Why you shouldn’t date a comedian

We’re not kidding around — for once


Most people say they want to date and fall in love with someone with a sense of humor. Someone who is funny. Someone who will make them laugh.

Speaking from experience, when a comedian meets or matches with someone new, the so-you-do-comedy line is inevitable — if not the opening statement. At first glance, why wouldn’t the ideal significant other be a fun guy or gal who doesn’t take their self too seriously and is a guaranteed fun time? There’s no way over time, you would realize what a double-edge sword this would be, right? Right?

One thing true for most comedians is the we’re very skilled self-deprecators. So, allow us to make sure you know what you’re getting into when dating a comedian.

We are always performing

Whether we mean to or not, comedians are always putting on some sort of show. The more people around the worse it often gets. It could even be the two of you alone and you might still be debating if this person you’re with is actually being their self, whatever that even means, we’re not so sure who our real self is either.

You’ll ultimately be left wondering if your comedian significant other’s (CSO’s) entire existence is one massive, never-ending bit.

We are always working on material

At least with the sketch and standup comedians, you will start to wonder if the primary motive behind every social interaction your CSO has is to test out the bits and beats they’re working on. You’ll feel like a joke guinea pig with a humor gravity feeder constantly shoved in your face. You will start to hear the same funny stories so many times you could tell it with all the punchlines included.

In a matter of time, you will realize your own relationship is informing your CSO’s work. Surely any guy who dated Taylor Swift in the past decade — yes, her first album came out in 2006 — had the thought in the back of his head that she would turn their fated-to-fail relationship into Top 40 gold. You can look forward to the same thing with your relationship, especially if you request to connect over LinkedIn after you haven’t spoken to each other in over a year.

Why have human emotions when you can have jokes?

It’s kind of a universally recognized understanding that most people who do comedy have got some major personal baggage. Comedy is their way to process or — more likely — avoid and repress the dark, fucked up shit in their psyche. Well, that and smoking, drugs and binge drinking.

Performing comedy while dead inside

If you haven’t heard your CSO say “comedy is cheaper than therapy” then you haven’t been in the same room for three minutes yet.

Also, if you are going through some tough stuff and are relying on someone to be serious and supportive, many of us don’t know how to flex those emotional muscles, so you are out of luck there.

If you need someone to make you smile or laugh, sure. That’s something we’re happy to do because…

We crave constant attention and affirmation

So we hope you have the energy for that sort of neediness.

Wait. Do you get it? Because Trump is always shouting and trumpets are loud. “Trump-et.” Why aren’t you laughing? Do you need me to tell you the joke again?

A small lap dog that is blind and can’t poop on its own would be less exhausting. Such is the problem when you’re with someone who has to be the funniest person in the room.

We will ultimately ruin comedy for you

This is the soul-crushing possibility/risk/certainty. Whether it is having everything explained until it isn’t funny anymore or being around your CSO’s comedian friends who demonstrate all the same problems minus your attraction to them, you’re going to get burned out with the whole non-stop comedy thing. Your social media becomes flooded with performance invites and (even more) tested jokes from your CSO and all of their comedian friends. Comedy is their life, so now it is yours too, no matter how much you don’t care about “finding the game of the scene” or “classic misdirections.”

The game of the scene is that your relationship has killed the part of you that once enjoyed laughter. You vow to make sure your next significant other is a normal fucking person with a job in finance or something.