Low Fat, High Respect
One of the marks of a true master of stand-up comedy: zero fat. There is no fat left on the joke as he tells it. It’s all meat.
There are no long preambles, there is no forced scene-building dripping with detail. He doesn’t have to give you a history of “the way I’ve always looked at things” or “the family I was raised in.” He doesn’t have to teach you what to find funny in the joke he’s about to tell.
There is only enough setup to set up the punch line, and no more. When a great comedian delivers his bit, you don’t feel like you’ve just been told something that he’s been refining for six months — even though he has. Because it comes out so effortlessly. It sounds conversational and clean. The same way a writer’s editing process is about removing as much as possible, not adding more.
Two modern masters of this in comedy are Anthony Jeselnik and Nate Bargatze. Both outstanding comics in technique, and in my own opinion also in material.
Their delivery is “dry.” I contrast this against what I’d describe as “wet” comedy: Will Ferrell, The Big Bang Theory, or anyone on the Disney channel. What they’re saying would not be funny on paper; it’s only funny because they’re using ridiculous personalities to force a laugh. Their delivery is “wet” with exaggeration and silliness. Personally, I consider that a lower form of comedy.
And with an amateur comedian who desperately wants you to think he’s funny, you’ll notice some tendencies. He isn’t properly calibrated on the audience’s intelligence. He doesn’t respect the audience’s imagination. He gives his own punch line too much respect. And he tries to teach you what you’re about to laugh at.
The key to the stripped-down delivery, and the reason Jeselnik and Bargatze are so popular, is that they do the opposites of all these things. They give the audience an immense amount of respect. They don’t underestimate the audience’s power to visualize or imagine or follow along. You might say, what they are truly masters of is estimating the audience’s intelligence.
But you also see that sort of behavior, that rookie-ish scene-setting and over-wording, that wetness, in everyday interactions. And you also see high-fat, low-respect language where all you want is some respect.
When you get bad news from some company or someone you’ve contracted to do a job, they’ll say “we do want to apologize for this, we know how inconvenient” such and such. But think about the structure of that sentence. They didn’t even say “I’m sorry.” In fact, they went to great trouble not to. What they did say, basically, was “we do want to apologize, in case that was in doubt. We do want to apologize, because we want you to think we’re a good company. We do want to apologize, because apparently that’s standard procedure for this kind of situation and it’s probably what you expect.”
That will never feel as satisfying or respectful as “we’re really sorry. We messed this up, we made a mistake.” I immediately trust company B more. Because they’re not trying to sell me the abstract idea of an apology — they’re actually offering one. They’re lowering themselves to the level of decent human behavior and actually apologizing. Throwing themselves at my mercy and seeing how I’ll respond. And in 99.9% of situations, this makes me want to respond gracefully.
This reminds me of that manager in Office Space who says “if you could go ahead and come in on Sunday, that’d be great.”
When you have a manager who says things like this, he’s setting up the illusion that Sunday was already on the table. He’s using forcing language to construct the situation unfairly: coming in on Sunday was an idea that came out of your head, not his. And you can just go ahead and do that, since that’s what’s needed. You can go ahead and take the previously-agreed-upon initiative to do just that.
There are very few things in life that irritate me as much as the phrase “can you go ahead and.” Because it’s the other person trying to tell you what to do but making it seem like your own prerogative. It’s textbook manipulation. It’s them doing an unpleasant thing but magically putting the accountability on you. It’s magic. It’s awful, shitty magic.
And when that company gives you the “we do want to” line, what they’re really doing is making the apology come out of your head instead of their mouths. So that they don’t have to stoop to the level of decency and be at your mercy. So that they don’t have to admit that they’re part of a species that makes mistakes, and say the words “I’m” and “sorry.”
Unfortunately, part of being a company at any time anywhere is making colossal mistakes, and then having to seriously apologize for them. That just comes with the territory. It doesn’t matter who you are — sometimes you just have to say the words “I’m sorry.” When you avoid doing so, people don’t trust you. And they shouldn’t.
Same goes for being a partner. Throw yourself at their mercy once in a while. They deserve that from you.
Getting back to preambles and fat: preambles tend to be counterproductive. When someone gives me a preamble to what they’re about to say, it makes it 90% less interesting automatically. They’ll start qualifying their language — explaining what they’re about to explain.
I don’t want someone to tell me how crazy it is whom they saw the other day; I just want them to tell me whom they saw.
I don’t want someone to teach me how to respond to what they’re about to say; I just want them to say it. I’ll respond in accordance with how funny, interesting, or useful the information is. If it’s not funny, interesting, or useful, that’s their problem. Not mine.
And sure that sounds harsh. But comedians have to learn, through pain, what is and isn’t worth opening one’s mouth and saying. And it’s the same for everyone else. We’re just not getting paid for it. Although we still might get booed.
Another bad preamble: “Now I understand where you’re coming from, trust me, I do, and let me also say that you and I go way back and I respect your opinion and … …”
Listening to that sentence come out of someone’s mouth causes me physical discomfort. I feel like I’m watching a performance.
In their heads they’re convinced that what they’re doing is building a good relationship. But again, this person is not trusting or respecting the audience. In putting off the truth and making it feel danced around, they’re making the truth even more unpleasant than it already is. Weird how that works. Because they’re trying to save their own face — they’re not trying to cooperate. They’re making the situation about them, not me or the truth.
The more they qualify their language, the less authentic it sounds. In fact, the more they qualify their language, the more manipulative it sounds — whether that’s fair or not.
Simple is better: “I agree with you, but my hands are tied.” Or “I had to make a decision, and I’m sorry but I’ve made one.” Simple, non-flowery. This kind of sentence, even though it can be unpleasant in the moment, is less unpleasant. And it tends to lead to respect and trust, which leads to cooperation. Instead of leading to one side resenting the other for being condescending or dismissive.
Here’s the thing: you prove who you are across time with your integrity and your intentions. You don’t have to use words for that every time.
In any given interaction, it’s not just your words that are doing your communicating. It’s your reputation. It’s the relationship you have with the other person. The trust, respect, shared imagination, and shared values that you develop with someone over time are providing almost all of the context that is needed for what you say to land the way you want it to land. And ending the sentence with a little tiny smile, or a gesture of respect and patience, can deliver all of the context that your 56-word preamble would have. So just use the smile or the gesture instead.
(This gets harder in text messages and emails, of course, which is why you should almost never have serious conversations through text or email.)
When people know you as someone who tells the truth but also has good and respectful intentions, you earn the privilege of using fewer words. You won’t be misunderstood nearly as often as you think. And most people prefer frankness over floweriness any day, despite the occasional hurt feelings.
When a master comedian wants to tell the perfect joke, he doesn’t make it longer. Instead, he removes every word that isn’t absolutely essential. And he gives the listener immense respect — both intellectually, and as a person of reason and agency. I think that’s a great recipe for everyday communication as well.
This is also why most memorable quotes and aphorisms are short. There’s a certain element of respect in brevity.
And when I have to apologize to someone in a professional capacity, I use simple language. I say only that I’m sorry and that I’ve made a mistake, and if necessary I explain that I know how this has impacted them. And, more often than not, that person feels too bad to even be angry with me. We are now sharing, together, the sadness of mistakes. Suddenly this person feels more like my teammate than my disgruntled customer.
What a drastic difference.
Drink some water and then go ahead and come in on Sunday.
JDR
"When I ask how old your toddler is, I don't need to hear '27 months.' 'He's two' will do just fine. He's not a cheese. And I didn't really care in the first place." - George Carlin
And on a related note, here’s one of my favorite Square Man pieces: Get Excellent at Apologizing.