As I sit on the airplane headed to Lisbon—a city I’ve only been to on layovers with budget airline TAP Portugal—I reckon everything that got me to this point. I’ve been doing comedy on and off since the end of 2015, almost ten years, so when an opportunity popped up to meet other comics around the European comedy scene, my instinct said don’t think, just jump.
They offered lodging and a travel stipend, much more than any other comedy festival I’ve been to. (Listen up Edinburgh! Get it together!) Where does their budget for this come from? No clue. But what I do know is that there will be about 100 “young” comedians who perform regularly throughout Europe, a scene that’s typically overlooked and underrated.
Coming from Barcelona, we have a bit of a reputation now … or at least we like to think we do. Michelle Wolf, who has multiple specials on HBO and Netflix in addition to her tenure on The Daily Show, is based there. Kyla Cobbler, an Irish comic who became a viral sensation thanks to her authenticity and genuine connection through humor, came up there. In November 2024, we held the first Barcelona Fringe Festival. So it’s easy to get caught up in the Barcelona bubble, believing that we can float higher, further, and more extravagantly than other scenes. But European comedy can only thrive if we support each other’s scenes by putting Europe on the funny map as a whole.
Comedy isn’t exclusive to the UK or the USA—there are professional comics popping up all over mainland Europe. Some, such as Victor Patrascan and Dragos, have made a career out of touring. But as I, a 31-year-old woman from New York with ADHD, fly to Lisbon to “network” and show my stuff at open mics, I can’t help but think that the business acumen and social media taking over the comedy industry is pushing out those who just want to write, create, and make people laugh.
The Stand-Up Europe Festival is mostly structured around development and education, full of workshops and open mics. Despite my years in the industry, my imposter syndrome is often more powerful than an audience’s giggles or a lucky spot on a show. I constantly teeter between advocating for myself to do bigger and better shows and feeling like I’ll never be good enough or worthy of a spot on a mic. I’m hoping the workshops inspire me to stick with the only thing I’ve been able to focus on besides musical theater. Or maybe I am just a musical theater dork at heart, and comedy was just a side quest to become a little bit cooler.
At the festival, there are still gong shows and a competition to get booked for the “Big Show”—does comedy have to inherently be competitive? How do we come to terms with working together and working against one another all at the same time? These are the fears and thoughts that consume me as I’m 20,000 feet in the air, while most people on the plane are probably thinking about what they’ll cook for dinner later, what museum they’ll go to in Lisbon, or how, if one small thing goes wrong on this giant machine flying through the sky, we’ll all die in a fiery death and none of this will matter anyway.
But that’s why we have to take the chances life throws at us. We never know what could happen or how long we’ll be here, so if we can connect with others and make them laugh the best way we know how, perhaps we can make some meaning out of our silly little jokes.
