Aparna Nancherla is one of the most accomplished and respected standup comedians of her generation. But she has spent most of the past two years offstage, recording voiceover work and writing a book about imposter syndrome–the kind of “showbiz activities,” as she puts it, that can be done in a “cave.”
On this week’s episode of The Last Laugh podcast, Nancherla opens up about “commodifying” anxiety in her comedy and taking on the culture wars with her new animated Comedy Central series Fairview. She also discusses the challenges of writing jokes for Seth Meyers, the rewarding experience of playing Bojack Horseman’s daughter, and why Joe Rogan should stop hiding behind the “I’m just a comedian” defense.
“There’s definitely a strong introvert in me who is like, ‘Yes, less people, more cave!’” Nancherla says when I ask how the relative isolation of the pandemic has treated her. “But then it’s a slippery slope where I’m like, ‘I’m alone in the world. I need human contact.’”
Her upcoming book will feature a series of personal essays, “a very popular format for comedians,” she jokes. “The overarching theme is imposter syndrome, which has shown up in pretty much every area of my life,” the comedian explains. “At first I was like, ‘I’ll write a book about imposter syndrome and then I’ll prove to myself that I really can do anything!’ Instead it’s like, ‘Oh, you wanna write about imposter syndrome? That is the one way to make your imposter syndrome really, really loud.’”
In her half-hour special that streamed as part of Netflix’s The Standups series in 2018, Nancherla joked that anxiety is “finally on message,” adding, “If you’re an anxious person it’s kind of like: ‘Well, you know, this is what we train for. This is our Olympics. All those nights awake—it’s show time!’”
Of course, with a global pandemic, nationwide racial reckoning, and now the prospect of World War III on the horizon, the world has only grown more anxious in the four years since, making her words feel somehow both prescient and quaint.
“I feel like if anything, the bit has gotten more timely,” she says now. “You never think that will happen with the standup bit, but it’s like, ‘I should have come up with that now.’ It’s strange how much people relate to it the worse things become. It’s like, I'm sorry, but also thank you.”
Below is an edited excerpt from our conversation. You can listen to the whole thing—including stories about working on ‘Late Night with Seth Meyers,’ ‘Bojack Horseman’ and more—right now by subscribing to The Last Laugh on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Google, Stitcher, Amazon Music, or wherever you get your podcasts, and be the first to hear new episodes when they are released every Tuesday.
I feel like you, and other comedians as well, have normalized talking about anxiety in a way that we didn’t for a while. Do you feel that in the response from fans or interactions with people who are maybe getting something important out of what you’re saying on stage?
Yeah, I mean, honestly when I started talking about it, I didn’t even think I was doing anything that was out of left field or groundbreaking because I had watched comedians like Maria Bamford and Marc Maron and Patton Oswalt. And they had all been pretty forthright with their struggles with mental health. Maybe just by virtue of being a woman of color or something, it was coming at it from a new direction. But I do agree that since I’ve started talking about it, I definitely feel like it’s just kind of blown up, our willingness to discuss it as a culture. And I will say, not that I would ever say having these conversations is not valid, but there is a strange way mental health has almost become trendy to talk about on social media.
Is that weird for you?
Yeah, I think I have a tough time sometimes with just the way it’s been commodified, where I’m like, are we getting value from this? Or is this an opportunity to sell another mug?
Well, as someone who also experiences anxiety, I find it relatable. And I think there is something about hearing someone else talk about it in a public way that is helpful. Do you feel like it’s helpful for you to talk about it? Does it make you less anxious to talk about anxiety?
I’m going to be controversial and say that I think the more I talk about anxiety, the worse it makes it feel. The more I feed on my anxiety, the more it feeds off of me. The more airtime I give it in my life, the more airtime it seems to think it has in my brain. But then weirdly [with] depression, I feel the opposite, where the more I talk about it, like, it feels less isolating. I don’t know why they kind of work against each other. I’m not saying I should talk less about it, but I have to be careful about how much I’m letting it take ownership over me.
The other thing that stood out from watching a bunch of your standup from over the years is that, especially earlier on, you used a lot of self-deprecation onstage. And this is something that came up with Hannah Gadsby a few years ago, where she started talking a lot about how she wasn’t going to do that anymore. She felt it was harmful in some way. I know you used to open with the line like, “I’m surprised I’m a comedian too.” What did that mean to you? Why do you think you did that? And is that something you’ve thought about differently as time has gone on?
Definitely. I think when I started there were other comedians in marginalized groups in the scene, but maybe they weren’t having the moment they’re having now, where people really are making a stand to have other stories told. And I think the internet just democratized things in a way with some of those voices coming more forward. But I think when I started, there was still this idea—I mean, I started in D.C., and not that it’s a homogenous town, but I think many standup scenes [are] still dominated by men, and primarily straight white men. And so I think if you didn’t fit into that box, you had to kind of be like, here’s my deal. Before you could even get into your material, you had to sort of explain yourself to the audience. And I didn’t really want to dwell on it. So I was like, what’s the most concise way I can get this over with? But I think you’re right. In the years since, I’m like, why do I feel like I have to apologize for who I am or spoon-feed myself to a group? Now people have the ability to start in the middle of the conversation where it’s like, we’re already here, you don’t need me to explain who I am to you.
Yeah, I think a lot of comedians would, and probably still do, make some comment about their appearance when they first get onstage.
I think it’s also like comedy 101. “I know what I look like.” It’s an immediate way to connect.
Do you feel like you did consciously stop doing some of that stuff at a certain point?
Yeah, I think so. I just was like, this is not fun for me to write or say anymore. And I think there is a savviness now where audiences are like, we don’t need to hear that. But I also think my interest in telling it comes across as lower, so it just doesn’t play as well when I try to go in that direction. Because it’s clear that I’m not into it anymore.
Another big conversation going on in the comedy world right now has to do with Joe Rogan and the debate over what a comedian’s “job” is. How do you think about that, just in terms of, is there a responsibility to be “dangerous” as a comedian?
Well, I think it’s tricky being like, “Joe Rogan’s a comedian, he’s not responsible if people take him seriously or who he interviews seriously,” because I don’t think his podcast brands itself as just a comedy podcast. It’s not like, we’re just shooting the shit and telling jokes. Not that you’re not a comedian when you reach a certain platform, but I think to have the platform and influence and then to still say you’re questioning authority when in a way you have become an authority—it’s a little dicier to just be like, “He’s speaking out against the mainstream” when he’s reaching more people than some mainstream media.
Than pretty much all mainstream media.
So is he really still an underdog? I would say that’s questionable.
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