Finding Your Comedic Persona/Voice
It Doesn’t Have To Take Five Years
In the comedy world, there’s this unwritten rule, practically folklore, that finding your comedic voice or persona takes five years. Five years. Like there’s some kind of punchline puberty. I have no idea where this number comes from. Did some legendary comic say it once, and everyone just decided it sounded official? Did the Comedy Bureau issue a memo? Who knows. It feels more like an arbitrary gatekeeping tool. A way for seasoned comics to nod knowingly at each other while subtly telling newcomers, “You’re not there yet.”
On one hand, I get it. Comedy takes time. Reps. Growth. Painful silence followed by moments of absolute triumph. But on the other hand, I don’t think you can slap a number on it like you’re trying to slow-cook a turkey. For one thing, what even is five years? Are we talking five years of open mics? Five years of headlining? Five years of sitting at home staring at a blank notebook? It’s vague, it’s reductive, and honestly, it’s not helpful.
Here’s what I think: finding your comedic persona or voice is less about a set timeline and more about figuring out who you are right now. Because the truth is, your persona—your voice—isn’t static. It shifts. It evolves. It grows with you, bends with your circumstances, and adapts to your experiences. Life happens, and your comedy changes with it.
So, instead of asking, “What’s my comedic persona/voice?” maybe the better question is, “What’s my comedic persona/voice in this season?” What defines you in this moment? What’s funny to you right now? What’s driving your perspective, your humor, your storytelling? By reframing the question, you give yourself room to explore, experiment, and—most importantly—be honest.
For me, this realization came after spending the last year deliberately thinking about my voice. It’s not just “what’s funny,” but “what’s funny through my lens?” And let me tell you, answering that question has been a game changer. But it wasn’t just something that came to me in the shower (though, let’s be honest, a lot of decent material does). It took intentional effort, guidance, and the insights of two comedy thinkers: Mike Lukas and Steve North.
Mike Lukas’s work introduced me to four questions that helped me start digging into my comedic persona. They’re deceptively simple but surprisingly revealing:
What personal truths define me?
What topics in life make me laugh?
How do people who know me describe my humor?
When am I at my funniest?
Answering these questions felt like peeling back layers of an onion—an onion that sometimes made me laugh and sometimes made me cry. They forced me to get real about what drives my humor and what makes my perspective unique. And no, I’m not going to answer them here because, frankly, I want you to do the work yourself. But I will say this: if you’re honest with your answers, they’ll point you in the right direction. They primed the pump for me.
After working through Lukas’s questions, I wanted to go deeper. So, during the ‘24 Black Friday sale, I bought a six-month subscription to NextStepForWriters.com. Yes, I went full nerd. The software helped me flesh out my persona in excruciating detail. Like, 17 pages of detail. It wasn’t just “I’m funny because…” It was “Here’s every nuance of my comedic worldview, down to how my character would react in specific situations.”
It’s not for everyone, but for me, the structure was invaluable. It gave me a framework for turning abstract ideas into a concrete persona. And if you’re serious about comedy—or writing in general—it’s worth checking out.
With my findings from Lukas and Next Step in hand, I moved on to Steve North’s framework. North breaks the persona/voice question into four core elements:
What is my (read: my character’s) major flaw?
What is my (read: my character’s) blind spot?
What is my (read: my character’s) attitude?
What is my (read: my character’s) agenda?
These questions were like the final polish on the diamond. They forced me to confront not just what makes me funny, but what makes me me on stage. For two weeks, I revisited these questions, tweaking and refining until everything clicked. By the end of it, I had a clear sense of my comedic voice or, at the very least, a much clearer sense than I’ve ever had.
Having a defined persona has revolutionized my joke-writing. I no longer throw darts at a board hoping something will stick. I write from a specific, focused perspective, and that perspective shapes everything—from setups to punchlines to callbacks. It’s like having a filter for the chaos of life. Without it, you’re just noise. With it, you’re telling a story.
Here’s the kicker: it didn’t take me five years. It took effort, yes. Time, yes. But there’s no magic timeline. There’s no secret sauce. Your voice doesn’t show up with a stopwatch in hand saying, “Well, you’re only four years in—come back later.” You find it when you start looking for it. And you refine it every time you step on stage, every time you write a joke, every time you bomb and think, Okay, what went wrong? It’s a process, not a deadline.
If you’re in the process of finding your comedic voice, give these frameworks a shot. Ask Lukas’s questions. Dig into North’s. Use the “Next Step” platform. Whatever you do: Be honest, and don’t be afraid to get specific. If you need structure, find tools that work for you. And most importantly, stop worrying about how long it’s supposed to take. Your voice isn’t hiding from you—it’s evolving with you.
This is just how I did it. Your journey will be different, and that’s fine. But wherever you are, remember this: your comedic voice is an extension of who you are. The more you lean into that truth, the closer you’ll get to finding it.
And when you do, you might just find that it’s not about the voice you discover—it’s about the voice you’re living right now.