“Explain You’re A Lesbian”: 8 Comedians Share The Worst Advice They’ve Ever Received

It’s comedy festival season, and all over the country, comedians are putting the final touches on their new shows. Yes, we leave it to the last minute; it’s how we thrive. But there is another kind of comic out there — sometimes even a rogue audience member — who is also preparing for battle. I'm talking about the kind of person who walks up to you after a gig with a cheeky, all-knowing grin on their face and unsurprisingly no friends surrounding them. They're ready to mutter the words, "Hey, you know what I reckon that joke needs...", before even uttering a simple hello. This person is, of course, the Unsolicited Advice Guy. 

I’ve been in comedy for around six years now and thankfully know how to stop, drop, and roll to avoid these pests (even though they annoyingly have now learnt the power of the World Wide Web and will not hesitate to send you a DM). But when I and many female and non binary comics start out, they’re almost impossible to avoid. Would you be shocked to hear that this rarely happens to male comics?

A lot of us really trauma bond over sharing the horrible advice we receive, so I figured it's time to spread the word. I spoke to a number of comics to see what kind of dire (and unsolicited) advice they've received below. And if you attend any of our shows in Australia over the next few months, the only advice we will accept is: “Wow, you’re so funny and hot, my advice is keep doing what you’re doing cause I literally laughed so much I peed a little!”

"When I started comedy, I was told the best move was to start out by explaining to the audience that I was a lesbian, 'cause then later they wouldn’t be confused when I said I had a girlfriend'. It’s so funny to me now because what kind of audience member would be confused by a lesbian with bangs and a mullet performing comedy in Inner West Sydney? For years, I started all my sets with this HACK joke: 'Hey, I’m Jenna, I’m a lesbian, so I’m going to be telling a lot of jokes about being a lesbian. Strap on'. 

This advice really hindered me, not just because it’s homophobic, but also because it made me think that I had to really over-explain everything to the audience. Sorry, but if you’re confused if a female presenting comedian says they have a girlfriend, then get the f**k out of my audience. With respect. No refunds." 

"The worst advice I got when I started doing comedy came from a male friend of mine (of course). He’d seen me perform at an open mic and later sent me an unsolicited text telling me my jokes were funny, but asking if I’d be open to some advice. I didn’t reply. He sent it anyway. 

He said the jokes 'didn’t get what they deserved' and suggested that maybe I should try giving the jokes to a man to perform so I could tell if the jokes were actually funny. Because, and I quote, 'it was probably a gender bias thing that people didn’t laugh'. Then, in a truly breathtaking act of generosity, he offered to perform them himself. Which is such a relief, because the best way to get ahead in comedy is to have a straight white man steal your jokes."

"It must’ve been within a few months of starting comedy. I was doing a gig at an underground cellar in Melbourne’s inner north. The crowd was sparse, a smattering of comedians waiting their turn and tired punters who were there for the drinks special. It was grim.

Up the back of the room, the comic next to me offered some friendly, albeit unsolicited advice. 'Make sure you smile, it’s important to get the crowd onside. Otherwise, they’ll think you’re too good for them.' I don’t think the poor optics of telling women to 'smile more' crossed his mind. 

At its core, it’s not a terrible idea. Coming onstage with unconditional positive regard for your audience (especially if you’re MCing) can be a massive asset. But the blanket instruction to simply 'smile' lacks any nuance or context. When the man’s name was called, he walked up to the mic and cracked the widest grin he could muster. He bombed and left immediately afterwards."

"I first knew I wanted to be a performer when I was cast as ‘Islander Number 8’ in my school musical South Pacific. To train for this role of a lifetime, I scoured bookstores, early 2000s YouTube and watched the director's cut of The Titanic and Shawshank Redemption in search of advice on how to become an Academy Award-winning actor. Finally, I found a book by one of Hollywood’s most sought-after teachers. A 12-step technique to embody any character… I was stoked! 

About 8 of the 12 steps involved digging deep and dwelling on your most traumatic memories to fuel depth in your character. To this day, I genuinely think this is how I gave myself depression. Locking myself in my room to ruminate on my worst memories ever wasn’t great for my developing brain. I remember on South Pacific opening night, wishing my boyfriend would dump me just so I could have something real to inspire my 'Islander Number 8' tears. He didn’t. How inconsiderate! I’ve taken acting classes since to unlearn this terrible advice and gone to LOTS of therapy too!"

"The worst advice I ever received was to say yes to everything. Because of this, there’s a music video out there of me in a push-up bra dancing with a goat. I was paid $50. Therapy is much more expensive than that. Do the jobs that feel right. The ones that make you happy or fulfil you. If you can’t find those jobs or score those jobs, create those jobs yourself. You don’t need to say YES if your brain is screaming NO."

"I have received a lot of bad advice, often unprompted, which is my favourite kind of advice. The kind of advice that hits you, out of nowhere, from above and crushes you like you’re a Looney Tunes character who realised a little too late they’re standing on a giant red X. 

But I think the one that takes the cake was when I was told about 30 seconds before walking on stage, out of nowhere, that it was a 'pity' I did 'such self-deprecating humour' because 'people feel sorry for women who do it'. I then walked on stage with my best friend and comedy partner and did our do or die set called 'funny or depressing' which, despite this advice, went very well. 

I’m always open to chatting about comedy, and interested to hear people’s thoughts, IF I ASK FOR THEM. Unprompted advice, timed poorly, is basically the same as grabbing someone by the nips and twisting, then expecting them to be grateful. So for me now, comedy is just about protecting my nips from people."

"I think one of the worst pieces of advice I ever got was 'say yes to everything!' I think I took that to mean 'don’t have boundaries' or 'don’t stick up for yourself', and it just meant I did a lot of really awful gigs with some pretty gnarly people who didn’t care if I lived or died. I truly love saying no now. It feels chic and a little naughty, like smoking a tiny little cigarette."

"The worst advice I received was, 'Don’t do the Melbourne Comedy Festival yet'. It was my second year of comedy and I thought, 'Yeah, I can do a festival show!' In hindsight, it was kinda ballsy. And this one guy said to me, 'You’re not ready, and are you sure you want to take a 6pm timeslot?'

I did anyway. Had the best time. And now I'm doing my 7th festival show this year. Who cares if you’re ready? What’s the worst that can happen — you’ll be better at standup?"