There’s No Crying in Comedy
There’s No Crying in Comedy
Haha, wow, that’s SOOOO funny…
Contrary to every joke I’ve made in this newsletter, I’d like to think I’m a fairly funny person. Or, if nothing else, at least a good judge of comedic value.
When I was a sophomore in college, I gave what (in hindsight) was a solid speech to the potential new members on the final night of sorority recruitment for my chapter, in which I said, “I’m a big believer in two things: fate and comedy specials.” This sentiment stands: while I may not be the funniest girl in the chicken coop, I do know funny when I see it.
We get into some heavy conversations here at E4P but, at its heart, this newsletter will forever be an excuse for me to be incredibly nosy and pry into the lives of people I think are really cool. I did just that this week as I wanted to talk with someone who is indisputably funny about comedy, her craft, what she has learned about both herself and the industry throughout her career, and what she’s working on next.
I think everyone who knows me aside from today’s guest knows I’ve been desperate for her to like me since we met, so having Lincoln Anderson on to talk about comedy is a big win for me—you’re all invited to enjoy the conversation, too, I guess.
Hi! My name is Lincoln Anderson. I’m a 24 year old stand up comedian and comedy writer. I currently live in Los Angeles and I work in reality TV. My dream is to become a sitcom writer, and one day have my own adult animated TV show. I’ve been performing and writing comedy since I was 18, and I recently filmed a 30-minute stand up special that’s coming out this week!
Funnier Girl
As I assume everyone does, I often pretend that I’m being interviewed on a late-night show in the shower. I love sharing my origin story and what it was really like working with Chris Evans on the set of our Oscar-bait film before we fell madly in love.
Outside of the shower, though, I actually have the opportunity to ask others their own origin stories:
Emily: What has your journey into comedy writing and performing looked like?
Lincoln: When I got to college (NYU film school) I had no idea what I wanted to do. In class, we had to go around saying our favorite movies. I said super normal answers and everyone else said the weirdest, most niche film kid responses you could think of. I started to feel like I didn’t belong there and even thought about transferring.
That summer, my boyfriend broke up with me and all my friends went home. I was stuck in the city alone and was watching a lot of stand-up specials to feel better. One day something clicked and I realized this was something I wanted to do. It’s something I’ve always been good at, and I love making people laugh.
I started going to open mics by myself, at bars I wasn’t even old enough to get into—I had to use a fake ID every time I wanted to perform. When the summer ended, I started my sophomore year with an entirely new outlook. I started writing funny scripts that people actually enjoyed. Since then, I feel like my life has had a real path.
Emily: What role does comedy play in your life?
Lincoln: Comedy is the only career I want to have, so it’s the most important thing in my professional life. Even if everything else in my life is great—friendships, health, money—I would be so miserable if I didn’t have a comedic outlet.
When I’m feeling sad and hopeless about my career, it always cheers me up to write something funny, do an open mic, or even just watch something funny on TV.
As a kid, my mom worked nights and I did not have the best relationship with my dad (to put it lightly) so comedy—and specifically cartoons—felt like a parent to me. It sounds sad but I think it also gave me the sense of humor I have today.
I mean: happy childhood or being funny as an adult? Both have their pros and cons.
Emily: Who are some of your comedic inspirations?
Lincoln: I’m a huge fan of Tim Robinson and Sam Richardson. I recently watched their sitcom Detroiters and it’s the exact type of show I strive to create in my own work. The combination of bizarre humor with very traditional, sitcom, “lesson-learning” structure is my favorite.
I’m also a sucker for John Mulaney as many people are. I saw his most recent tour, and I connected with it a lot. I’ve noticed a big portion of his fan base has been very unforgiving about his struggles with addiction. As someone who has hit rock bottom many times myself, I love his honesty and ability to joke about such a dark topic.
Right now I’m reading Bob Odenkirk’s book which I’m loving as well. I think he has such a great comedic delivery, and he brings a massive amount of heart to every character he plays. It’s really interesting to me how he transitioned from zany sketch comedy to the serious roles he plays on Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul—without losing the funny charm that makes him so likable.
Despite this being the case every time someone looks at “the percentage of women in X, Y, and Z space,” I’m personally still always shocked by the actual breakdown of things: the most up-to-date statistics on the number of women writing for television and film are from 2020, published by Women and Hollywood, and found that
Women were 35.2% of development/pilot writers and of 29.6% of screenwriters.
BIPOC women made up 9.9% of development/pilot writers and 9.6% of screenwriters.
Women writers increased from just 17.2% of screenwriters in 2010 to 29.6% in 2020.
Additionally, a 2018 article in Chortle—a comedy publication from the UK—looked at a report from the Writers’ Guild of Great Britain and found that “just 11% of TV comedy shows are written by women.” The DataFace, a publication focused on crafting data-based visual stories, analyzed “12,300 episodes written by 2,267 unique writers” from the 100 top-rated shows on IMDB in 2018. They found that
52% of all the episodes we analyzed were written without a single female writer, while fewer than 1% of episodes were written without at least one male on staff.
On average, shows attributed 81% of their writing credits to male writers. Twenty-three out of the 100 shows attribute a staggering 95% or more of their writing credits to males (X).
Statistics like these are not only baffling and insulting but incredibly intimidating. As I’ve freely confessed here before, I have difficulty calling myself a writer even as I’m writing this now and I’m not even in the comedy world by a long shot. You truly have to have metaphorical balls to make it as a woman in comedy, and I do mean that with respect to trans writers and disrespect to that blue blob in the graphic.
Taking all of this into account—Lincoln’s convictions, these atrocious stats, and my need for personal inspiration from all of my guests—I asked:
Emily: When did you feel confident calling yourself a writer or a performer, or did you always feel that way?
Lincoln: I definitely always called myself a writer! As a kid, I used to write these horrifying scary stories that my mom would show to all her friends. (In retrospect they were probably like, “Um???? Everything okay at home????”)
But as far as performing, I feel like I’m only now truly comfortable calling myself a stand-up. When my friends used to tell people I did stand up I would get kind of embarrassed because I wasn’t really performing much. I hadn’t really earned it. After doing that 30-minute special I feel like I’ve earned it.
Emily: Do you see yourself as more of a comedy writer or performer or a mix of both?
Lincoln: I think a mix of both. I used to say I was just a writer, but I really do get a lot out of performing. As a writer, I feel like I’m allowed to say this: a lot of writers are kind of assholes. I think it’s because writing can be such an isolating profession.
Stepping out of that comfort zone and performing for an audience—being able to share your writing with the world—is such a humbling experience, and I love seeing how passionate performers are about it. So I’m trying to be more of a mix.
I thought about trying to ultimately answer the age-old “just playing devil’s advocate here” question of why some people still refuse to believe women can—get this—be funny (which is, in fact, actually ultimately answered by this Vox visual article from last year). But then I realized we have more important and light-hearted things to talk about here today, starting first and foremost with:
Inside Lincoln Anderson
I do want to just pause here and say this section title is a play on Inside Amy Schumer and not something pervier. Heads out of gutters, people. Look alive.
I met Lincoln through her boyfriend, Dylan, and I met Dylan through trauma bonding in high school. We as a society don’t talk about it much but I think meeting someone through their partner before you’re introduced in person might be one of the best ways for us to meet one another—you first get to know the person from the perspective of a person who loves them.
I think, because of this, I’ve always been a little obsessed with Lincoln. I don’t want to Single White Female her or anything—I just think she might be one of the coolest people I know.
Before this segue gets any creepier, I asked Lincoln:
Emily: How do you approach writing comedy, and does that differ from how you approach performing it?
Lincoln: I write in pretty much the exact opposite way that I was taught in school. Rather than making an outline and working down, I go backward. I have a note on my phone full of random jokes. When I decide I want to write something new, I pick a joke and form a story around it. I think my screenwriting teachers would have a heart attack if they knew this.
Sometimes I take these jokes and write them for stand-up instead which is a slightly different approach, because I really try to nail the punchline extra hard with stand-up writing. But I’ve had jokes that I’ve used in both scripts and stand up, so it all comes down to whatever dumb stuff is written in my phone! I think if my phone was stolen, my career would crumble like the ancient city of Pompeii.
Emily: Do you have a stage persona? If so, how does it compare to your own identity?
Lincoln: I used to do this really quiet, awkward voice, but it doesn’t get the laughs that my real voice does. So now my persona is a lot more like the real me. I definitely lie about stuff though. A lot of my jokes have a true setup and a fictional punchline.
Emily: What was it like to perform your recent 30-minute special? How did it differ from your previous performances?
Lincoln: I was so nervous about this special, but it ended up being the most fun performance of my life. I loved not being constrained to the usual 5-minute time limit. I was able to tell longer-form, storytelling jokes that I’d never told on stage before.
Honestly, I just really felt like I could be me and tell the stories that make me laugh rather than the quick, punchy jokes that I cram in during open mics. I felt super connected with the audience which is so rare for up-and-coming comedians.
Emily: What project are you working on next and what inspired you to create it?
Lincoln: We’re actually filming a short I wrote in late March! It’s about a girl who sells feet pics online for a living—and she accidentally ends up on a blind date with her biggest customer. Hijinks obviously ensue.
It’s called FeetCute and it was inspired by my trying to sell feet pics online because my last job didn’t pay me a living wage. Nobody wanted them though—my feet are kinda short and chubby and the community seems to prefer a leaner, longer foot. Oh well! No girl can have it all! (But if anyone wants feet pics, Cashapp me at “$janetoe98.”)
One thing I’ve noticed but can’t find any substantial research on is the new vibe Gen Z comedians give off: for all of the flack Gen Z gets for being overly earnest and exposed on the internet, it seems like the up-and-coming generation of comedians has found a way to still be weird and edgy and raunchy without making discriminatory jokes.
Maybe that will come in time, as it has for the older generations of comedians who still don’t realize they’re at the top so when they punch, the only way to swing is down. Or maybe this is just how every generation of comedians starts out and I’m just being overly romantic.
Regardless, I asked Lincoln:
Emily: What, if any, trends are you seeing in Gen Z’s styles of comedy?
Lincoln: I really like how Gen Z humor is so weird and awkward. The funniest thing in the world to me is when a character or a performer says something that’s the most bizarre, unheard-of thing ever, and someone responds with just the phrase, “Um…okay.”
Gen Z is so internet based. Short-form video comedy has become the norm, which is a lot more character-based rather than commentary. I’ve noticed a trend that definitely occurs in my own writing where dialogue is almost written like a meme or a tweet. Sometimes it doesn’t always translate to the screen or even being said aloud, but I’ve noticed it always tickles people our age when they read it in a script. Like when the wording of a joke is just slightly off from how a regular person would speak.
It’s also interesting to me that Gen Z doesn’t really love political humor, even though we’re a generation that’s known for being politically active and informed. I feel like a lot of young people don’t find politics funny, because the world is so bleak. (Plus we’ve heard one too many Millennials/Gen X’ers practice their terrible Trump impressions). So they just take that topic more seriously.
Instead, Gen Z seems to want to joke about the absurd and abstract, stuff that’s a distraction from real life. The stuff that makes me laugh are wet slabs of meat, those girlies who are covered in mud in those mobile game ads, and pretty much everything Trisha Paytas does. (Of course, that video of Kamala Harris singing the wheels on the bus is an exception. That shit kills me.)
I think a lot of younger comedians are really focusing on experimental stuff, and it’s becoming the more popular genre amongst this generation, whereas with older comedians, the ones who try non-conventional stuff usually have a pretty small and niche audience. I think it’s great, though, because it’s breaking the mold and allowing comedy to evolve.
For anyone else who laughs at wet slabs of meat, see below:
May I Interest You in a Hee Hee or a Ha Ha for the Road?
In the process of putting this together, I found myself tempted to put the ol’ razzle distressing dazzle on the piece and bring in miserable stats and facts past the first section. But isn’t comedy supposed to be an escape? Don’t we all need a break from the news and the world these days? (And I do mean we—just because I write this newsletter doesn’t mean I enjoy misery.) Even this spiel is becoming drudgery!!!
Thinking back to the start of this piece—like a comedian at the end of their stand-up… get it—when Lincoln shared that her career began when she got to college, I wanted to know:
Emily: What is something that you know now that you wish you knew in 2016?
Lincoln: Oh my god so many things. But mostly that I should pursue comedic stuff. Thinking about the “serious” projects I made during my freshmen year of college makes me cringe. They were so bad! And I had to show them to people! I really had no idea what I was doing.
Oh, and one other thing: I would tell myself to be careful on the road because, in August of 2016, I almost died in a car accident. A pickup truck smashed into me and flipped my car. Silly.
Emily: What have you learned about comedy from writing and performing?
Lincoln: I’ve learned that having a style is really important, but it’s also good to grow and change a little bit within that style. I think the type of jokes I tell have always remained the same, but the specifics of what really makes me laugh have evolved over the years. And I think it’s evolved for the better. But then again it’s always nice to go back and read an old script and discover you still find it really funny.
Another thing I’ve learned is how much your comfort level in performing makes a difference. It’s really so much more enjoyable to watch someone have confidence on stage than someone who clearly doesn’t want to be up there—no matter how funny their written material is.
Lastly, I took an improv class recently and it really changed a lot for me. I’ve realized how important it is to be able to riff and think of jokes on the fly. As a writer that was kind of foreign to me. I used to be so rehearsed. Now I can get on stage and play around a lot more, which helps me write better jokes in the long run as well.
Emily: What have you learned about yourself from comedy?
Lincoln: I’m very uncomfortable with myself and being perceived by others. You go your whole life thinking you’re a fairly confident, normal-looking person but then you start getting on stage and you’re like, “Oh my god my voice is weird, my face is scary, everything I’m saying is insane please stop looking at me.”
This got really bad when some of my clips started going viral. I have one stand-up clip that got like 100K likes and the comments were so sweet, so we posted it on Instagram and it did NOT hit the same audience. It was a joke that I didn’t even think was edgy, but everyone was calling me evil in the comments. Some people were diagnosing me with mental disorders I don’t have (because, it’s like, listen buddy, I KNOW what I have). That felt pretty shitty for a while but I’ve learned to not take comments from weirdos on Instagram who have 5 followers and no photos of themselves. Everyone has haters.
I’m getting better at this in general, too. Starting to get less uncomfortable with seeing myself perform and sometimes, when I’m drunk, I downright enjoy watching videos of myself, so that’s something!
It is super weird to think about how the one thing you love to do is difficult for you to watch yourself do. It can make you feel like you’re in the wrong industry. But I’ve heard that most famous comedians still hate watching themselves, so maybe it’s just part of the job.
Emily: What do you wish other comedians wouldn't take so seriously?
Lincoln: Oh my god THEMSELVES. I know some really wonderful comedians but I also know a ton of cliquey narcissists. There are some open mics and comedy clubs I steer clear of specifically because of how cliquey the people who run them are. They purposely don’t laugh at people they don’t know, even if they’re doing a good job. But then their friend gets on stage with absolutely nothing prepared and they’re howling laughing. It’s very middle school.
None of us are famous! Get over yourselves! I recently started talking to a space about hosting an open mic there, and I’m going to be nice to everyone who comes there.
Emily: Is there anything else you'd like to add?
Lincoln: Everyone should try stand up! A lot of my friends who don’t do comedy have given it a try after seeing my shows which I guess might be a bit of an insult, because they’re basically saying, “Oh if Lincoln can do this then it must be easy.” But in their defense, I am bad at a lot of things.
Anyway then they do it and realize how hard it is, but they always have fun. It’s good to try performing of any kind, even just one time. I think it teaches you things about yourself.
Also, just surround yourself with supportive people. I’m so lucky that I live with two wonderful boys who care about my work and help me create it. My roommate Grant is animating a pilot I wrote and my other roommate (and boyfriend) Dylan is directing it. You can follow us on Instagram if you want to check it out @instatecartoon.
You’ve been a great crowd here tonight, but we have just one more joke for you before we go:
Emily: Can you tell me a joke?
Lincoln: In New York I used to live above a pizza shop and the guys at the pizza place would charge me based on what I was wearing. Like sometimes I’d come in with sweatpants and a t-shirt and they’d charge me $5 for a slice. And other times I’d come in wearing a cute little skirt and a crop top and they’d charge me $3 for a slice. And then one time I came in naked and they had me arrested???
Thank you so much to Lincoln for being so game to do this and honestly for being funny. Keep your eyes peeled for her upcoming special, FeetCute, and more In-State content soon!!!