a chinwag with jess fuchs about what it takes to be a comedian
We picked the brain of comedian Jess Fuchs to find out how to turn being funny into a vocation.
There’s one in every classroom, court and circle of pals. But take the clown, jester or jokester out of their natural habitat and whether their gags survive the harsh reality of an unfamiliar audience’s honest laughter (or lack thereof) is a real measure of their ability to be funny. Jess Fuchs – a Sydney/Warrane-based comedian and writer – is one funny folk whose jokes sure do survive the laughter of strangers. In fact, her jokes thrive off it. Ahead of her show Feral at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival, we caught up for a chinwag with the comedian to get to the bottom of her funny bone.
Tell us a bit about you and your upcoming comedy show, Feral. Bougie theatres, filthy pubs, chaotic paint and sips… if there’s a mic and even a hint of humiliation, I’m there.
Feral is my 2026 tour show. It’s what happens when you realise you’ve been over-accommodating everyone except yourself, and then naturally you unravel a bit. Last year I kind of lost my mind and ran away. “Voyage” is the word I’ve been using, but let’s be honest, I just went travelling.
While I was overseas trying to figure my life out, things got increasingly unhinged. At one point, I became convinced I deeply understood the Titanic. Not the movie… the ship. I decided she hit the iceberg on purpose. Which, in hindsight, feels like a cry for help. But to be fair, mental health wasn’t exactly a priority in 1912.
Feral dives into body image, friendship, pressure, and what happens when you stop being nice and start being a bit feral.
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When silly things happen, like breaking your coccyx, do you immediately think, “this will make for a good comedy bit”? When I broke my ass in Ireland and almost got airlifted off the Cliffs of Moher, I wasn’t thinking, “this is great material”. I was thinking, “how the fuck am I going to convince an audience this actually happened?” I live in my head a lot. I’m still figuring out if that’s an occupational hazard or just me. There’s a part of me that wants to stop mining my life for comedy. Be more present. Feel my feelings. You know, the things our parents actively avoid.
My therapist once said, “You think your way out of living your life.” And my immediate thought was, “God, that’s a great opening line for a joke.” Which is not ideal.
And if you know Sandra, no you don’t. Don’t tell her I’m not doing the work.
How representative is your on-stage comedy of your day-to-day comedy? On-stage, it’s like someone’s cranked my personality up to a 10. Off-stage, I’m the friend who derails your story to ask a million questions. Were you tired? Was it raining? What shoes were you wearing? I can’t function without deeply unnecessary detail. So honestly, I’m probably more annoying off-stage.
I’m also quite Type A, especially for a comedian. I don’t know if that comes across on stage. Which probably tells you everything you need to know about my self-awareness.
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What’s the process like of creating a comedy show? In the past, I’ve worked with a clear theme. It helps narrow the focus. Last year, with my show Sex Jokes For Women, I wanted audiences to get a ridiculous, interactive, electric night out. So I leant into crowd work and asked myself, “if I bought a ticket to this, is it horny enough? Is it sexy enough?” That was the bar.
This year feels different. The process has been more confronting. Realising I make space for everyone else but rarely extend that same grace to myself has been weirdly revelatory to write and joke about.
What’s the comedy scene like in Sydney? We don’t have the population density of London or New York, so the scene is smaller, but digital is helping it grow. We’re still behind in terms of diversity. I’m often the only woman on a lineup, which can get tiring. But audiences matter more than they realise. The more people support live comedy, especially during festival season, the more independent artists can keep going, keep touring, keep making work. So, if you like a comedian, go to their show. Truly. You’re part of whether we survive.
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If you could have anyone open for your set, who would it be? My older sister. She’s not a comedian – she’s a doctor who just had identical twin girls, so frankly she needs a night out. She’s one of the funniest people I know, but she hates public speaking. So the idea of her popping a beta blocker and being forced on stage brings me immense joy.
Any advice for emerging comedians? Relish any opportunity to perform, but don’t forget it’s a job. During COVID, I missed being on stage so much I kept promising myself I wouldn’t take it for granted when I finally got to go back. Then shows returned, and I was really nervous for every show. Each night, before I’d be introduced, I'd repeat a mantra: “You’re about to do the thing you love most in the world. Enjoy it.” I tried to remind myself to be present, and grateful for the chance to do the job.
And comedy is a job – remember that. There’s admin, rejection and deeply unsexy parts. But what a privilege to pursue something creative. I get to share my life and make people laugh. And if laughter is the best medicine, then honestly I’m basically as impressive as my doctor sister. I too am saving lives.
Catch Jess Fuchs’ comedy show Feral at Melbourne International Comedy Festival from March 24th to April 19th, and in Brisbane/Magandjin on May 30th. For more funny stuff, take a peek at these terrible-amazing films or check out our chat with playwright Yve Blake. Plus, sign up to our newsletter to never miss a ripper read.