedian impacts your relationships and social interactions.

There are certainly some advantages. It's a lot easier to make jokes in conversation once you know how to interact with a crowd and craft jokes on stage, you get to meet and work with some famous people that you would otherwise have no business knowing, and there is no feeling in the world quite like having a great set and then have people come up to you after the show and tell you how much they liked it. But when it comes to dealing with your personal relationships, it can be more of a hindrance than anything else.

One of the biggest challenges for is that the best way to come up with material is just to constantly be thinking about what's funny about our every day lives. So for me I often times spend too much time people watching or over-analyzing every situation I'm in rather than just being in the moment and enjoying it for what it is. If I'm at a baseball game, I'm focused on stupid people in the crowd, or if I'm out to lunch with friends I'm thinking about material about people complaining about their food.

I try to compartmentalize my life so that there are times where I just don't think about material (like when I'm at work or at some sort of family function) but as soon as I start to get bored my mind usually drifts to trying to find the absurdity in the situation that I could make a joke out of.

The other thing that's hard is that it's a job that most people don't really understand, but are totally fascinated with and usually have some sort of concept of what they think "being a comedian" means. So as soon as someone at work or at a party finds out I'm a comedian, I usually end up having to spend a few minutes explaining to them that I have to spend four or five nights a week out at open mics or shows working on material and that crafting a joke is a long process. It's not like I can just go up on stage and start talking about my day and be funny every time.

For that reason I don't hide the fact that I'm working to become a comedian from anyone, but I don't advertise it either.

One of the other issues is that there is always a sense of insecurity that comes with being a comedian and that always bleeds into your everyday life. Comedians tend to be outsiders of some sort. It could be something like having anxiety, or some kind of weight problem, or your sexuality, or something about your beliefs not lining up with your family's beliefs or the cultural norms you grew up with. And on top of that, now we are doing something that is further outside the cultural mainstream by spending most nights out at bars and clubs rather than focusing on getting a promotion at work or spending time with a girl to finally settle down and get married.

Whenever you go home for the holidays, you start to learn that your story of what you've been doing is vastly different than everyone else's story about going to grad school or working their way up at their company. And even if everyone is incredibly supportive, it's hard not to feel different than everyone else. Despite the fact that that is exactly what we're shooting for, it's a bit unsettling nonetheless.

On the other hand, at this point about 90% of my friends that I see with any regularity are comedians, so we are able to bond over these things just like any group of people who work in the same field. We have our own social rules in some ways where we will purposefully take jokes too far, and we say the C word way more than we would around non-comedians (That may just be a Philly thing, but it does get said a lot to describe anything from another comedian, to a bachelorette party in the crowd, to a pen that won't work).

Plus, being friends with comedians makes my Facebook feed worth reading. Rather than seeing pictures of what someone at work ate for lunch, I just get to hear some of the funniest people in the area joke about whatever is going on.

So in effect, there isn't that much difference between comedy and any job that requires a lot of time and effort. I'm sure during law school that law students hang out with a lot of law students, and that after they graduate they hang out with the lawyers they work with. Just throw in some more anxiety and drinking and you have the life of a comedian.

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Via Anthony Recenello.

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Anon User

28 votes by Jacob Dorn, Marti LaChance, Garrick Saito, (more)

Going Anon because I want to seem modest, and I'm much less funny on Quora than I am in real life. A little background: I am female, middle-aged, fairly geeky and socially awkward, and am mildly attractive in a Liz Lemon sort of way. By Liz Lemon, I'm talking about the character, not Tina Fey playing Liz Lemon. I too tend to get food stains on my shirts and dress in comfortable but probably less-than-flattering attire.

Anyhow, I'm the kind of person known for their witty comebacks and wisecracks. I'm good with one-liners, and more than occasionally find myself telling elaborate stories about mundane things to groups of people, who tend to stop participating in whatever conversations they were involved in to listen to me.

Many of my friends tell me I'm the funniest person they know. And I've also heard (probably apocryphical) stories about people going to see comedians and hearing my same story or wisecrack incorporated into their act. So if you accept my "credentials" as a funny person, read on:

ADVANTAGES:

You get an incredible sense of personal triumph and dopamine boost. Making a witty comeback in public, especially when you've just been insulted or patronized, is one of the awesomest feelings in the world. They call it a zinger, and that's what it feels like, zingy.
You have more fun at parties and social events. People love a funny story and a funny person. Even if they'd otherwise have nothing to do with that person. (Guys want to hang out with Liz Lemon but nobody wants to fuck her, at least not for long.)
You make friends more easily. Everyone wants a funny friend, it's true.
You are often the center of attention. However, this is a double-edged sword.

DISADVANTAGES:

You are often the center of attention. And what sometimes happens in these cases is that you'll suddenly realize it and freak out a bit. What usually happens with me is that I'll spontaneously and involuntarily let out a loud fart or fall over or do something completely embarrassing, as if my own body were turning on me. This may not be the case with other funny people, but it's been a problem.
In the event your joke falls flat, you're given less leeway and sometimes even experience open hostility. ("I can;t believe she dropped the ball on that one.")
Some people will be jealous of you. Usually these are people who, IMHO, wish they could be the center of attention a little more often. These people can be mean and catty, especially if they're drunk (parties are usually where funny people get the floor).
A certain type of man tends to find a funny woman unappealing. This sucks because funniness in men is highly valued, and helps make some men appear more attractive to women. (Yes, I know that tons of men consider Liz Lemon their ideal woman, but the Liz character is written that way for a reason. I bet even fucking Tina Fey has toned it down for the sake of her dating life.)

At the end of the day, though, the advantages far surpass any disadvantages. Besides, all a funny person needs to do to be un-funny is shut the hell up.

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Alec Beckett, Creative Director

11 votes by Zach Katz, Marti LaChance, Carlos Tobin, (more)

Christopher Guest is funny.*

*He's made some of the funniest movies of all time ("This is Spinal Tap","Best in Show".) He wrote some of the funniest skits ever on SNL (Synchronized swimming with Martin Short, "Don't Get Me Started..." with Billy Crystal.)

I was lucky enough to hire him on his first commercial directing job. He was pleasure to work with. But he never laughed and rarely smiled. The Holy Grail of our pre-production meetings became the attempt to say something funny enough to get a reaction out of him. Once I threw out an idea that got the table laughing, Mr. Guest simply said, "That's funny. Let's use that." It was as if he was an autistic comedy savant.

Over the course of the shoot I realized that he had dug so deep into the perfection of the comic form that he simply saw humor as an output that needed to be maximized. It was no longer actually funny to him. He had essentially squeezed all the joy out of it.

Yet the campaign turned out to quite funny (for college basketball on ESPN—couldn't find video but here is a descritpion http://www.adweek.com/news/adver... ) and won lots of awards.

But working with a certified comedy genius made me realize that I'd prefer to be a little less funny and a little more happy.

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David Stewart, not even the right wrong David Stewart

4 votes by James Hesky, Karen X. Cheng, Saad Rehman Shah, and David Antrobus

I would suggest it's often fairly isolating. I'm always struck by how many of the world's truly funny people struggle with issues of depression and have addictive personalities. Peter Cook, Spike Milligan, John Cleese, Woody Allen, Buster Keaton, Richard Pryor etc etc etc all made millions laugh but struggled with personal issues and were often faily miserable people.

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Avram Cheaney, Self perpetuating pattern

13 votes by Mike Barnard, David Marin, Raghuveer Gummadi, (more)

The only thing worse than the pain of being incredibly funny is the pain of being incredibly handsome, generous and wicked smart to boot.

The only thing that keeps me sane is my deeply heartfelt humility.

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5 votes by Max Nevill, Eryn O'Neil, Frstnm Lstnm, (more)

Upsides have already been mentioned: it's nice to make people laugh and enjoy themselves, and you get positive attention and feel better about yourself.

For me the downside is that, since I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, I need to think a lot about how my comments are being received. This is not natural for me and takes a lot of mental energy, which I don't always have.

1. I am not very good at knowing when people are sensitive about certain personality traits so I often unintentionally hurt people with my jokes, even though my humor is not mean-spirited and is usually self-deprecating.
2. I tend to make fun of people only about traits for which I respect them (such as mocking someone whose intelligence I respect for saying something dumb), but this isn't usually understood/accepted, even when I tell my friends that it is the case.
3. I have a dry sense of humor and am often in contexts where that is not common. Thus, I need to monitor closely whether people understand when I am joking.
4. I find detailed observations about small things funnier than others do, but I can't always tell when that's going to be the case. Sometimes people find these observations hilarious, but sometimes people think I just talk way too much about nothing.
5. Since I have great facility with language, people have often told me that when disagreeing with me or arguing with me, they just give up because they can't articulate themselves as well as me, even when they think they are right. Thus, the dialog ends and nothing gets resolved unless the issue comes up again, and they are often resentful.

One other consequence that is not obviously good or bad is that people usually think that I am extremely confident in every situation until they get to know me very well.

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Zain Shah Suggest Bio

4 votes by Logan Flatt, Jacob Dorn, Friedrich Markgraf, and Jazz Perry

I'm not certain I'm incredibly "funny" but I certainly am incredibly "punny". I can make a pun out of anything, and go on rolls when I make puns of every other word in entire conversations. Initially, I get laughs. The first pun, so long as it's moderately good, gets a great response, plenty of laughs and chuckles. However, once you've made the first, you get in this mood where your brain just automatically finds puns for everything. The second and third puns sometimes still elicit laughs, but more often praise for being exceedingly clever. Honestly, I'm astonished sometimes with how clever I can be so frequently. As it continues, you get less of the "very clever!" and more of the "how can you possibly be this clever?" or "how are you possibly coming up with these?". By the time the storm's passed, you've gone from hilarious to annoying.

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Terry LaBan, Cartoonist, etc.

3 votes by Lee Azzarello, Marty Lewis, and Charles Yang Zheng

Claiming to be "incredibly funny" seems to be a bit dickish, but I'd say I'm at least very funny and that it's in fact the characteristic that most defines me. I've made my living, such as it is, at humor for some 25 years now, though in print as a cartoonist and writer instead of onstage--performing in front of an audience holds no attraction for me at all. Interpersonally, however, I've met few people, alone or in groups,I couldn't make laugh and I actually don't feel comfortable in social situations until I do it at least a few times.
In my experience, being humorous has pretty much been an unmitigated good. It's true that it's very easy to cross the line that separates witty dinner companion from obnoxious asshole, but once you cross it a few times(ok, more than a few) you learn instinctively how far you can go. True also, as Matthew Manning says, the funny can feel intellectually superior and alienated from their less-entertaining fellows, But then, the unfunny often feel those ways too. It's well to remember that everyone has something special and that just because someone isn't as witty as you doesn't mean they aren't interesting or worthy of respect. Nor have I worried much about people just wanting to be around me because I'm funny--being funny is how the conversation starts and the real communication happens once we've all gotten over it.
As I've gotten older, I've become a lot more selective about when and where I'll take my funny out. I don't like to make myself the center of attention until I've gotten a good read on the situation, and I tend to hang back until I think the time is right. I want to enhance a gathering, not dominate or derail it, and I want people to respect me, not think I'm pathetic or insecure. Once I've got everyone laughing for awhile, I will drop it and let someone else have the floor. It's kind of like being a DJ, sometimes.
I will say that there are few things more enjoyable than spontaneously making people laugh. When I find myself making surprising connections, pulling witty lines seemingly out of the air, weaving a web of humour that envelopes an entire room, I feel like I'm connecting to an unseen reality that only I can reveal. It's not anything I do consciously--it just happens, and all of a sudden I'm surfing an interaction like a old Hawaiian king. Handsome people usually lose their looks and rich people often lose their cash, but barring brain damage or dementia, I'll always be able to do this. It most definitely doesn't suck.

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Nicholas Wolf, a student right now.

2 votes by Jacob Dorn and Chris Moe

It's not bad. I'd have to agree with everything Matthew Manning said. He's spot on. But there's one huge disadvantage that hasn't really been mentioned which is: Abstract things become funnier. And not everyone understands that.

A great recent example of this was when I was sitting watching the film 'The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou' with my girlfriend and some friends. There were many parts of the film where they would laugh. I knew why they laughed at it and it was funny! But it just didn't do it for me. I'd let out a light chuckle to fit in. I could have given an honest laugh but only if I purposely fooled myself into being slap happy.

However, there was one scene in the movie though that I found wildly hilarious and was in tears over. (Bill Murray and swamp leeches).

When I began howling in laughter (no one else was) everyone thought they missed something on screen (they consider me the funny one so...), they rewound it, watched it again, but still didn't see it. They rewound and watched again. Nothing. They did it again. They all said 'I don't see it' so I explained it to them with tears in my eyes and they laughed as I explained it, said 'oh okay' but their eyes never lit up like they understood. They were laughing at the fact I found it so funny. Not the material.

This is how a lot things go now. I can make others laugh but the things that I find really gut bursting are so absurd that I can only share them with other 'funny' people. It makes you feels disconnected (why don't they get this?) and your stuck doing jokes they get. Maybe one chance a week to share an absurd one that I love with someone. But for the most part all those jokes I keep to myself and just share the simpler ones. It causes me to see others as inferior (which is a thing bad obviously) and I have to try hard to realize that they aren't the weird ones, I'm just the absurd one.

sidenote: If you didn't get the video it's probably because a. you haven't seen the film, b. you were looking too hard, or c. i'm an idiot.

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Robert E Standefer III Suggest Bio

1 vote by Nicholas Wolf

I get accused of using humor as a defense mechanism, even when I'm not.

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Judy Brinkworth, I write two humor columns - one for t... (more)

1 vote by David Andrew Lloyd

Solving a puzzle - that's what being funny in writing is - getting the rhythm just right, the exact right words - editing it down so it works - it is such a rush when you know you hit the mark - nothing like it.

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What is it like to be incredibly funny?

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