A Bit Sweet, A Bit Lemony

Alpi Firari –

When a Turkish person first visits East London, their astonishment is hard to hide. Walking among Victorian houses, it’s a shock to suddenly encounter local men casually drinking tea and smoking outside a café. Honestly, I’m used to kebab shops, but when I saw an Ev-Kur, I whipped out my phone and posted it on Instagram.
(Yes, I confess, I’m one of those people.)

Discovering a Turkish comedy community in London is just as surprising. Sure, you might think there are some amateurs ready to do stand-up. But who’s going to buy tickets to watch them? It’s wild! However, I did some Googling for you: there are at least 450,000 Turkish speakers in London. So, if each event sells tickets to just 50 people…
(No, I’m not one of those calculating types. Not that extreme.)

The Turkish-speaking communities in London are as diverse as in Anatolia. Starting with Cypriots, Alevis, and Kurds, then branching out to white-collar workers, millennials, followers of FETÖ, and AKP supporters—the spectrum is vast. At first, I felt like a tourist among the millennial wing of this spectrum. Until I experienced the struggles of diaspora life and saw things from a different angle. The warm tones of red tiles and the chirping of birds faded during that first winter.
(You know, just the struggles of being away from home.)

There’s a global term for the experience of being in diaspora. It’s called ‘diaspora,’ meaning ‘scattered around’ or ‘displaced.’ Will this stylish-sounding word provide a remedy for my persistent feelings of disconnection? What’s my place in this diaspora, built by a generation that sought refuge from various human rights abuses?

With my millennial woes, I’m not just a scatterer in this community; I’m more of a drifter. My diaspora isn’t painful; it’s more of a lemony experience. A bit sweet, a bit lemony…
(Oops.) —

The number one need of a millennial drifter is to have a well to shout their unspeakable troubles into. Chosen families and close friends on Instagram are the primary support networks for drifters. However, life tends to push chosen family members apart. Soon, troubles deepen to a level that can’t be contained on Instagram. The drifter is in dire need of a new well.

This is where my path crossed with the Lemonade Comedy Club at just the right moment. I’m not particularly good at storytelling to strangers, but to be honest, I can be a bit of an attention seeker. I love the dust of the stage and the feel of the microphone. The thrill of being up there keeps me alive. For me, merging with others through the magic of the stage is the highest art after life itself. Instead of our troubles echoing in wells, let our laughter resonate in the halls.
(Long live stages and those who support them!)

As you know, the Turkish stand-up scene stepped into a new era post-2020. The inflationary economy of recent years has significantly increased the number of drifters, not just in terms of market prices. We’re realizing we’re not unique as misled millennials. Could my meeting with Lemonade at this moment be a coincidence? Just asking.
(After all, timing is everything in comedy!)

I Was Already Doing Stand-Up…

Ersah Kahraman

We were at a friend’s baby birthday party when my phone rang. “Why is Yunus calling me now? It’s not a holiday,” I thought to myself.
“Hello, my dear?”
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Good, how about you?”
“Good. Listen, you’re going on stage in a month; I started a stand-up club.”
“What does that mean? Is it really that easy to start a comedy club?”
“Yep. I even came up with a name: Lemonade Comedy Club! How does that sound?”
“Did you really name it Lemonade because Cem Yılmaz came from Leman Culture?”
“What? What are you talking about?”

Since Yunus is about ten years younger than me, I thought about explaining how Leman Culture got its name from the magazine Leman, which was originally called Limon. When the cartoonists had a disagreement, a group split off to form Leman. But then I thought, why ruin the kid’s excitement?
“Great job! I’m all set. Always ready.”

And that “always ready” isn’t just a joke. I performed my first stand-up show when I was 14, in the school theater, in front of some classmates and a few teachers. I still remember it clearly. I wore those baggy pants that are trendy with kids who listen to rap now—huge, camo-colored pants, a black t-shirt, and an unbuttoned long-sleeve shirt over it. I set up two black stands as a backdrop and taped papers with the names of great comedians I admired on them. The show went okay, except for the part where I impersonated Süleyman Demirel. After it went well, I repeated the same show for the same audience, inviting other teachers. I thought to myself, “You can’t tell the same joke twice; you have to add something extra.”

Since I had seen Ferhan Sensoy’s “Ferhangi Şeyler” live at age ten, I thought of the current events jokes that greats like him would make by reading newspapers. So, for the second show, I cut out interesting stories from the daily Hürriyet that my dad brought home every evening and added them to my stories. One article was about a woman insuring her breasts. When I made a joke about it—thinking it was funny—our conservative teacher, Emine Hoca, stormed out. As a seasoned comedian, I thought I should throw a dig at her as she left, but I caught the eye of the vice principal, Selman Bey, who gestured with his eyebrows, “Don’t do it.” So, I didn’t. What else could I do? After that, Emine Hoca didn’t speak to me for two months, and Selman Hoca banned me from doing stand-up again. I was a young stand-up comic who got grounded for it!

Fast forward 28 years (yes, twenty-eight), and I’ve grown a bit rusty; but ever since I settled in England, I’ve always had this dream: a stage environment where I can say, “Is there anyone else who wants to tell stories?” Then I’d perform, and after a thunderous applause, I’d have a chance to do it regularly. That’s why for the past 13 years (yep, thirteen), I jot down any details I find interesting in my phone or little notebook. At the first meeting of the team, while everyone was discussing the number of jokes they had, when I scrolled down my notes, they thought I was joking. “I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for years!” I said, but no one seemed to care.

Of course, performing on stage is a whole different ballgame. There’s timing, delivery, movement, voice tone—the whole package. It’s not like everyday life. I can easily use Cem Yılmaz’s tone and jokes in my daily life, and everyone knows I picked that up from him. I was 13 when I saw Cem Yılmaz live on stage. (Now, think about it chronologically: at 7, I saw Zeki Alasya and Metin Akpınar; at 8, Nejat Uygur; at 10, Ferhan Sensoy; at 13, Cem Yılmaz; and at 14, Demet Akbağ and Yılmaz Erdoğan live.) It’s great to impersonate these masters, but if you do it on stage, people will tear you apart. They’ll say, “Cem Yılmaz does this!” Most of the audience wouldn’t know names like Sadri Alışık, Vahi Öz, Altan Erbulak, or Savaş Dinçel, nor have they seen Ace Ventura or any movie featuring the ZAZ trio, let alone recite a Vitamin song from memory. And they’d be right! If you don’t have your own style on stage, you’re done for!

That’s why, on my first night, my show, originally planned to be 15 minutes (yes, I said fifteen), wrapped up in just 12 minutes. “I must keep the pace, the tempo,” I thought, and the show flew by like a Scud missile. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t too bad. I got a few claps, a lot of reactions, and I stepped off the stage feeling like “I’m the king of the stage!” What was I wearing that first night? A black t-shirt and an unbuttoned long-sleeve shirt. Some things never change, even after twenty-eight years, except for those baggy camo pants.

As I said, since I’ve been jotting down notes since I came to England, I’ve been rehearsing in front of the bathroom mirror. And what a stage it is! Since moving to England, we’ve changed houses four times, which means four different stages! My wife has started saying, “What are you doing, crazy? Are you talking to yourself again?” Sometimes I’d spend an hour performing in front of the mirror. Now Yunus occasionally says, “Hey, are you going to change your routine a bit?” I say, “Come on! The audience is different every time, thank goodness. There’s nothing to change!” I can’t seem to explain it. I’ve told him a hundred times; I’ve got enough material for at least nine more shows. Just let me know about the audience!

So, dear friends, I was already doing stand-up in England. Lemonade came later. Thank goodness it did. If Lemonade Comedy Club hadn’t been born, all my jokes would have slipped through the mirror and gone down the toilet!

Thank you, Lemonade!
Long live Lemonade!

My journey started with a phone call from a dear friend…

Tuba Doner – Even though I’m not very accustomed to writing such pieces, I had to start somewhere! Hello, dear reader 🙂 I’m Tuba! Probably the first comedian at Lemonade Turkish Comedy Club! Of course, I can’t say for sure if someone else was approached before me! However, one thing I do know is that the role this team played in building my confidence as a stand-up comedian has been immense!

When dear Yunus called me and said, “We’re starting a comedy club and would like you to be a part of it,” I struggled to express my joy because it was such a new field for me. Not only did I not know how successful I would be, but I hadn’t even performed stand-up in Turkish yet! Yes, you read that right, dear reader—I began my stand-up career in English and continue to perform in it. In fact, let me start from the beginning, if you’re ready, here we go:

My curiosity about getting on stage and sharing my thoughts has been with me since childhood! From pretending with a hairbrush to participating in every school theater audition, and even joining an amateur theater group at 29 years old to play a lead role in a season’s performance to spite my father who didn’t let me study theater at university—I was always involved in this passion! But then plans changed, I moved to London, and the real-life struggle began! I can’t say I completely disconnected from the arts; I continued to watch stand-up and go to the theater, but I probably didn’t have the energy to pursue being part of it actively.

The year was 2020, during the pandemic when we were all stuck at home, worrying about whether we’d be able to return to Turkey, see our families again, or if Alp Er Tunga had died. Amidst such anxieties, my closest friend Didem put immense pressure on me to attend open mics that I had long wanted to but never had the courage to go to! I said, “Girl, I can’t do it. Yes, I really want to, but I can’t manage it. What if I get on stage and they hate me? I don’t even know where to start!” There’s nothing worse in this world than not believing in yourself! But having even one person believe in you is equally wonderful! Unknowingly or not, Didem had actually planted the seeds of this idea in my mind, voicing what I had been unable to say out loud for years.

Another year passed by, and I still hadn’t attended any open mics, and then another year. However, in March 2023, a Facebook ad became the first step toward everything. The ad asked, “Would you like to perform 5 minutes of stand-up for a charity?” I immediately showed it to Didem, who said, even if it’s spam, I should give it a try. By the time she said that, I had already completed my application 🙂 Thanks to this organization, I completed an 8-week free course and finally performed a 5-minute stand-up show. My first performance, with my legs shaking from excitement, was in a huge hall with 300 people, in one of London’s most famous comedy clubs. I went on stage, confident in my memorization, but my heart was racing. Just before going on, I looked at my coach, who said, “Come on girl, you got this.” Then I thought, she was right; I knew what to talk about, I was sure it would be funny, and with that enthusiasm, I ran onto the stage! Hearing so much applause, feeling the adrenaline of being on stage, and seeing all my dear friends in the front row supporting me was an indescribable happiness.

Since that day, I don’t know how many times I’ve been on stage—I stopped counting after 40 🙂 But I still find Turkish performances to be the most intimidating. For some reason, whether it’s because of where we come from or our culture, we can be a bit harsh on the people we watch on stage. Even though I’m nearly 40, the saying “What will others think” still echoes in my ears, so breaking some taboos and forgetting certain things I know will take time. But that moment between getting on stage and just before leaving is what I want to stand still while I’m on stage. If I could, I’d talk forever 🙂

I think I also enjoy the creative struggle period, with a touch of melancholy, don’t you think? 🙂 In my stand-up career, which I’ve been pursuing for almost 1.5 years, I often feel like I’m failing in each new material search and writing process, thinking “it’s not working.” But then, when I get on stage, all my worries disappear. After receiving praise from people who come up to me after the show, I’m overjoyed, and my belief in myself is renewed!

In summary, dear reader, I am incredibly happy to be involved in this field, to be able to call myself a stand-up comedian, and to be a part of the Lemonade Turkish Comedy Club.

THE LAUGHTER-FILLED STAGE DUST: LEMONADE TURKISH COMEDY CLUB

Burcin Turhan – It all started when I stumbled upon the Instagram account of Lemonade Turkish Comedy Club. A voice inside me said, “Burçin, this is your place!” So, I reached out to Yunus, the brilliant mind behind Lemonade Turkish Comedy Club. The message I sent him was more of a cry for help than a request: “I want to perform too!” This simple sentence was actually the translation of a much deeper question: “What am I doing?” With a rush of adrenaline, I hit send. I’m glad I did—courage is a beautiful thing, even if you don’t know where it comes from! While it may seem like a small act from the outside, for me, it was a revolution. That moment, the voices in my head started speaking all at once. “What if you can’t do it? What if you forget your jokes? What if…?” Another voice reassured me, “Girl, haven’t you conquered so much already? Just give this a try.” I decided to listen to the second voice.

Yunus and I agreed that I would perform at an open mic. But stepping on stage wasn’t as simple as it seemed. Being a comedian, especially a female comedian, carries different connotations for everyone. Society generally expects women to be “ladylike,” not funny. But my ladylike manners last only until I step on stage—if I’m in a good mood, that is!

As the day of the performance approached, that first voice in my head reappeared. I was initially trying to come up with funny jokes, but then I started to panic, thinking, “What if no one laughs?” That itself was ironic—imagine a woman telling a joke that no one laughs at, ha! As a woman, I felt that if I made a mistake on stage, it would be seen as three times bigger. But then I thought, “Burçin, what’s better comedy material than these very fears?”

Whether you’re a man or a woman, the key rule in comedy is to laugh at yourself and stand confidently on stage, knowing that people will judge you. Aren’t we, as women, already on a stage every day? Judged by family, work, relatives, or partners? This time, stepping onto a stage under the lights just requires a bit more courage—but that’s what makes it fun.

The moment Yunus announced my name and invited me on stage, I thought of the last page in Kaan Sekban’s book, Tebrikler Kovuldunuz (Congratulations, You’re Fired). Every step I took toward the stage was for a feeling or for someone. The first step was for every moment I didn’t believe in myself; the second was to prove that I could do whatever I wanted; the third was for my sister Burcu, who always supports me and wants me to be myself. And there I was, on stage. Despite years of acting at Müjdat Gezen Theatre, this felt like my first time on stage. That’s when I realized there was a world of difference between those stages—there, I was in character, but here I was naked, just Burçin. With my shyness, excitement, panic attacks, and standing before the audience, blinded by that white light. I had set myself up to do something I’d never experienced before, without even rehearsing.

Thankfully, the lights didn’t go out, and everyone didn’t just go home—just kidding! My first line was, “Hi, I’m Burçin Turhan.” After that, I don’t remember much. As I kept talking, I heard a couple of chuckles—aha, I thought. As I heard more, I got more into it, and there it was, like a newborn baby smiling at me: the first big laugh.

When my performance ended, I stepped off the stage, and inside, I said, “I did it!” Despite all the prejudices female comedians face, standing tall on stage and making the audience laugh is a great feeling! My first experience at Lemonade Turkish Comedy Club wasn’t just a performance; it reminded me of how valuable it is to be a woman on stage, to do comedy, and to be yourself. I forgot more jokes than I told on that stage, but instead of trying to hide it, I shared it with the audience by saying, “Well, I just forgot what I was going to say!”

Performing at Lemonade Turkish Comedy Club was one of the most terrifying yet rewarding experiences of my life. As a female comedian, breaking away from the roles society expects and finding my path on stage is an amazing feeling. Remember, women aren’t just graceful; they can also be incredibly funny. And if it takes stepping on a stage to prove that, we’ll do it—we are doing it—because the stage is our place too!

Of course, this journey doesn’t end on stage. Stand-up is an art form that requires continuous growth and learning. My first time on stage was just the beginning of this long journey. Every new stage experience taught me patience and perseverance. Things may not be perfect overnight. You might not deliver the performance you wanted in your first few attempts. But what’s important is not to give up on the process and to keep working on improving every time. Stand-up, like life, is a journey with ups and downs. But what matters is to add something to yourself with every step and to learn from each experience.

In the end, taking this first step into the world of stand-up refreshed my self-confidence, helped me face my fears, and opened a door for me to be more courageous in every area of life. The existence of Lemonade Turkish Comedy Club and people like Yunus makes this journey even more meaningful. Without their support and guidance, taking this step would have been much harder for me. For instance, after one performance, when I forgot my joke on stage, I went to Yunus and, like a little child, complained to him about myself. He said just one word: “Time.” And he was right. Just like in anything else, I was looking for reasons to criticize myself instead of having fun. Yunus’ single word took me from the scorching sands to the cool seas. Wow 😊 Lemonade Turkish Comedy Club and Yunus, I’m so glad you exist.

You know what the most fun part is? Our pre-show chats and the comedy green room. Everyone there shares the same worries, excitement, and joy. If someone is more experienced, they encourage the newcomers by saying, “Don’t worry, you’ll do great, we’re here to have fun.” Someone else is practicing the joke they’re going to tell on stage. Everyone finds a way to calm their nerves, and they do.

If you feel any excitement inside you for something, the only thing you need to do is take a step to turn that excitement into courage. Don’t be afraid to face your fears, because behind those fears might be the greatest successes of your life. That first day I stepped onto the stand-up stage was one of the most courageous steps I’ve ever taken, and the lessons I learned that day continue to guide me in all areas of life. As you start writing your own story, remember this: courage begins with overcoming your fears.

IF YOU’RE READY, LET’S GO!

Senan Deniz Hava – On a rainy evening in London, exhausted and leaving work late, I received a call from Yunus, someone I hadn’t seen in a long time. The first thing he said was, “Are you ready, my friend? WE’RE STARTING.”

Yunus had been strategizing in his head to establish Lemonade Comedy Club, the first Turkish comedy club in London. While forming his team, he employed a clever strategy: he brought together two professional female comedians, Tuba and Öykü; a professional actor, Orhan; perhaps the most recognized name in London’s Turkish YouTube scene, Erşah; and, for a wild card, he added me—the “naturally funny” friend he knew from social circles—hoping, “Maybe it’ll work.”

When the day of the first performance arrived, I found myself on stage with just two or three pages of material, the most inexperienced person there, and the first one up. I started reading from my notes, trying to deliver what I thought were very funny jokes, but nobody was laughing. The audience was frozen. What I was saying didn’t resonate with them, and I learned my first lesson: for an amateur comedian, the biggest mistake is trying to deceive the audience. I tore up my notes and said, “I don’t think this is working; I’m just going to tell it straight.” A couple sitting in the front gave me advice, “Tell a funny story that happened to you.” So, I started recounting an absurd experience I had in Italy. People began to laugh, and then they laughed at everything else I said. I had made peace with the audience, and that day I learned my first lesson: no matter how funny your jokes or how amusing you are, you need to establish a genuine connection with the audience first.

Later, another comedian named Ruşen Tuzcu joined the team. Ruşen is an important figure in the underground stand-up scene and was one of the first to bring this culture from London to Turkey back in 2013-14. In one of our shows in March, he and I went on stage back-to-back, and we truly owned the night. It was an incredible evening—after I introduced myself, the audience burst into laughter at every line I delivered. It was such an amazing night that I sent Ruşen a message when I got home: “Dude, I think I’m getting aroused right now.” Honestly, the feeling you get after a great performance is like this: think of the best sex you’ve ever had and multiply it by ten. I don’t even want to describe what it’s like after a terrible performance.

In this short journey (just eight months), I’ve performed on stage 16-17 times, opened for a professional comedian, and participated in open mics in three different countries (England, Germany, and Turkey). But somehow, it feels like everything is just starting now. IF YOU’RE READY, LET’S GO!

Help Me! :)

Ege Oyuryuz –
Yes, I wanted to start the writing like this.
I wanted to grab your attention.
I probably didn’t succeed.
After all, who would read the words of a no-name comedian candidate?
I wouldn’t.
I’m just kidding.
I don’t want you to read this.
Go away.
HELP ME!

Yes, I did it again.
I’m sorry.
Anyway, you can really go now.
Do you still want to read?
Leave! You can do more important things!
Are you still reading?
Look, you’re still here!
Seriously, enough!
Stop messing around!

HEY!
(don’t go!)
Go!
(I’m trapped in this writing)
Help me!
This writing is forcing me to—-

Hehehe

Just kidding, darling…
What forcing?
Just go already.
(please don’t leave)
So, you’re still here…

Okay.
Then here’s my piece that I’ve written entirely of my own free will:

Hello!
Let there be a basket of greetings and a bouquet of jokes! I’d like to thank Lemonade for giving me this opportunity to write. Throughout this piece, I will shamelessly unleash the reckless horse inside me and make you laugh wildly.

Speaking of laughing, what we do at Lemonade is just that. We laugh. We spend hours on stage cracking jokes. It gets sweaty and intense, but it’s a fact that we can’t joke without an audience. We laugh together. The biggest factor that sets us apart from other comedians is, I think, the variety within our group. Laughing mothers, laughing youths, former jokesters.

I wasn’t there for the beginning of Lemonade. However, I’ve been following it since its first opening, waiting for the right moment. Therefore, I can’t say I was one of those weird relatives saying, “When I saw you, you were just a little thing; oh, I changed your diaper!” But I believe I’ve caught up with it in its adolescence. Lemonade was a slightly pimply, overconfident, confused kid. In the dark, hidden corners under Babel, jokes were being made, and laughter was echoing underground. (By the way, let’s note that some legendary names were present at Lemonade’s opening.) These underground laughs sometimes came in fantastic bursts but often turned into a long and exhausting process. Listening to 10-15 comedians back-to-back can be terrifying! Someone is always cracking jokes recklessly! Terrifying! (One day, when I went up last at an open mic, I was really scared that the audience would beat me up.)

To explain what we do at Lemonade, I need to tell you what we’re not:
We’re not famous.
And being famous is truly privileged! If you’re asking, “What does that even mean?”, I’m referring to the magical energy that comes with fame; the thin red carpet, the sharp microphone, the energy surrounding a recognized figure. It’s not a spiritual energy. Just think about it: when you’re watching someone you love or admire, like Jim Carrey’s silly faces will always make you laugh, Cem Yılmaz’s single move or word will always be funny, and Feyyaz Yiğit’s serious face will always bring a smile. What I mean is, when you step onto the stage, the audience that came specifically to see you is already simmering with a desire to laugh!

Ah, and big audiences! How wonderful they are! Let’s conduct a useless little experiment together:

Let’s have an audience of 100 people, and if only thirty percent of them laugh (which is 30 people), the remaining 70 are just smiling, thinking, “Did we not get the joke?” Now, let’s consider an audience of only 20 people; if thirty percent of them laugh (that’s 6 people), the other 15 are thinking, “What are these idiots laughing at?”

And if the audience finds you off-putting… well, that’s when you’ve really sat at the end of the stick.

Yes, that’s what we do at Lemonade. We get lost in the process, not knowing whether to sit at one end of the stick or the other. Will they laugh at political humor? Will saying “f*ck” be funny? If I make a joke about the girl in the audience, will the bald guy next to her beat me up? Can I pay rent this month? And so on.

I’ve shared how chaotic and dark this process can be for you. I want to mention that the chances of failure are high. Embarrassment, shame, bored faces, bad jokes, not being funny, and the worst—those who don’t laugh at you!

Yet, the beautiful images created in your mind by a tiny moment of success, “I made the bald guy laugh, yay, he won’t beat me up,” the joy of making even one person laugh for a moment cannot be erased by any negative feeling. Lemonade gives us this opportunity: it allows us to make others laugh and, in turn, gives us the chance to laugh ourselves. It spreads the joy of laughing together in our hands.

I’m happy to be a part of this ever-growing comedic community. For a while, I’ve just been watching and joking from afar. But during this time, Lemonade hasn’t stopped! Baturay Özdemirler, Ekiş stand-ups, and so on… you see, the lemon juice keeps flowing. The best part of such a formation is that it’s still at the beginning, still open to innovations and different people, welcoming everyone in one way or another. When we first started, there was almost no time limit at open mic nights! Nowadays, that’s gradually decreasing. As systems are built, it’s a fact that exceptions are becoming rarer. Still, Lemonade continues to behave fresh and sour towards new joiners just like on its first day. Come, watch, step onto the stage. Leave with a sour taste in your mouth (let’s hope for a good sourness!) and a smile on your face as you part from Lemonade.

And come again!

It’s Time to Start Somewhere

Gorkem Cinar –

Dear reader,

As I begin writing, I could have made a flashy start with phrases like “The power of words” or “Storytelling,” but I didn’t want this to be a boring piece. It wouldn’t feel sincere either.

Right now, I’m writing these lines on a flight from Izmir to London. Why am I sharing this detail? Honestly, I don’t know. But I needed to start this writing from somewhere. Just like how I need to start with humor…

Having spent my childhood and youth reading humor magazines, my greatest desire was to draw cartoons. However, since I lacked drawing skills, my connection with humor magazines remained that of a good reader. But one day, I wanted to grasp humor by its arms and pull it towards me like an eager tango dancer (yes, biting a red rose).

How should a stand-up routine be written? How can timing be used most effectively? How can each new joke be improved to be better than the last? What if they don’t laugh? These were all unknowns in a very complicated equation.

The only thing I knew was how to make people laugh.

I always dreamed of doing Turkish comedy in London, but there weren’t many opportunities to do so. Until I met the “Lemonade Comedy Club.” (This part was added by the boss.)

Everything started by participating in the Open Mic. I began by sharing my amusing observations with the audience and, after receiving positive reactions and laughter, I became part of the team.

Over time, I realized what was important in a comedy club:

  • A team that approaches its comedians with compassion and shares their mistakes with kindness.
  • A team that seeks answers to the question, “How can it be done better?”
  • A team that supports you both on nights when you get laughs and when there’s silence.
  • A team that promptly evaluates feedback from comedians and the audience (yes, promptly).

All of the above made this club one that answers the question, “What should a comedy club do to provide comfort to its comedians?” (I wrote this part myself. Seriously.)

So, as a budding comedian (whatever that means), how has my life changed over time?

  • I’ve started taking more notes.
  • Instead of going for the first joke that comes to mind, I try to create more layered jokes.
  • I can’t shake the thought of, “Will I be funny tomorrow?”
  • I’ve participated in more Open Mics to gain stage experience and test new jokes.
  • I’m aware that jokes I think are funny might not be funny to everyone, and I’m searching for ways to turn that to my advantage (still haven’t found it).
  • I’ve concluded that those who comment, “He didn’t use any facial expressions,” may want to laugh but couldn’t due to a medical issue, and they want to express that.
  • I strive to present jokes as simply as possible.
  • Sincerity: being exactly who you are.

But I think another important factor is being able to capture the audience in the first seconds without resorting to “audience flattery.” The last principle I mentioned—sincerity—summarizes this beautifully.

As in all forms of art, originality is very important in humor as well. There will inevitably be inspirations or influences from different comedians, but these influences should never turn into copying or imitation. The audience picks up on that immediately, and you start to lose them. As Tarkan said, “Don’t be someone else, be yourself. You’ll be much funnier that way.”

By consistently participating in Open Mics, we can experiment with new jokes and also have the chance to refine those we’ve tested before. I compare jokes to comedians. Over time, they find their best form as they experience different audiences. I think once this harmony is achieved, both the comedian and the jokes stand on stage in their “best form.”

If time allows during an Open Mic, I like to start with a previously tested joke that received positive feedback before introducing a new one. This helps reduce the excitement and prepares the audience for the next “new” joke. I call this the “base.” It’s like having a light snack before drinking rakı to prepare your palate for the alcohol.

Giving a joke that hasn’t received a reaction one last chance is also important. Sometimes, you may experience a night when even your most trusted joke doesn’t get a laugh. Perhaps the audience didn’t connect, or you weren’t on your game. But if you still believe in that untested joke, I think it deserves one last chance. The first steps of a joke are just as important as its maturity.

As I mentioned earlier, I’m still quite new to humor production and stand-up. Therefore, I don’t have an audience that knows me yet (not yet). So every time I take the stage, I have something in mind. The audience doesn’t know me, and the attendees come in thinking, “We heard there’s a Turkish stand-up night, so we came,” which makes my job a bit tougher.

When telling a joke that lacks a reference for the audience, some content needs to be provided. For instance, before making an offside joke to someone who has never watched football, you should explain what an offside is, or when telling a joke that someone from a particular culture might understand, it may be necessary to clarify it for someone from a different culture. However, what’s important here is that the explanation should be as quick and clear as possible. Otherwise, the audience will get bored and, to put it bluntly, start “tuning out.” Thus, making jokes that appeal to the “general” audience will save a comedian from this burden.

Another thing that makes me happy on this journey is seeing that the perspective I’ve created is accepted and laughed at in different contexts as well.

Since I believe that a person can have a better narrative in their mother tongue and express themselves more clearly, performing humor in Turkish is a great comfort zone.

I’d like to thank the “Lemonade Comedy Club” family for providing this space for us “budding” comedians. (I added this last part after promising I’d be the opening comedian at the next Open Mic.)

Stagefear

Gamze Kahraman –

One day, Ersah came to me and said, “You know Yunus? He’s starting a comedy club, and I’m going to perform there, just so you know.”
“Wow, that’s great!” I replied. “Awesome! You can do it, my love,” and then I didn’t think much of it. Everything felt pretty ordinary to me. Sure, I was happy and excited for my partner; after all, it was something he really wanted. He was the one who should be excited. His big night came, but what was the big deal? He had it memorized. He had been planning this for years. He was prepared. How nervous could it possibly be to get on stage? But a few days before, I sensed something was off.

“Are you nervous?” I asked.
“Well, I guess,” he replied.
But I didn’t get it. On his big night, he made a casual remark that felt out of place. I didn’t understand. He went on stage and spoke faster than usual. I didn’t get it. He finished and came down. I still didn’t get it. Until… the moment came when it was clear I’d be going up too.

“There’s an open mic, will you go up?” he asked.
What did I know? No way, can it be? I was caught off guard, but somehow I said yes. Okay, but what was I going to talk about? I managed to come up with something, and the night arrived. On the way there, I kept thinking about what I would say. Two hours before, I felt a lump in my stomach. I had already forgotten the clumsy script I prepared. Thank goodness I had written it down, but the problem was I couldn’t remember what I had read. As the comedian before me was performing, a hundred negative thoughts raced through my mind: “What if I can’t do it? What if I embarrass myself? What if no one laughs?” Ultimately, I stepped on stage. My voice felt trapped inside, my stomach was in knots, I couldn’t remember anything, my ears were ringing, and my eyes were blinded by the stage lights. What are those lights?! I started to speak, but my lips felt glued together. How can a person’s mouth be so dry? I hadn’t been dehydrated for days! One part of me was worried about running out of saliva while another was trying to remember the next line. At one point, I thought about running off the stage in tears. Thank goodness I didn’t. But I think I peed a little. I mean, emotionally. I hadn’t experienced feelings like this in 43 years. Not even during sex (for that, I owe a big thanks to Lemonade Turkish Comedy Club).

Speaking of 43, what does it feel like to have never stepped on stage even once in all those years and then desperately want to be up there? Is there even a word for that?

When stepping onto the stage, the word “nervous” sometimes feels inadequate. Excitement, anxiety, eagerness, curiosity… I wish there were a new, original word that could encapsulate all of these feelings at once. That way, when we hear that word, we’d understand that the person stepping onto the stage feels like a sailboat caught in a storm in the middle of an ocean.

For instance, let’s call it “Stagefear.”

Create the Ideal Moment

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