Seriously Unserious
Laughter in the times of COVID-19.

I first saw Nataly Aukar at an outdoor comedy show by Babyshower Comedy on the East River Amphitheatre. It was at 7pm, meaning laughs and sunset views. We were definitely laughing, but it was more sharing an umbrella in downpouring rain rather than taking sherbet hued pictures of the sun falling into the river. “You guys must be really bored or hate your roommate huh?” Nataly commented at the beginning of her set. She went on to talk about being Lebanese in New York City and how her roommates’ first reaction upon hearing about the August 4th explosion was offering her some peanut butter. 

Had it not been for the pandemic, she would have been visiting Lebanon on August 4th, where she spent years zero to twenty-two until moving to New York City to pursue her comedy. Zooming in from her apartment in Williamsburg, I talked to Nataly about comedy through tragedy and looking forward to comedy booming again. 

How did you get into comedy?

That’s a hard question. I was a comedy writer in Lebanon. I moved to New York in 2016 because I was like, all right, there isn't much I can do here. There was no money, there was no future. Lebanon was on the brink of collapse, it wasn't collapsing like it is now, but it was on the brink, and I could see my career going nowhere. So I was like, I need to go somewhere where I'm going somewhere with work. I had uncles in New York, so I moved here. Within my first month, I saw a stand-up show and I was like, that's what I want to do. I started doing it right away and I haven't stopped since.

Is comedy your full time job?

It was about to be pre-COVID. I was about to go full time. But now I also work in advertising.

What's a typical day for you?

Pre-COVID or post-COVID? They're very different.

You can choose.

 Post-COVID because pre is gone. There's no point in lingering in the pain of the past that we lost. I wake up, I drink my coffee, I shower. I do nothing for a while and then I get work done for my advertising job. I write. I always nap. Usually at night I'm doing a stand-up. I do [that] and then I smoke weed and go to bed. I wish I had something more exciting to give you but I mean, if you're able to give an exciting answer right now in these times about your day, fuck you.

Any favorite or really memorable sets you've done?

My most memorable sets are always the worst ones. [There was one] where I bombed really hard. I went into the bathroom right after, all red. I had my head in my hands and was like, “Why did I ever start this? This is the worst thing. In the world.” The crowd was not feeling it. I remember telling them, “Wow, you guys are not buying any of this right now.” and one guy from the audience went, “Nope.” 

What does comedy in Lebanon look like versus in New York?

There's a lot more comics in New York, it's a much more established industry. I think New York is the capital of comedy. It's hard to compare New York's comedy to any other city or any other country, let alone Lebanon, because the comedy scene there started like two years ago. The business started first, the artists came after, [they] didn't exist before because they didn't know they could. In Lebanon it’s more up in the air, but it’s really fun because it's new, people aren’t saturated by it.

How do you prepare for a set?

I write. Most of my punch lines come to me in the shower, or walking. I don't like to stand in front of a mirror and try it out. I prepare when I'm actually on stage and try to get it out as I hear myself say it and have an audience reacting.

How do you approach comedy after tragedy? Do you stop or try to use it for good?

I don't stop. I try to use it in my comedy. Lebanon is such a big part of my identity and who I am as a person. A lot of my stand-up is at least related to me being Lebanese and my culture. When a tragedy happens, I can't just ignore it and not call it out. I usually go all in and I start talking about it, but it takes time. As soon as the explosion happened, I started talking about it on stage, because I was like, I cannot not talk about something like that. If I can talk about it and make people laugh about it–not about it directly–but if I can make people laugh while talking about it, that's how I can make them think about it and I can make them talk about it. If they're thinking about it, that's how I can make sure Lebanon stays in people's minds. But it takes time to make it funny, I was struggling a lot. 

Comedy is generally a happy activity, are there any downsides you struggle with?

I would say comedy is mostly a very sad activity for comedians. It's a happy activity for the audience. Being funny all the time is not easy. Making every subject funny is not easy.

Tell me about your experience with comedy during the pandemic and when it started feeling serious for you.

I had a whole tour planned for April and May. I got into one of the biggest festivals. I'm a hypochondriac, so I was a little nervous in February. When I saw what happened in Italy I started getting really nervous. My first thought was “My gigs are going to get canceled.” On March 5th, I opened a huge show in Brooklyn. It was amazing. I went backstage, [with] all the other comics and we were all friends really excited. My best friend who was supposed to be on the road with me came backstage and he was like, “Yo Nat, Chicago just got cancelled because of Coronavirus. It's a no go.” I think it's the first time anyone in that room had ever heard of a whole tour being canceled because of a virus. That was the last time we all saw each other. That was the moment where I realized, fuck it's over and it's just been feeling like it's been over ever since.

Now you've been doing outdoor stand-up?

I've been doing outdoor, I never really got into the Zoom stuff. I say no to most of them unless it’s with an organization that I care about. 

You came to the U.S. in a pretty crazy year. How is that reflected in your comedy?

I don’t know what it was like before I came, so it's kind of hard to compare. I grew up in a crazy country, so this wasn't that crazy to me because I think my benchmark of crazy is very different. It wasn't what I anticipated it to be. My idea of what coming to America was what I saw in movies: you go to America, then everything's great. You find your career, you find your love, you find everything, you're free, you shine. I got here and it wasn't like that.

When was the last time you visited Lebanon?

January. My whole life’s there. 

How easy is it to visit, visa-wise?

My dad went to college in New York and got citizenship in the 1980s, so I was born with [it]. A lot of my friends are struggling with visas right now, especially since Trump. But I don't have to worry about that. Plus, I can vote.

What have you been dreaming about lately?

I've been dreaming about Lebanon a lot. I had a nightmare about the explosion. I bet I've been dreaming about other stuff, but that's the only thing that's in my head right now because [it] was so vivid and real. I guess that's because that's what's been on my mind for the past two months.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.