Merch isn’t just about making a few bucks—it’s about turning fans into superfans. And superfans? They wear your catchphrase to brunch.

If you’re feeling the icy grip of panic as you wait to grab the mic, congratulations — you’re alive, and you care. That fear is not the enemy. But letting it own you? That we’re not doing. Here's how to deal with stage fright like the professional funny person you're becoming.

So you’ve been crushing it on stage — killing open mics, owning bar shows, maybe even getting a few real fans who aren’t your mom or your roommate. Now you're eyeing Hollywood, thinking, “Hey, I’m funny. I should be on TV!”

If you're reading this, you're probably wondering how to get more than five minutes in the back of a pizza place at midnight. Well, buckle up, baby, because I’ve got the inside scoop.

The truth is: there’s no perfect answer. But if you’re smart, prepared, and passionate — it might be closer than you think.

Stand-up comedy is a bizzare career. It’s equal parts art, therapy, improv, and chaos with a mic. When you start, you think it’s all about being funny — and sure, that’s the goal. But along the way, you’ll discover things no one warned you about.

Let’s be real — the early days of comedy are like surviving on ramen, adrenaline, and blind faith. You wonder if you’re making progress or just becoming a permanent fixture at open mics, like that one sticky chair no one wants to sit in. But here’s the good news: you are growing.

Open mics are wild. They’re part performance, part group therapy, and part fever dream hosted in the back of a brewery with one working mic and a light controlled by someone named Devin. But here’s the secret: they’re also incredible.

Comedy isn’t just about being funny. It’s about being brave, resilient, and just a little nuts (in the best way). If you’ve got the heart, I promise you can build the rest.

Tony wanted to make a living doing stand-up and after years of slinging punchlines and eating rejection for breakfast, Tony finally made their first thousand dollars doing comedy…

Ah, the age-old question that haunts every open micer as they sip their two-drink minimum: Will I ever make money doing this? Short answer? Yes. Longer, more honest answer? Yes, but probably not how you think.

Look at you. Sitting there, reading a blog post written by a fabulous gay man with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, wondering if you’ve got what it takes to do stand-up comedy. First of all—good taste. Second—maybe.

Great question. I’ve asked myself this very thing—usually right after bombing in a bar show next to a Golden Tee machine while a drunk guy yells “YOU SUCK, ELLEN!” (I mean… thank you?).

Look, not every joke is gonna be a winner. Some jokes just aren’t meant to live past their first awkward chuckle—or worse, that silent vacuum where laughter should be but instead, you just hear your own self-esteem shattering like a glass dropped in a nightclub bathroom.

Let’s talk about accountability groups—you know, those little huddles of hope where people gather, sip oat milk lattes, and say things like, “This week, I vow to be my best self!”

Adorable.

So, you’re thinking about starting a writing group with other comedians? First off—love the ambition, honey. That’s like saying, “Should I start a biker gang with my grandma and her Mahjong friends?” It sounds great in theory, but buckle up, because it’s gonna be a ride.

Oh honey, if I had a dollar for every time someone asked me, "When am I gonna get my big break?"—I wouldn't need a break, because I'd already be rolling in the cash!

Hello, my little laugh-seekers! Today we’re talking about a topic that’s near and dear to my heart—handling critics. Oh, and by “critics,” I mean anyone who thinks they have an opinion worth listening to but wouldn’t know talent if it tap-danced naked on their front lawn.

Ah, hecklers. The human equivalent of a speed bump on the road to comedy greatness. You’re up there, giving the people laughter, joy, and a reason to put down their phones for five minutes, and BOOM—some dude named Chad, three drinks in, decides he’s the real star of the show.

Alright, buckle up, buttercups! We’re diving into a comedy controversy hotter than my aunt’s chardonnay breath at Thanksgiving: Is crowd work considered standup?