Honesty Gets The (Last) Laugh
Stop Putting On An Act (Comedy Mindhack #22)
Last night, I was watching a documentary on stand-up comedy titled Dying Laughing. It was candid, insightful, and well done. I hope to launch a new series on comedy resources soon and, when I do, I’ll dive deeper into gems like this. For now, however, I want to highlight one bit from the show.
A comedian was recounting how, during one of his first five-minute sets, he dressed as a character and went on stage. The crazy part: he didn’t get a single laugh until the final moment! So, what happened? Why did he get a laugh then? Because he stepped out of character into his normal self, looked at the audience, and said, “Well, this was dumb. I shouldn’t have done it.” Boom! The room exploded with laughter.
The takeaway here is simple: when you drop the act and speak truth, the audience leans in. This, by the way, is part of the reason I don’t even refer to my sets or shows as “acts” - because I’m not “acting”! I’m being me. The audience can smell inauthenticity a mile away. And when you’re not being honest about who you are, they pick up on it instantly and tune you out like a bad podcast.
The point is: this comedian realized that, as soon as he was himself, it was the one honest moment that got the laugh. This principle, of course, isn’t limited to comedy. In relationships if you fake confidence, the other person spots it. In business, if you pitch a product you don’t believe in, people will catch the whiff of desperation and pass. Even in therapy, the hardest breakthroughs happen when you admit the honest truth instead of spinning another excuse about this or that.
Today in church, I was put on to a story about G.K. Chesterton who wrote to the Daily News on August 16, 1905. He, evidently, was responding to someone called “Heretic.” Chesterton summed up what’s wrong with society in three simple words: “I am wrong.” Chesterton showed that honesty often starts with admitting where we fail. That admission is very often the raw material for comedy, too. The premise of a joke, after all, is a negative opinion, a declaration of what’s wrong. If you share what’s wrong from your own perspective, people recognize your authenticity instantly.
On stage, honesty is both your probe and your shield. You identify what bothers you and then convert it into a laugh. If you fake indignation about airline food or pretend to be a self-help guru when your life is a dumpster fire, the audience sees through you. But if you admit what you’re terrified of and open up about your awkward coping mechanisms, that vulnerability becomes a bridge to audiences’ laughter.
So, some simple advice: drop the armor. Whether you’re on stage or not, drop the armor. Embrace the truth, even if it’s ugly or embarrassing or downright messed-up. Let your audience meet you where you really are. That sincere moment is where the magic happens. And about this, I can say with confidence, “I don’t think I’m wrong.” Honestly, honesty gets the (last) laugh!