I’ve been teaching in the London improv scene for many years now. So many, in fact, that whenever I look out over an audience from our home stage, I see a great number of students and former-students in attendance.

That sort of thing can really mess with a person’s head. Anyone with any level of visibility knows the feeling. That slow creeping dread that you’re meant to know what you’re doing. That at some point you’ve stood up in a room full of people and explicitly declared your competence at this activity.

And now it’s crunch time. You have to put your improv where your mouth is.

Friends, that line of thinking never ends well. The more pressure you put on yourself, the less competent you’re going to be. I’m here to tell you - you have to find a way to make it not matter again. Because that’s how we do our best improv - we need to be unafraid of failure to the point we welcome it onto the stage. Make friends with it. Be seen out in public with it by the improv paparazzi.

And another thing, comedy is for the loser. It thrives on the destruction of ego. If you try to look cool, if you attempt to stun everyone into jaw-dropped silence with your abilities. That’s not going to go well for you. And the more we believe our own hype, the worse we’ll ultimately feel.

So my advice is release yourself from those expectations. Don’t try to demonstrate every technique you’ve taught in the last month. No one is expecting you to be perfect. They would be disappointed if you were.

The best improvisers enter the stage with a kind of zen-like idiocy. Nothing to prove, no agenda to promote - just a blank mind, a willingness to play and not a care in the world. It’s hard to genuinely not care - especially if part of your identity revolves around improv - but the rewards are immediate and multitudinous. Free from the strictures of being brilliant, conversely, that’s where all the brilliance is.

And also, may I say, you’re doing improv. You’re never going to be cool. That cool boat sailed a long time ago with all the DJs, influencers and athletes already on board. To truly shine we need to embrace the core dorkiness of our beloved art form.

Being a famous improviser is like playing the lead role in the musical, Cats* - sure it takes skill and dedication - but only a select few people are going to be impressed, and everyone else will try desperately to avoid eye contact with you.

So the good news is, the next time you feel you have something to prove, you really don’t. Go out there and be messy, silly, unpretentious and joyful.

Problem solved.

<aside> 💡 Hey, my name’s Chris Mead. I write an article about improv almost every week. You can get the latest in your inbox by subscribing to my newsletter. Or check out the archive.

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*but who is the lead role? Arguably it is Grizabella, or maybe Macavity, or Rumpleteazer/ The Rum Tum Tugger/ Ploppy Two Steps/ Mysterious Keith/ Bimble Face/ Gasket Joe etc.