The Comedian Who Canβt Stand Applause
Calum Stewart on life as an autistic stand-up comedian.
26 May 2020
“Unfortunately, what my mother gave me was Asperger’s” is the punch line to one of my favourite jokes with audiences. For me, it’s a throwaway sentence, but for some reason it sticks in the minds of punters. I don’t know whether it’s the £2.50 can of Red Stripe or if they possess the natural confidence that I’d never dream of having, but at every gig some stranger has the temerity to ask me if I’m autistic or if it’s a character.
From my experience, the average person’s knowledge of how autism works is usually limited. Sometimes I’ll meet somebody who thinks they know about autism and then they say, “Rain Man is my favourite film” and then I avoid them for the rest of my life.
Meeting acts for the first time is always awkward... hug? Too forward. Handshake? Too formal. Raised eyebrow and silence? Perfect.
I started doing comedy when I was 17, but I didn’t get officially diagnosed until a week before my 19th birthday. 19 sounds young, but that’s a long time not to get diagnosed, so it all made sense when I found out. This is my experience of being an autistic comic.
The thing with comedy is you make great friends, but you have to meet them for the first time for that to happen. Meeting acts for the first time is always awkward, whether you’re neurotypical or neurodiverse. Hug? Too forward. Handshake? Too formal. Raised eyebrow and silence? Perfect.
As an autistic comedian you’d think that talking to the audience would be my biggest problem, but it definitely isn’t. It’s everything that comes with it. I have a regular routine that I must adhere to and even the slightest of changes to that routine can ruin my whole day. I live in the UK and I don’t drive, so I rely heavily on public transport, which we all know is about as reliable as someone giving ‘Veganuary’ a go and going to Toby Carvery on day two. Delayed or even cancelled trains regularly cause pre-gig meltdowns and can affect my performance that night if it hits me too hard.
I have a lot of sensory issues because of my autism and a lot of these problems are unavoidable in comedy clubs and theatres. This sounds utterly bizarre, but I dread receiving applause breaks. Obviously, it gives me a buzz as it does with all comics, but the clattering of hands and whistling is so mentally painful I find it hard to articulate into words. Another thing I have to deal with at gigs is bright light. A big part of my act is that I stare at the floor when I’m on stage. That’s partly because I don’t feel comfortable being looked at, but also because I have such sensitivity towards light, so I find it easier to look down than to ask the sound technician to turn the lighting down a little. A friend suggested that I should try wearing sunglasses on stage and that’s when I told him that dressing up as a Blues Brother is an incredibly hack comedy trope.
