When Do You Earn The Title "Comedian"?

Are You A Fraud Or Legit? (Comedy Mindhacks #115)

A few weeks ago, I felt out of place when I found myself at a high-brow social gathering eating heavy hors d’oeuvres while wearing a suit and tie. I was at a fancy table, the kind without chairs, the kind where you stand and eat. Within a couple minutes, a few folks pulled up to the table, stood across from me, and asked what I did. It should’ve been an easy question to answer. Do I tell them my full-time day job (professor) or do I tell them my part-time job that often feels full-time (stand-up comedian)?

It was the latter, being a comedian, that actually brought me to the event as the emcee. Looking back, I find my hesitation kinda fascinating. In that setting, to say I was a professor definitely held more prestige than saying I did stand-up comedy. But, again, I was there in the first place because of stand-up. So, here’s what I did: I led with, “I’m a comedian, but also a full-time professor.” It was right for the moment. Now, guess which one the folks standing at my table were more curious about? Stand-up, of course.

But if I’m only doing stand-up in a part-time capacity, even though at this point I only do paid shows, if it’s part-time am I “really” a comedian? Again, even though it often feels like a second full-time job, and even if all my shows are paid shows, is that enough to actually call myself a comedian? The more time I’ve spent around folks in the comedy world, the more I’ve realized I’m not alone in wondering what actually makes someone a comedian and when it’s fair to call themselves that.

I’ve met paid regulars who’ve been performing for years but still struggle with the label. They’ll tell you about their shows, their showcases, their road gigs, and their writing processes but then they’ll suddenly get shy when the word “comedian” enters the conversation. It’s as though someone else is supposed to hand them the title. That gets back to the question I just raised: When does a person actually earn the title “comedian”? Is it after their first open mic? Is it after somebody pays them twenty bucks and a plate of mozzarella sticks to tell jokes? Everybody seems to have a different answer, which is probably why the debate never ends.

The money argument sounds pretty convincing at first. It’s objective, measurable, and easy to understand. Somebody pays a performer to do comedy, therefore they’re a comedian, at least that night. The problem with that is: I’ve known unpaid comedians who were far more committed to the craft than some paid ones. I’ve also met people collecting checks who seemed less interested in getting better than the open mic folks grinding away three nights a week. So, I’m not sure money’s the definer.

I don’t think audience recognition solves the problem either. Some people argue that a person becomes a comedian when strangers know their name or buy tickets specifically to see them. There’s certainly something meaningful about that milestone but, of course, it’s another money argument. In my view, however, that sort of scenario creates a strange conclusion. It would mean that a comedian who’s crushing it in a local scene somehow doesn’t qualify until enough strangers become aware of him or her. To me, that seems silly.

What about milestones? Is it a first open mic, first paid gig, first feature set, or first headline weekend? The trouble is that every time a comedian reaches one of those markers, another one immediately appears behind it. The finish line keeps moving because somebody always seems to be farther ahead.

Here’s something I’ve noticed outside the comedy world: Writers often don’t feel like writers. Similarly, business owners often don’t feel like business owners and professors sometimes don’t feel like professors. Human beings, in other words, are very good at postponing identities they’ve already started building. They keep waiting for permission from people who aren’t even paying attention, which leaves them waiting forever.

Lately, I’ve started wondering whether this might be the wrong question altogether. Maybe the title “comedian” isn’t primarily about achievement, money, fame, followers, or recognition but simply commitment. Maybe it becomes “real” when the thing stops being something a person occasionally does and starts becoming part of they you are. When I look back at the comedians I’ve respected the most, very few of them seemed motivated primarily by status. They weren’t waiting for permission to write jokes or for permission to think, talk, and obsess about comedy. They did those things because comedy had already become part of their identity.

And right there’s where the conversation gets uncomfortable for a lot of folks. Most of us want a clear certification process. We want a panel of experts to review the evidence and officially declare that we’ve earned the title; we’ve graduated. With the exception of academia and a few other realms, much of life rarely works that way. Nobody handed me a certificate declaring me an author one day or a creative or a joke writer. Those identities emerged gradually through repetition, commitment, and time.

I think stand-up comedy works much the same way. Bombing once at an open mic doesn’t make someone a comedian any more than jogging around the block once makes someone a runner. There has to be repetition and persistence. There has to be enough investment that walking away would feel like abandoning something meaningful. That’s the standard I’ve gradually landed on.

In other words, the title “comedian” becomes real when quitting would feel like losing a piece of myself. By that point, comedy isn’t merely something I do on Tuesday night. No, comedy’s influencing how I think, what I notice, and how I experience the world. The identity has already taken root whether I’ve acknowledged it or not.

That’s why I no longer think the title is awarded by other people. It’s not awarded by bookers, audiences, club owners, or even fellow comedians. Those people may recognize it, but they don’t create it. The title emerges through sustained commitment. It emerges when the behavior becomes part of who I am.

And so, maybe that’s why so many comedians struggle with the question. They’re waiting for a moment that never arrives or for a milestone that keeps moving. They’re waiting for someone else to validate something they’ve already demonstrated. But comedians are some of the worst at validating one another. You don’t earn the title when someone else decides you have, when the check clears, or when your name appears on a poster. Whether you’re in venues with heavy hors d’oeuvres or greasy mozzarella sticks, you earn it when you can’t stop.

Hey, before you go, let me say “Thanks!” for reading. And, if you’d like to show some love, please order a copy of my new book. Here’s the link: Comedy Mindhacks: 100 Mental Shifts To Help Comedians & Creatives Succeed.

If you click HERE, you can see some sample pages. If you don’t yet subscribe to this site, you can still get a 10% discount at your purchase with the code: MH10LIVE. But, if you become a FREE Subscriber, you can automatically get a 15% discount.

If you sign up as a paid subscriber, I’ll send you a 35% discount. Also, when you join that inner circle, you’ll instantly unlock my entire premium comedy vault, including FREE access to one of my classes (see below) and access to “The Green Room” content.

But that’s not all, there’s way more:

• The Joke Writer’s Lab Video Course: Unrestricted access to my step-by-step joke writing course on Udemy.

• The Green Room: Access to all my private posts that look behind the scenes.

• The Comedian Spotlight: A feature and promotion to my entire audience in an upcoming newsletter!

• The Joke Blueprint Playbook: My 17-page manual for structuring your thoughts and polishing your jokes.

• The Premium “Round-Up” Newsletter: My exclusive weekly deep-dive delivered every Sunday.

• The Round-Up Repository: Full access to my private database containing every past and future newsletter.

👉 Click HERE to Upgrade Your Subscription & Unlock the Vault.