Title: Discovering Authenticity: A Journey Through Improv and Identity
Written on
Chapter 1: The Encounter
My time in LA began in the late '90s, and it wasn’t long before I met my first improv enthusiast. For those leading a more conventional life, you might be wondering, what exactly is an "improv chick"? Imagine that table in your high school cafeteria where the exuberant theater kids gathered. These loud and seemingly self-assured individuals often masked an inner turmoil of insecurity, endlessly discussing show tunes and rehearsals. In comparison, improv chicks take this energy to a whole new level. They’re genuinely funny, boisterous, and quick with a witty retort, but they also have a knack for overshadowing anyone who dares to steal their limelight.
Reflecting on my experience with an improv chick, I remember attending a show in Santa Monica to support my friend Annie, a dedicated performer at Improv Underground, a venue where she honed her skills before rising through the ranks at The Groundlings, the renowned training ground for many SNL and sitcom stars. However, in 1999, she was just another aspiring artist in LA, and it was during this visit that I met the unforgettable Kiki. A lively, caffeine-driven blonde, Kiki exuded a mix of the personalities of young Amy Sedaris, Amy Poehler, and Molly Shannon.
“Great to meet you!” she exclaimed, shaking my hand with enthusiasm. “Whoa, you have the softest hands I’ve ever felt! Are you sure you’re a guy?! Look at those adorable little hands!”
Ah, Ms. No Filter.
While Annie prepared backstage, I suggested a quick ATM run, leading to the usual small talk.
“How long have you been in LA?” Kiki asked.
“About four months,” I replied. “My girlfriend is at UC Irvine, so we moved here.”
“Girlfriend!” she interrupted, her excitement palpable. “Girlfriend?!”
“Yeah,” I confirmed.
“My gaydar is going off like crazy!” she declared, waving her arms like those inflatable tube men outside car dealerships. “Ding ding ding, gaydar alert!”
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If I had been a cartoon, steam would have been shooting from my ears because she was right. At 26, I was still deeply in the closet, lacking the emotional maturity to embrace my identity as an openly gay man. Growing up Catholic during the AIDS crisis had left me with a profound fear of acceptance. I had convinced myself that I could navigate my life alongside my girlfriend, even believing that I might never have to confront the reality of my sexuality.
However, here I was, caught off guard by Kiki’s boldness, and my mind raced with self-doubt. What had I inadvertently revealed about myself in just a couple of minutes? I somehow made it through Annie’s performance, which was fantastic. Afterward, while we enjoyed drinks, Annie asked, “So how’s it going for you, Joe? How’s Melanie?”
Kiki choked on her drink. “Wait, Melanie is real?!”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Does she have a penis? She must!”
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Annie, oblivious to Kiki’s earlier comments, laughed it off, but I felt anger rising within me. At that moment, I envisioned myself confronting Kiki. It was the peak of my people-pleasing phase, and I had never felt more unsettled. It’s astonishing how one thoughtless remark can strike at the core of our self-deceptions. The intensity of my anger was a revelation; I had been expending so much emotional energy just to maintain my façade—like a hidden program draining my capacity to function properly.
Driving home, I felt a whirlwind of emotions—resentment and anxiety. “How could she say that? I love my girlfriend,” I thought. But then the realization hit me, “I’m deceiving both myself and Melanie. The truth is visible to everyone.”
Most distressingly, I found myself thinking, “I can’t stand improv chicks!” But in truth, it wasn’t about all improv enthusiasts—just this one who seemed to thrive on any opportunity to provoke laughter and distract from her own issues. To be fair, improv men could be equally overwhelming. Imagine being stuck in a corner with Robin Williams and Will Ferrell all day!
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While I was relieved to never encounter Kiki again, I couldn’t deny that our interaction pushed me further into my shell, prompting me to avoid attention—hardly an effective strategy for someone pursuing a career in show business. Four months later, I finally came out to myself (again, but this time with certainty) and began the challenging journey of ending my relationship, gradually coming out to family and friends, and learning to embrace my authentic self—something I had yet to fully experience.
Realization: Initially, I intended to write about the hurtful experience with Kiki and share my grievances. Yet, as I reflect, I can’t ignore the profound connection between that encounter and my decision to embrace my identity. This moment, once merely a source of frustration, now unfolds as a deeper narrative.
Disclaimer: Annie serves as a reminder that not all improv and sketch comedy individuals fit this stereotype. She is now a successful improviser with a stellar career in commercials, HBO shows, and films. However, a word of caution for sensitive souls or anyone living inauthentically: Beware of the improv enthusiasts—they have a knack for calling out the truth.