The Philosophy of Chelsea Birkby

Chelsea Birkby is an emerging talent in the British comedy scene. She’s just started touring her second show: This is Life, Cheeky Cheeky, which has already received two award nominations.

*The audio from the interview is below the article.

Chelsea Birkby is an emerging talent in the British comedy scene. She’s just started touring her second show: This is Life, Cheeky Cheeky, which has already received two award nominations. It’s deep, philosophical and I’m told, reluctantly sexy (now there’s a hook.)

We didn’t just chat about the tour. Speaking to Chelsea exemplified what this blog is about – gaining a deeper understanding of comedy. And boy, did I gain.

It’s no surprise that she had a lot to give on the subject. She’s written for several series of Mock the Week, plus Radio 4, The Independent and the Metro. I could detail her full list of accolades in competitions and more, but we’d be here all day. Put it this way, she’s not exactly struggling for rosettes… or are those for horses? It’s not for me to say, but she’s doing fab.

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You did a philosophy degree. Has learning about philosophy changed your life?

Yes, and I think that’s what I wanted it to do. I was 16 when I first learnt the term. The school told us it meant “big thinking about the big questions” – and I love doing that. I don’t think I’m any closer to the answers, but I find it valuable.

Particular philosophers shaped my worldview, and it shines through my comedy. The first show was my existentialist show. There was a lot about Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir. The second show evolved from that. There’s a lot about Albert Camus and it’s more absurdist. I don’t want to put people off. I am in a turtle neck right now and we’re reaching maximum levels of pretension.

“I like to infuse things with philosophy, even if it’s not the main point of the show. There’s as much about Albert Camus as there is about the Cheeky Girls. And they’ve both got very valid philosophies.”

I’m sure you have no trouble translating those ideas to audiences. So, I wouldn’t worry.

I’ve done my research, how’s the roller skating going?

I’m looking at my roller skates now; I haven’t skated in months but never gave up the dream. Whilst it’s great fun, it’s also scary. I was scared the whole time, even when I did it every day - but I do think that’s good for you.

This is maybe too much too quickly, but in lockdown, I fell off my bike, and it freaked me out. I was nervous about being a car passenger, and walking on the pavement. Roller skating helped me to accept that I am going to fall over at some point… And I’m going to be okay. So, I pushed through and found it fun.

You’ve done very well in a slew of comedy competitions. Is it harder to be funny in a competitive environment? Humour and competition seem to be opposites.

Interesting. Do you think they’re opposites?

Not entirely, otherwise, the competitions wouldn’t work. But I imagine there’s more pressure, and a looseness is good in comedy.

I think a lot of comedy is competitive… If you think about banter and people firing zingers at each other. But that being said, it’s not what draws me to stand-up, it’s not what I love about it. It’s a collaboration with the audience. I feel the best stand-up, as a performer and as a fan, is when you’re just playing with the audience. When it’s so alive and everybody in the room is involved.

This dissolves slightly in competitions. Some of your audiences are the other acts, and you’ve got the judges with their pieces of paper marking who’s their favourite. It changes the vibe. They’re not just thinking “Do I find this funny?” They’re thinking “Oh, is this good enough?” and ranking you.

I did the competition So, You Think You’re Funny? Which has such a hostile name.

Ha-ha, good point.

Ha-ha, yeah exactly. So, you think you’re funny, do you? And that’s not usually the vibe people go to a comedy club with. Some people do.

So, it does change the vibe, but what appealed to me about the competitions is the studiousness involved. I loved to do well at school. You knew the marking scheme and you got a grade. So, as much as I think comedy would be better without competition. I did love doing my homework beforehand and getting a grade.

Do they give you a list of things they’re looking for?

Not really, but you start to pick it up. A classic 5-minute comedy competition set includes an introduction of who you are, with everything you talk about afterwards being on a similar theme… Very identity-driven material. Short jokes, and then you end with a callback.

You work out the formula. I think they’re a very satisfying introduction to each person’s act. But it’s not my favourite type of stand-up. I like it when we can get a bit looser and weirder. I love to see someone’s first perfect 5-minutes, early in their career, and then watch them develop something looser and freakier in time.

So, thank you for saying I did very well in competitions, but I’m so glad to mostly have that behind me now.

And… Tell me if I’m going off on one.

Never.

Okay, I’ve met some of my best comedy friends doing competitions. So, it is possible to ignore the competition aspect and use it to make friends.

That’s nice.

Yeah, but maybe I say that because I’ve done well in them. Maybe I’d feel differently if I hadn’t, ha-ha.

You mentioned interacting with the audience. Your comedy feels like a conversation, you ask the audience questions. Is it a negotiation?

Ah, interesting. I think that’s a great question. I think it is – I think that’s really revealing; because I’m not up there going “This is the message I want to get across.” I’m also thinking, “Is this going to land?” And it does take negotiation, a collaboration with the audience.

“Stand-up is like self-portraiture; except it’s done live. And it’s not like a painting where the audience can look at it in a gallery and say ‘That works. That looks like a person.’ You’re standing next to it at the same time.”

Take caricature artists. I had a caricature made in France, thinking it would be a fun touristy treat. I couldn’t see the picture whilst they were painting, but I could tell it wasn’t going to be good. When people walked by nobody looked sure about it. And that’s why stand-up comedy is a negotiation. At least when I do it, because I’m saying “This is what I am,” and the audience may or may not buy it.

Not everyone approaches it that way… It must be something in my psyche. I feel observed by you. I feel spooked out now, ha-ha.

What was it like supporting Fern Brady?

Oh my god, it was a dream. I’m hesitating as I’m working out how cringey I’m going to be about this. I’m a huge fan of Fern Brady.

On So You Think You’re Funny? In the first round of the competition, you fill out a form about yourself. It asked who I most look up to and I put Fern Brady. So, when she asked me to do her tour support a few years later I was like “This is huge. This is a big moment.”

At the end of my set, I said “This is a dream to open for Fern. She’s one of my favourite comedians.” And when she came on later, she said “Oh my god, I’m sorry that I’m one of Chelsea’s favourite comedians.”

I look up to her. She’s hilarious, but I also love how she operates. People say don’t meet your heroes, but I very much enjoyed meeting Fern. She lives up to the hype.

Yeah, she seems really nice.

Do you try to align your style choices with the message of each show?

Yes, I do and I’m glad that you asked this.

You could say it’s frivolous but I love thinking about aesthetics and how things look. My first show, No More Mr Nice Chelsea was about what it means to be good, and when it’s time to stop. So, I wore a big white dress, almost a baptism dress. I felt it had a sweet and innocent air… But I added big, clumpy boots and that was me trying to be more aggressive.

I’m touring my show This is Life, Cheeky Cheeky - and it has a lot of noughties pop references. So, I’m wearing shiny pleather trousers in silver and a crop top with diamantes on. It feels “of the time.” It’s fun and playful. I think about it a lot. Thanks for clocking that.

It's cool. I knew you’d say yes, I just wanted you to expand on it, ha-ha.

We’re entering a trend where people are dressing up more on stage. You see more glam and playful looks, but like everything, it goes through phases. In the 90’s everyone rocked up in scruffy clothes and baggy jeans. Which I also like. I like all looks as long as they’re intentional.

Women in particular are getting more glam; perhaps there’s a wider acceptance of femininity in today’s stand-up environments. I love going to a gig wondering what everyone’s wearing today.

Well, I imagine comedians are quite well-dressed. I don’t know what that’s based on.

Well, I’ll take it.

What was it like writing for Mock the Week?

It was so much fun. It was like comedy homework. I thrive when I’m set some kind of homework. You know, set me a task e.g. “Write 100 jokes on these news topics.” It was so satisfying.

Sometimes I get frustrated trying to write stand-up for myself. If it was like Mock the Week, I’d have two days to write jokes and I’d fill pages and pages. Writing my stuff I can sit twiddling my thumbs. So, there’s something to learn there. Not that I have, yet.

It was also fun to write using the comedy “voice,” or style of other people. You remove that self-portrait element of it. You think, “How might they say it? What’s their style?” It’s creatively liberating. I wish there were more of those opportunities, and that Mock the Week was still on. Not just so I could write for it, but also so that I could.

It would be cool to write for a chat show as well.

Writing for award shows too. I thought Nikki Glaser did incredibly hosting the Golden Globes recently.

I haven’t seen it!

It’s so good. She toes the line between making fun of people and not losing the crowd. I think you’d enjoy it. I’ll send it afterwards.

Do you perform?

No, ha-ha. I’ve had a lot of trouble with anxiety. I’d love to. I will, I’m pushing in that direction with the blog.

Not to undermine the anxiety, I know that can be really tough. But

“loads of comics are extremely anxious, including well-established, famous people. You see them pacing around and stressed, and having an internal struggle. So, doing stand-up and having anxiety are not mutually exclusive.”

And I hope you do!

Thank you! I’m learning the mechanics of comedy by interviewing people. The answers often surprise me. It’s good groundwork for being a comedian.

That’s great, Judd Apatow did the same thing.

Oh, really?

When he was at school he interviewed a bunch of comedians, then he started writing for them and the rest is history.

Do observations come to you when you’re out and about? You talk a lot about places.

Ah, interesting. I talk a lot about places... Yeah, observations come to me at random times. I tend to undervalue the observations that pop into my head and overvalue jokes I’ve crafted sitting with my laptop or notebook. I sometimes think the circumstantial ideas aren’t good or clever. But if you get a laugh saying them socially, there’s every chance it could work on stage.

Luckily my boyfriend reminds me to write down ideas when something funny happens. I’m now one of those despicable people who says “Sorry, I have to write this down.” It’s hard to balance that with enjoying the moment. It’s a work in progress for me.

There’s so much to consider. It’s not like being an engineer where you have a textbook.

True, I’m the kind of person who likes to listen to a million podcasts; and buy a thousand books if I want to learn something. The books out there for comedy do help with the craft, but we don’t need any of them to be funny. People are funny anyway. I think it’s better to trust that gut feeling.

Do you ever improvise?

I do and it sometimes feels the most fun and gets the best reaction. But I’d really benefit from doing it more. My instinct is to stick to the script. I think “I’ve written these good jokes and they meet the grading system.”

Even when I’m on podcasts. For example, I did a podcast this week and the host said it would be a free-flowing conversation. Maybe it was that in the end, but I’d made plenty of notes beforehand. I don’t know if that’s beneficial, but I hope I learn to put the notes away this year.

I have a Word document called “Show 3” and I’ve got new ideas coming in there. So, maybe more improvising, but you kind of have to just surrender to it.

Can you tell me about the Clown School you went to? Is it linked to improv?

I treated myself to two weeks at a clown school; Philippe Gaulier’s School just outside Paris. Loads of comics go there like Sacha Baron Cohen. Many of the big clowns at the Edinburgh Fringe study and teach there. He’s the clown master really, the greatest living clown.

I decided to do two weeks at the summer school on a whim. He also has courses that last 2 years. It was incredible, a life-changing fortnight. It was so hard; because I’m more comfortable with written jokes.

Every day you’re given a task; you go up on stage and completely wing it. Sometimes it goes badly and you have to analyse that OR it goes very well, in which case it’s nice to feel yourself being funny without a plan… Without those perfectly crafted thoughts that I’ve read 8 books to land on.

So, it’s hugely about improv. Improvising is exhilarating, but having jokes that work 9 out of 10 times is a form of security; because you expect a positive reaction. Improvising has a higher risk and reward, so it takes guts. It takes faith that you can follow the idea to something fruitful. It’s not the end of the world when it goes wrong though, because you just revert back to the script.

You can also play it off and say “Oh, you didn’t like that one, did you?”

That’s a big part of clown school actually, they call it “the flop.” They say “Listen to the flop.” It’s about being connected with the audience. ¹

Are there sides to your personality that you haven’t yet explored on stage?

Yes, almost definitely. I’m very cheerful on stage, even with serious topics. I’ve wondered what would happen if I got serious for a moment. I don’t feel betrayed by a comedian’s change in tone, as it often adds something to it. But I find it daunting.

This might be cringey, but I’m also not very sensual on stage. I stand extremely still and grip the microphone. But in real life I love movement. I wish I could bring that “performing at home/shower-concert energy.”

Or just leaning on things like you don’t care.

Exactly! I’ve never once been chill or cool on stage.

How are you feeling about the upcoming tour?

I’ve just had the first show on Saturday. I was so nervous. “Who’s gonna be there? What’s it going to be like? Will they feel they’ve got their money’s worth?” At a festival, they see a bunch of comics every day, but when you’re somebody’s Saturday night plan it ups the pressure. I’ve made some notes, and room for improvement, but it went well. I’m hoping to bring some looseness to the rest of the tour.

Sexual shame is one of the central themes of the show. I must admit, I find it very difficult to talk about. How do you approach that on stage?

Ah, you find it difficult to talk about? I find it difficult too, so it’s strange that it became one of my main themes. People are drawn to expressing themselves, expressing something that’s bothering them. It’s a motivator when you care.

It works well for a British comedian; because it’s culturally relatable to be embarrassed about sex.

So, did you plan to write about that theme, or did you just write lots of jokes and realized the common thread afterwards?

It’s a mixture. That was more so the case with the first show; because a first show tends to be a collection of everything you’ve done so far. I’ve written this new show with more of an intentional focus on the theme of shame.

I’ve been lucky enough to do gigs that require a specific theme. I’ve done Stand-Up Philosophy, and sometimes the theme is “shame,” or “joy” or “stoicism.” I love that because I love to be commissioned – “Write ten minutes on this.” There’s also Stand-Up Science and other “concept shows” that have asked for a specific focus.

Are you planning to film the tour?

I haven’t made my mind up yet; it was the same with the first show. By the time I’d decided to film the first one it was two years after I did the Edinburgh Fringe, so I had to re-learn it, which is so inefficient.

I could learn from that experience, but most likely I won’t learn and then in a year’s time I’ll change my mind about filming it and have to study the script again, ha-ha.

Do you put it off because it’s developing all the time, and you don’t want to film it before it’s the best version it can be?

That’s a flattering way to think of it. I think it’s just the awkwardness of the process. The awkwardness of going “I’m going to write jokes about myself and my life, and I’m going to tour them and charge for tickets… And then I’m going to film it, put it online and promote it.” I’m a bit scared of how indulgent that is. But it’s really good for your career and it’s a good thing to do.

If it helps, I think I’d be the same. I’m not sure I’d be keen on interviewing someone who felt their face ought to be everywhere at once.

Interesting. But do you not think that most stand-ups have that in them? There’s a tiny fraction who believe it wholeheartedly though.

I write songs, so I’ve probably got that too, but you don’t want someone who thinks they’re the bee’s knees.

I used to think that but now I’m like, maybe that’s just honest of them? I respect the hustlers who put themselves out there and say “I wanna be a star.” At least that’s coherent with what they’re doing.

It’s better than saying it’s all about expressing oneself i.e. art and community… But, is it? You do enter comedy competitions; you do ask reviewers to come to your shows. It undermines their point, and recording a show is having to stare directly at that part of yourself. It’s hard.

I can’t argue with that. I think that’s true, ha-ha.

We’ve got 2 minutes 35.

Two minutes to riff, like at clown school.

Yeah! What were some of the things you had to improvise?

The best day at Clown School was when we did a Shakespeare play; a few of the students took part. I was told that while they’re doing that, we need another clown who’s going to come and save the show. So, as soon as they hear it flopping, they need to run on, make the audience laugh, save the show and quickly disappear again.

I had this idea, so I enthusiastically volunteered. I was so sure that I was going to save the show. Philippe assigned me a baby costume. It was humiliating to wear, but that was the point. I heard the show flopping and ran out with a prop I found backstage. I think it was a knife. Immediately people laughed and I ran off. Every time it was flopping, I’d come out again. Philippe said it was my best day at clown school. He said the play wasn’t very clever but “we liked the baby.” That was a big lesson for me. A joke doesn’t have to be clever to be funny. It can be stupid; it can be ridiculous and you can feel stupid doing it, but it’s joyful.

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Interviewing Chelsea was a joyful experience throughout. Not least because she answered my questions with the same thoughtfulness with which they were written. You can buy tickets to her current tour here, and follow her on Instagram.

I encourage the liking, commenting on and sharing of this post, as it really does drive engagement.

1. More on this in my interview with Kevin Gregory Krieger.