The description of the TikTok video read, “Me calculating how many times I should’ve known that I was gay” and began with me sitting in a chair in what looked like a therapist’s office.
“Quite a few times,” I mouthed.
“50 times?” my therapist (also played by me) asked me. “More,” I replied.
“100 times?” she replied. “More,” I said.
“200 times?” “More.”
“500 times?” “Probably, over there, yeah.”
The dialogue was simple, but the production required seven wardrobe changes for just a few seconds of video. With each successive change, I dressed and sat “gayer.” In the final scene, I was brandishing a signature toque and wielding a drill as I acknowledged the high number of opportunities I had to realize that I was queer before coming out in my late 30s. As I peeled layers off and put others back on, I laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.
On some level, I’ve known that I have comedic skill (I am a youngest child after all), but TikTok gave a voice to my silliest self – the person that only my daughter and closest friends see. And I could flex my storytelling in a new way, one that was funny, emotional and memorable in less than 30 seconds. These videos brought my usually quiet comedic personality to life. It was my “coming out” as a funny person.
But I had friends on separate occasions poke fun at my TikTok persona, implying that it was immature. I wasn’t even telling fart jokes (which, for the record, are hilarious) – my output was much more meta, and meaningful, than that. Amid the chronic effects of the pandemic, rising inflation and continuing war, being silly is still my best antidote. Laughter makes life feel lighter and is one valuable way that I process both personal and societal woes.
Laughing is good therapy
Studies support the idea that laughter confers a plethora of personal benefits. The Mayo Clinic encourages laughter for both physical and mental boosts. It causes us to take more oxygen into our lungs and to release endorphins to our brains, eases tension in our muscles and improves circulation, and activates our stress response by stimulating our heart rate and blood pressure.
There are long-term health benefits as well, such as pain relief, an improved immune system and overall mood, greater coping mechanisms during stressful situations and increased connection with people.
Perhaps this is the reason that comedy has been a part of the human experience for thousands of years, with the origins of laughter predating primates. But even with this long history, no one can definitively say why it developed.
Humour might be the most complex cognitive function in the animal kingdom, an extension of language that’s developed along with our social abilities. And since some of the satisfaction we get from humour stems from being able to spot incongruities, it requires us to have a certain level of shared knowledge and beliefs, thus reinforcing feelings of group belonging.
Actor Meredith MacNeill of the Baroness von Sketch show says that “Sometimes the sketch is therapy, but it’s always an opportunity to create content around connection. We wanted to take what’s typically private conversations – the way we laugh and cry so hard with our besties – and share that with the world [in the show]. Those conversations matter, but are often dismissed.”
Jennifer Whalen and Meredith MacNeill of the Baroness von Sketch Show speak during the AMC segment of the Summer 2019 Television Critics Association Press Tour 2019 on July 25, 2019 in Beverly Hills, Calif.Amy Sussman/Getty Images
Comedy bolsters connections
Actor and comedian Jennifer Whalen, also of the Baroness von Sketch fame, gets a lot of joy from comedy. “I get a bubbly feeling in my chest and I follow that feeling,” she says. “It’s fun to make people laugh and to be able to write in your own voice, especially in a culture that hasn’t been from our point of view [as women]. There’s a joy in the making and knowing that it’s going to connect with somebody.” She adds that sometimes the biggest laughs aren’t from overtly funny subjects, but are from difficult ones that have been articulated in a truthful way.
For example, the show tackles gender microaggressions in a sketch called “Smile,” where an upset woman is intercepted by a man on the sidewalk who – after an insincere empathetic speech about how often women are approached and asked to smile – shows off to his buddy after convincing her to smile. Or in “Unfounded,” a sexual-assault victim calls in to find out the status of her rape-kit results only to have the officers determine that it is “unfounded” based on where a dart lands on a dartboard. It becomes apparent that this call is a daily occurrence when the officer ends up in a closet stacking up an overwhelming number of rape kits to the Jenga song. These sketches aren’t “ha ha” funny; their humour comes from their fidelity to lived experience.
Celeste Yim, comedian and writer for Saturday Night Live, says that comedy is an art form that can inexplicably make you laugh. “You can’t put it any other way to the same effect,” they explain. “It’s like the way poetry or a song can move you without understanding why.”
Celeste Yim, comedian and writer for Saturday Night Live, says that comedy is an art form that can inexplicably make you laugh.Supplied
Humour has long been used by minority groups as a protective tool and coping mechanism. Yim highlights their experience as a gender non-conforming racialized person in many of their sketches, such as “College Panel,” where the conceit is that two NYU students are interviewing the cast of a diverse TV show. The Pete Davidson character (who is a straight cis-gendered white man) is asked easy “cutesy” questions, whereas the other diverse cast members are asked deeply personal and intrusive questions about their race, gender or sexuality.
Studies show that humour is used by minority groups in everyday life to exert a level of control in their interactions with members of majority groups, to reduce anxiety during interracial interactions and to facilitate positive interracial dialogue. Minority humour often co-opts and transforms the stereotypes of their oppressors, creating both self-acceptance and a sub-culture that’s not accessible from the outside.
As Jason Zinoman writes in Is it Funny for the Jews?, “A resilient comic sensibility that finds joy in dark places is one of the greatest Jewish legacies – as is an ability to laugh at ourselves.” In fact, a 2014 Pew Study found that 42 per cent of Jewish Americans agreed that having a good sense of humour was “essential” to being Jewish.
The famous quote “If we do not laugh, we will cry” was written by Jane Yolen in The Devil’s Arithmetic about her experience as a Jewish person, and is followed up with this: “what you laugh at and make familiar can no longer frighten you.” And Abraham Lincoln famously used humour in dark times. During some of the bleakest days of the Civil War, when asked how he could still joke, he remarked, “I laugh because I must not cry.”
Regardless of whether it’s in a TikTok or around a table with friends or just by myself, I hope I don’t ever stop finding things to laugh about. Humour, and the joy that it brings, is a buffer against despair, an antidote when life is feeding you poison, a bit of light when all things seem dark. It’s not the cure, but it is good medicine. And sometimes, that’s all we have.
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