The Relief of a Queer Audience as a Fruity Stand-Up Comic
Explaining one’s existence takes up time.
I’m a stand-up comedian.
Last week, I did some comedy at a queer-run, queer-centred open mic — suddenly, a twelve-minute set fit into six, because I was in a room full of queer people who knew exactly what I was talking about.
I didn’t have to take time to explain what bears, twinks, and otters are; I didn’t have to make sure everyone had a working understanding of what Grindr is; I could make puns and little quips that because of the sheer cultural gap, a cis straight audience just wouldn’t be equipped to understand.
In front of straight audiences, I often mention RuPaul’s Drag Race — in front of queer ones, I’ve never even thought about it.
There is an unfortunate rule in stand-up comedy that basically every marginalised stand-up comic has experience of, and knows that they often have to follow in rooms where they’re the minority, and even in many rooms where they’re not.
Comedy is the art of creating tension, and then breaking it. The essence of a good punchline lies in surprising the audience — they laugh because they didn’t see the joke’s culmination coming.
