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Watching stand-up comedy — and watching it on TV, which is one step removed — is an acquired taste. A taste the algorithm is trying to make me acquire, because of the number of snippets and “reels” it has thrown my way this last month. So, I bit the bullet.
I watched comedian Kapil Sharma’s new special I’m Not Done Yet, in which he steps away from his usual comedic style and attempts a more authentic stand-up set based on self-deprecating jabs.
A comedian’s onstage style is one of things that is rarely 'talked about.' Yet as I watched Sharma undertake some charmingly honest reflection on his own life, I could not help but wonder at his chosen stage outfit: a shiny black jacket with black trousers and black shirt.
Maybe he was coming from a wedding reception in West Delhi, or perhaps going to one afterwards. I am joking, of course. I mean, a lot of thought and money must have gone into styling him in a headlining show with a large budget. They could not have put the whole budget into marketing the show, and nothing for costume. But what was the thinking behind his styling? Why do comedians wear what they wear?
Apparently, it is not as simple as it looks.
A stand-up comic must account for many things. Firstly, they cannot let their clothes overshadow their punchlines.
What they are looking like should not distract the audience from what they are saying, but they should also look "vaguely attractive and put together." At the same time, it should not contradict the substance of their set. For instance, comedian Mike Lawrence once told his show stylists that whatever they did, to "make sure I look poor!" His set was "a dumpy, sad act."
It sounds like a hard balancing act. For women comedians, more so. The amount of thought women comedians put into what they wear is mind boggling. Already a minority in the male-dominated stand-up comedy space, there are innumerable stories of women being heckled, body shamed, and having to “dress down” and erase their femininity because of the prejudice in audience’s minds that women are not funny, especially pretty women. Do you wear a dress, do you wear heels, do you own your body or cover it up in baggy clothes? Do you remind the audience of your woman-ness, or do you hope they will get past it and listen to what you are saying? A new generation of female and queer comedians are calling it out and disrupting such mores.
Secondly, it should match both the wider universe or era of stand-up comedy dressing we are in, or at least not depart too much from it. Till the '80s, comedians were largely men-in-suits in the tradition of talk show hosts like David Letterman or Johnny Carson. The “uniform” turned to an increasingly casual T-shirt-jeans-sneakers in the late '90s. Now, we are at a moment where comedians are eschewing the uber casual uniform for something a little more dressy, a little more specific. In some cases, it is a return to suits with a twist, like Hasan Minhaj looking like Prom King in his special Homecoming King. Or specific to the show, such as Ali Wong’s Baby Cobra, in which she performs in a snakeskin dress.
Third, it should match the “character” the comedian plays out or aspects of their identity or politics that their set usually reflects, because even before the first joke is made “sartorial choices can telegraph a vibe.”
Hannah Gadsby’s queer set is complemented by her suspenders and pants. Amy Schumer’s pieces are feisty, and incorporate her body into her wry social commentary with body-hugging dresses, deep cleavages, and heels. Annie Lederman “wears a padded bra in real life but not on stage” because she wants to be able to joke about her flat-chestedness. Godfrey likes to use the “combination of his clothes and his race to surprise people” — his audience is not expecting a black man to wear T-shirts emblazoned with [white] icons like Steve McQueen, instead of classic black icons like Tupac or Michael Jordan.
Most comedians' clothing choices today are veering towards comfort and the functional. Even if comedian Pat Dixon chooses to wear a suit, he says it is because you “stand, walk, speak differently” when you are in a suit. Comedian Josh Gondelman says, whatever he wears, he adds one special thing — usually dressy shoes — that reminds him that this is a performance, that he is on stage.
Sticking to one style is important to building a brand, but it should also be practical given the demands of shooting in studios. No heels unless they are the ones you wear everyday anyway. No white shoes because they shine, and reflect light on the studio stage.
And thus, in a lightbulb moment, I realise what Sharma’s all-black look is about.
It might be that he is paying homage to Shah Rukh Khan’s well-known love for the all-black look (one of Sharma’s sweet stories is about how he gatecrashes into SRK’s home in a comedy of serial errors). It might be that the wedding-reception look is intentional, and matches the middle-class-living aesthetics that Sharma uses as material for the show.
Or it could be that black is slimming, and importantly, hides sweat patches. I wager this must be it. Comedy is after all now a dangerous business in India, enough to break anyone into a furious sweat. And Sharma has been in the spotlight enough to really feel the rising heat.
Kapil Sharma: I'm Not Done Yet is streaming on Netflix India.
Manjima Bhattacharjya is the author of Mannequin: Working Women in India's Glamour Industry [Zubaan, 2018] and Intimate City [Zubaan, 2022].
source https://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/kapil-sharmas-all-black-suit-to-hannah-gadsbys-suspenders-and-pants-how-stand-up-comedians-choose-what-to-wear-10348081.html
