Creating "Opening Lines" in Stand-Up

(Show Clip Included)

Opening lines in the first scene of a movie or the first sentence of a novel or the first bar of a song are typically important because they set the tone, the pace, and they frame the audience’s expectations by preparing for what’s to come. Is that the case in stand-up comedy, too? From one perspective, an opening line can function like a comedian’s first handshake with the room, and like any handshake, they can be firm, awkward, gross (read: sweaty/clammy), weak, or completely unforgettable. But here’s the thing: what makes them so important is kind of also what makes them so challenging. There’s the old quip that you never get a second chance to make a first impression, and in comedy, that impression is made within seconds of stepping on stage and grabbing the mic.

Some comedians, I’ve noticed, skip opening lines altogether, and dive straight into their material. Others lean into the moment, greeting the crowd with a self-roast, a playful jab at the venue, or an out-of-left-field observation that throws everyone off balance in the best way. Then there’s the folks who argue that opening lines have become hack—a tired ritual we all go through because it’s expected. Is that true? I mean, audiences have heard the standard “What’s up, [city name]?!” or “Wow, this is a nice place—my parole officer would love it here” so many times that it’s easy for these lines to feel stale.

For me, however, thinking about opening lines isn’t so much about whether to use them or skip them. It’s about a) how to make them, and b) how to make the work. Should an opening line be about the people and place you’re in? Or should it be about yourself? From my experience, those two categories are the most common approaches, and each has its own challenges.

For instance, making an observation about the people or place you’re in can be gold, especially if you’re in a unique location or performing for a niche crowd. I was working a smaller, private venue once and that was the strategy I took. Just before the show started, I spoke with a former student of mine and noticed he had a crazy sunburn that made him look rather red. So, taking note of my surroundings, I opened not with a self-roast, but a light roast of him. But for that to work, I had to pay attention to everyone in the small audience, nothing their ethnicities. You can see a clip of the joke in the video just below. There’s not a roaring crowd or anything like that—maybe 20-25 people were there.

To do something like this requires some observation skills and, sometimes, a bit of quick thinking. The goal, as always, is to connect with the room in a way that feels specific and personal. That’s what I did. If you’re in a small town, for example, you might point out a quirky landmark or a funny anecdote about something you noticed driving in but you have to make sure you share your unique perspective on it; otherwise, it’ll possibly come of as hack because that’s what everyone says. If you’re performing in a venue that’s clearly seen better days, you might lean into the grittiness: “This place is great. I mean, it’s the first time I’ve ever performed comedy with a bucket of mop water on stage….”

The trick with observational opening lines is to walk a fine line between playful and mean-spirited. You want to poke fun at the room or the people in it, but not in a way that makes them turn on you before you’ve even told your first real joke. It’s less about roasting the audience and more about showing them you’re present, that you’ve noticed something about their world that you find funny. The best observational opening lines make the crowd feel seen, like they’re in on the joke with you.

The second approach—self-deprecating remarks about yourself—can also be effective. I have an opening line that has worked in some places but in others it gets almost nothing. In fact, the first time I used it was the best it’s ever landed. I won’t share it here because I want to keep it in my back pocket a bit longer, but it’s important to try to read the room and discern wether this joke or that joke, this opening line or that will work in a specific room or not.

But opening lines are where a lot of comedians shine because it’s a chance to establish their persona right off the bat or at least early in the show. Are you the lovable loser? The awkward outsider? The single parent who’s secretly or publicly falling apart? Whatever your comedic persona, an opening line that pokes fun at yourself can be the perfect way to let the audience know who you are and what they’re in for. But you can only play to that if you know your persona. In Nate Bargatze’s “Hello, World” special, a few minutes in, he does just that. He, of course, has the persona of a kind of dumb southerner though, really, he’s brilliant. In his show, he says something to the effect of, “Now, I say a lot of dumb things…” and then proceeds to tell a joke about how the brain has a smart part and a dumb part and the dumb part’s so dumb that the smart part can trick it. So, right after Bargatze tells us he says a lot of dumb stuff, he says something pretty clever, which creates a fun tension because we realize: he’s not so dumb, after all.

I grew up in a context where, literally, every day in the school cafeteria, from elementary school al the way to high school, we spent the lunch period roasting each other. That was fun. It seems second nature. Roasting others seems easy. But, for some reason, self-roasts are harder. They require a level of self-awareness that can be tough to access when you’re too close to your own flaws. It’s like trying to proofread your own writing—you can stare at the page for hours and still miss the glaring typo in the second paragraph. The things that are most obvious to other people about us are often the things we overlook. That’s why I think self-deprecating opening lines require either distance or a good sounding board. Ask your friends or family what they think your “thing” is. What’s the first impression you give off? What quirks or habits would they roast you for if given the chance?

So, how might we come up with some opening lines?

For observational lines about the people or place, we have to start by doing our homework. Arrive early and scope out the venue. Talk to the staff, the locals, anyone who can give you a sense of what makes this place unique. Read Yelp or Reddit reviews. Google Map reviews can be helpful, too. Look for the quirks, the oddities, the things that stand out. Maybe the bar has an absurdly specific drink special, or the stage is barely six inches off the ground. Maybe the town has a ridiculous slogan like “The Cabbage Capital of the World.” Whatever it is, find a way to make it funny and relatable without alienating the crowd.

For self-deprecating lines, start with what you know about yourself—or what others have pointed out about you. Whatever it is, lean into it. If you’re struggling to come up with ideas, think about the assumptions people might make when they see you. Are you the guy who looks like he should be giving a TED Talk instead of telling jokes? The woman who looks like she’s on her way to a PTA meeting? Whatever stereotype you think you’re projecting, flip it on its head and turn it into a punchline.

And if all else fails go right into your content or, perhaps, try some out-of-left-field remarks. These can be some of the most memorable opening lines because they’re so unexpected. They don’t rely on context or self-awareness; they just drop the audience into your world with zero warning. These lines are risky, but when they land, they land hard.

The bottom line is this: opening lines aren’t just a throwaway part of your set. They’re a chance to grab the audience’s attention, set the tone, and show them who you are. Whether you’re roasting the room, roasting yourself, roasting the area, or throwing out something completely absurd, the key is to make it feel authentic and from your unique perspective and from your point-of-view.