(Ipromise it’s worth it) Reading time: 8.27

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Hey Reader,

Standing at the side of the stage, waiting for the EmCee to announce me, I think I started to hyperventilate. My soul definitely abandoned my body and headed for a corner of the ceiling to watch so it could claim to have nothing to do with the disaster about to happen. “You’re on your own, mate,” it hissed. “This is a batshit thing to do. Sayonara, doofus.”

Ten minutes later, my soul rejoined me and tried to take all the credit for my first ever stand-up comedy set which was NOT a disaster and which got me an invitation to perform at another comedy night and a LOT of lovely compliments from the audience afterwards.

What a rush.

And since then I’ve done dozens more sets all over the Midlands. Every single time I think I’m going to throw up and there’s a non-zero chance that I might pee my pants… and every single time it’s not a disaster. Sometimes it’s even bloody good.

So, why am I doing this to myself, you might ask. And people DO ask, because they “could never.” It’s considered very brave. And it is, I guess. We are standing on a stage, asking a roomful of strangers to listen, to empathise, and to not throw rotten fruits at us and eject us from the building, the country, the planet, and the solar system.

I do it because it’s fun. It’s a challenge. All of that.

And because it’s one of the best ways I know to connect with people fast, and get feedback on my writing in real time. There’s nowhere to hide onstage. You learn fast — and brutally — whether what you have to say works and if people understand you. When I write articles like these, I often don’t really know how they land. Do people get it? Does it move them? Does it change their worldview in some way? Inspire them to act? Make them laugh? Make them think?

I don’t know. Sometimes people reply or leave comments and that’s great; but mostly people read it silently and go about their day. Which is fine! But doesn’t tell me much, beyond they didn’t hate it enough to unsubscribe.

Getting in front of real people, though, gives us instant feedback — from the facial expressions, the shufflings and fidgeting, the laughter (hopefully) and the groans. And from the conversations I have afterwards.

Of course I love to make people laugh. There’s so much power (THE POWER, I’M DRUNK WITH IT!!!) in holding a roomful of strangers in the palm of your hand and making them laugh when you WANT them to laugh; making them feel disgust or embarrasment or delight or annoyance when you’ve directed them to do so. That’s very cool, and if you can do it, you have a lot of possibilities open to you.

(Please use your power for good, not for evil, friend!)

But my favourite part of a successful stand-up comedy set is the part afterwards, when someone from the audience will come up to me and say, “Thank you so much for sharing that. I relate so hard to your struggles to socialise. I thought I was the only one.”

Or, my personal favourite, that made me cry in public (FFS): “That was amazing. So interesting. Thank you SO much. I feel like you’ve opened a window and now I understand my wife much better than I did before.”

(His wife is autistic, too, and he wants to support her as much as he can. She’s got a good one there.)

So what’s going on here? How do we get from laughter to… whatever this is?

How do we bring people together when everyone is feeling so disconnected and lonely — because isn’t that the whole point of [gestures wildly] all this?

Well, I’m glad you asked, because this is SO interesting. Buckle up. We’re heading back in time to our distant hominid ancestors.

Laughter as an evolutionary bonding tool

Evolutionary psychologist Robin Dunbar of Oxford University conducts research into anthropoid primates and found that social grooming is the main mechanism that creates social bonding. But it imposes an upper limit on group size, because there’s only so much time for the apes to groom each other. His research proposes that when early humans needed to form larger groups for protection, shared resources, and suchlike, they co-opted laughter as a form of “chorusing” to fill the social grooming gap. He shows that human laughter regulates and increases the brain’s endorphin system and increases the bonds between humans who laugh together.

We know this to be true from experience, too. Think about how infectious laughter can be: one person starts and often others will join in without even knowing why. And think about the delight we feel when we find someone who loves a comedian as much as we do, or finds the same movie or TV show just as funny, or shares a meme that cracks us up. It’s not just the funny thing, it’s the shared experience.

When everyone in a group laughs together, everyone present gets the same neurochemical reward at the same time — which means laughter is about three times more efficient than grooming when it comes to creating group bonds.

This is very exciting when we consider how divided we all are now.

There’s hard biochemical evidence that this is true, too. Dunbar’s colleague, Professor Lauri Nummenmaa says: “endorphin release induced by social laughter may be an important pathway that supports formation, reinforcement, and maintenance of social bonds between humans.” And it spreads, as I’ve noted.

It’s not just endorphins, either — laughter releases dopamine and oxytocin, too. Oxytocin is the bonding hormone that nurtures trust, empathy, and connection. All of these neurochemicals are the reason we feel warm and fuzzy and like we belong when we’re all laughing together at a comedy night or in a movie theatre or just in a group of friends.

Stand-up comedy as social lubrication

As for live stand-up comedy performances specifically, a University of Surrey study found something very interesting. Research by Tim Miles published in the journal Comedy Studies found that watching live comedy increases emotional interaction and bonding between spectators and performers, and enhances feelings of trust and intimacy through the shared experience.

I have already seen this in action from my conversations with audience members after my sets, so it’s really cool to see research done. Miles found that comedians and audience members connected through sharing feelings of admiration and empathy. The audience begins to bond with the comic as they start to identify with their stories, observations, and experiences. And then they begin to see things differently.

Laughter creates safety, lowers defensiveness, and breaks tension. And that lowering of inhibitions opens us to new information and makes us more likely to consider a point of view we might not have considered before. It brings us into the conversation and makes us a part of it.

My job as a comedian — and a writer — is to share my stories in such a way that they’re about YOU, the reader. Or at least, you need to be able to see yourself in them.

As Miles says in the journal: “Comedy has often been seen to be a bit frivolous, but it’s actually something really important. My work has shown how live stand-up comedy fulfils a need for feelings of truth, trust, empathy and intimacy between people, which is really important in a society where many people often complain about feeling isolated.”

Amen, brother.

Humour creates social bonding and it does something else crucial, too: reduces psychological tension. In fact, the whole premise of comedy is based on creating and then releasing tension. Stand-up comedy is — and always has been — much more than entertainment. It’s a form of social commentary where comedians address political, personal, and cultural topics in a very specific and “safe” way. We get to challenge norms, speak out about injustice, and create shared cultural experiences.

We get to change minds and show people a new way of looking at something, without berating and browbeating them into doing so (which almost never works anyway).

Making connections and building empathy

Perhaps the most exciting and important part of comedy for me, though, is the empathy piece. And this is relevant for writing, movie-making, podcasting, music, art… anything you can think of.

Research shows a clear link between comedy and empathy, but the type of comedy matters. The kind of comedy that builds connections — observational, self-aware, and inclusive — requries and develops empathy, and allows the audience to feel a kinship with the comedian and see things in a new way. The kind of comedy that tears people down — that punches down — doesn’t. It divides us.

This matters. I’m not here to tell anyone how to do comedy; that’s up to them. But the type of comedy I create and enjoy is all about building bridges and making connections.

​A study from the Czech Republic on migrant populations explored successful integration strategies, and comedy made an appearance. The research found three ways stand-up comedy can foster relationships between migrant and indigenous populations: community building and a sense of belonging; acquiring cultural competency from the host culture; and fostering inter-cultural understanding.

In other words, it helps migrant populations feel more at home more quickly, it brings people together in community, and it helps both populations understand each other. All of which are crucial if we want people to live together happily and safely.

One example is jokes about local culture (and this is something I do at new venues — I’ll research the area and find out interesting facts about it) — these jokes create a shared understanding about a shared location. Migrants can share their observations, and locals can recognise those observations, and everyone can laugh about it. That’s a simplification, but you get the point.

All of this cool stand-up comedy stuff is also relevant to writing. Whether we’re using humour in writing or not, the point of all of this is connection. We’re saying, “Here’s how I see the world. Maybe you see it this way too?” We’re inviting people into our worlds for a moment and asking them to try it on for size, which is an act of generosity and peace and goodwill.

As Margo Aaron says:

Amen to that.

What are you willing to give, and sacrifice, in service of your audience and your bigger point?

Writing — and comedy — is a way for us to reach out to people we might not otherwise meet. People who might be massively helped by hearing our stories, but are separated from us by time and space. But to do that, to share generously, we have to allow ourselves to possibly maybe make a huge fool of ourselves. We have to open ourselves up to rejection if we want to invite people in.

Taking that risk isn’t primarily about becoming a better writer or killing perfectionism; it’s because someone out there needs to hear your specific story and they won’t, unless you’re willing to look daft in public.

Comedy is a great way to get to that place of empathy and generosity of spirit because it forces you to take your point and expand it. That’s how we connect with others. You don’t have to get up on a stage to do it, but you do need to find a platform and share your truth.

TTFN,

Vicky 🫡

p.s. Stand-up comedy is just one of the tools I bring to my book coaching, and one of my superpowers and favourite things to do is show clients exactly how their story can be used in service of a universal point that will change someone’s perspective — and maybe their life. I’ve got 3 slots for a Book Breakthrough: Unlocked session in August and this is where we do that foundational work that enables you to go away and write that book.

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