This week, we’re highlighting 24 talented writers and performers for Vulture’s annual list “The Comedians You Should and Will Know.” Our goal is to introduce a wider audience to the talent that has the comedy community and industry buzzing. (You can read more about our methodology at the link above.) We asked the comedians on the list to answer a series of questions about their work, performing, goals for the future, and more. Next up is Aaron Chen.
Tell us a story from your childhood that you think might explain why you ended up becoming a comedian.
I entered a public-speaking competition in high school, and when everyone did speeches about how to save the world, I wrote one-liners about being Chinese or something. I was crushing, and it filled me with adrenaline, so I went home and Googled how to do speeches outside of school. It led me to a nationwide comedy competition for teens, and then my dad would drive me around to do shows around Sydney, Australia. He would watch the shows but not understand them, because English is his second language. One time, a wild comedian threw condoms into the crowd, my dad chuckled, and it was the first time we acknowledged that we both knew what condoms were. The rest is history.
If you were immortalized as a cartoon character, what would your outfit be?
I would hope my cartoon guy would take more fashion risks than me. I’m talking a scoop-neck T-shirt with sunglasses hanging off it and lots of leather bracelets.
What’s your proudest moment/achievement of your comedy career so far?
There is a scene that features stand-up comedy in the film GoodFellas. That scene is based on me.
Which comedian’s career trajectory would you most like to follow?
I would like to follow in the footsteps of Australian hero Carl Barron. He is an elder statesman and legend of the game. This guy is one of the best joke writers, but the thing that really gets me is that no one knows what he’s up to. He lives the quiet life somewhere, but then turns up and does stadiums in Australia. I believe he dedicates himself to stand-up comedy. We have the same guy who runs our Instagram page, Rodney Todd. He has misophonia, a condition that causes one to have a strong emotional reaction to certain sounds. One day, I hope to be like Carl and not be bothered by external stimuli and focus on stand-up comedy. I only met him once, and he was nice and had sage wisdom.
Tell us everything about your worst show ever. (This can involve venue, audience, other acts on the lineup, anything!)
My worst show happened on the Gold Coast of Australia. This is a comedy scene that truly tests your mettle, and most shows happen in a pub where they leave all the TVs on so patrons can watch the Rugby League match and you are competing with the slot machines. I was bombing so hard, and someone bought me a shot of Sambuca as consolation. I was losing the crowd, and I knew I had to do something drastic. I have an alcohol intolerance due to millennia of tea-drinking in my family tree, so in an act of desperation, I poured the sticky liquid on my head. This did not impress the crowd, and it was a learning experience that alcohol kind of burns the eyes.
What have you learned about your own joke-writing process that you didn’t know when you started?
I am not good at sitting down and writing. This has led to my writing process becoming much more of just chilling with the crew, hanging out with my perfect little wife, and walking around the mean streets of New York. Sometimes I do a bit of journaling, a little thinking and this and that. This has saved me a lot of time writing, and a lot of people are accusing me of being lazy, but it has freed up my mind to think about things like the stock market.
What’s the biggest financial hurdle you’ve encountered since becoming a comedian?
Part of being a comedian is researching — you gotta know what the pros are up to at all times. For me, this is watching comedy. The two-drink minimum when I’m going to comedy clubs to watch comedy here is killing me as my drink of choice is a magnum of Dom P, not negotiable. Having to polish off two of those in a one-hour show means I’m spending more time in the toilet than hearing little stories that tickle me just right. It’s simply not economical for me.
At the end of the movie 8 Mile, Eminem’s character, B-Rabbit, starts his final battle rap by dissing himself so the person he’s battling has nothing left to attack. How would you roast yourself so the other person would have nothing to say?
I’m kind of a pacifist. I don’t believe in roasting. I wouldn’t say anything. I’d just listen.
When it comes to your comedy opinions — about material, performing, audience, trends you want to kill/revive, the industry, etc. — what hill will you die on?
It doesn’t matter about my opinion — I’m one of the smallest guys on the circuit (five-foot-four). But I’ll tell you this much: I’ve seen people come and go, but the ones that survive are funny and consistent over time. I really like being funny always and doing jokes. That’s all I say. If I say any more, there’ll be guys out there trying to get me and hurt me.
What is the best comedy advice, and then the worst comedy advice, you’ve ever Received?
The best advice I received was from a guy called God, and it’s the Fourth Commandment: Honor the Sabbath. You simply must have a day off; otherwise you’re probably gonna get a hernia.
The worst advice I got is to always disrespect the microphone; treat it like it’s a pair of underwear, leave it lying around, drop it on the floor — it doesn’t matter. A lot of younger comics are saying this. No. You only get one microphone per show, two if you’re rich. You respect the microphone, and it will make you loud.
