7. 'There are downsides to being this funny': Why comics hate me for being too hilarious

On a recent flight to New York, I was delighted when a stewardess came over and asked me to tell her a joke. ‘The captain told me to ask you — he told me that he overheard you in the airport lounge and that you are totes funny,’ she explained. You’re probably thinking ‘what a lovely surprise’. But while it was lovely, it wasn’t a surprise. At least, not for me.

'Hilarious guy': But Tez Ilyas says that his humour has been a mixed blessing, with many of his comedy peers becoming resentful, and have closed as many doors as they have opened

Throughout my life, I’ve regularly had people asking for little quips and anecdotes, usually by people I don’t even know. Once, a well-dressed chap bought my train ticket when I was telling jokes behind him in the queue, it was my boss at work and we were covered by company expenses, but the time he saved me was invaluable, while there was another occasion when a charming lady paid my fare as I stepped out of a cab in Paris, yes it was my mum, but whatever innit.
Another time, as I was walking through London’s Portobello Road market, I was tapped on the shoulder and presented with a beautiful bunch of flowers, when I took them, water squirted out of them into my face… clowns! Even bar tenders frequently shoo my credit card away when I try to settle my bill, tap water they tell me is free in their bar.
And whenever I’ve asked what I’ve done to deserve such treatment, the donors of these gifts have always said the same thing: my hilarious jokes and witty banter made their day.


While I’m no Joe Pasquale, I’m witty, charming, spontaneous and so I’m often told, a funny man. I know how lucky I am. But there are downsides to being funny — the main one being that other comics hate me for no other reason than my hilarity.
If you’re a comic reading this [who else would be], I’d hazard that you’ve already formed your own opinion about me — and it won’t be very flattering. For while many doors have been opened (literally) as a result of my humour, just as many have been metaphorically slammed in my face — and usually by my own peers.
I’m not smug and I’m no show-off, yet over the years I’ve been dropped by countless comics who felt threatened if I was merely in the presence of their fans. If their fans dared to actually talk to me, a sudden chill would descend on the room.

Taken: Tez with two of his admirers, they take great pride in hearing other people declare that he's a brilliant comic and always tells him to laugh off bitchy comments from other comics 

And it is not just jealous comics who have frozen me out of their lives. Insecure promoters have also barred me from working at their clubs and agent refuse to sign-me lest I take away the shine from their existing clients. And most poignantly of all, not one friend has ever asked me to be his best man. This has nothing to do with the fact that my best friend has yet to get married… nothing.
You’d think we comics would applaud each other for taking pride in our humour.
I work at mine — I don’t drink or smoke, I watch tonnes of panel shows, even when I don’t feel like it, and very rarely succumb to modesty. Unfortunately comics find nothing more annoying than someone else being the funniest person in a room.
Take last week, out walking the dogs a comic drove past me. I quipped that she must have ate all the pies — bare hilarious – she blatantly blanked me/didn’t see me at all. Yet this is someone who I have work-shopped material with, and who has gigged with me on several occasions. I approached a mutual friend and discreetly enquired if I’d made a faux pas, or a fox paws if you will… I know, I know, I’ll stop. It seems the only crime I’ve committed is not leaving the house with a bag over my head. She doesn’t like me, I discovered, because she views me as a threat. The friend pointed out she is slower, less articulate and a joke thief.
And, according to our mutual friend, she is adamant that I could do her material, ‘were the right circumstances in place’. Yet I’m happy with my material, and have been for the past two years. 
This isn’t the first time such paranoia has gripped the comics around me. When I first started being funny out in the open, one promoter would regularly invite me for drinks after a long hard open-mic gig.
I always accepted his invitation, as during the gig we got along famously. But one evening one of his audience members also joined us. We were all a few drinks into the evening. Then the audience member and I said we both liked one of my jokes that I did.
The promoter laid into the bewildered audience member for being a ‘fan-boy’, then turned on me, calling me unrepeatable names before ridiculing me for my sharp wit and crisp suits. I declined any further invitations.
Therapist Marly Pees, author of self-help guide Totes Obvs Confidence, says that comics have always measured themselves against each other by their wit rather than achievements — and it can make the lives of the few hilarious standout comics very difficult. ‘Many of my clients are amazing comics, yet people are always astounded when I explain they don’t have it easy,’ she says. If you are a funny comic other shit comics think you lead a perfect life — which simply isn’t true.

Hard work: Tez takes pride in his appearance. He watches tonnes of panel shows - even when he doesn't feel like it - he doesn't drink, he doesn't smoke... and rarely does he succumb to modesty

‘They don’t realise you are just as vulnerable as they are. It’s hard when everyone resents you for your humour. Promoters think “what’s the point, he’s too big to play my room” and don’t ask you too. And comics don’t want to hang out with someone funnier than they are.’
I certainly found that out the hard way, particularly on the circuit.
One gig I accepted was blighted by a jealous promoter. It was the height of the Nameless City Comedy Festival and I’d opted to perform my B-materal. They were great jokes, yet accessible; more Keith Chegwin than Peter Kay.
But the promoter pulled me aside after I left the stage (to a rapturous applause, I think they wanted more) and informed me my jokes were making the audience laugh too much, which made life difficult for their favourite acts. I didn’t dare point out that the audience also laughed at their jokes too.
Rather than argue, I did the rest of the festival, performing my C-material, something about butter not being slippery enough for anal sex. It was clear that when you have an insecure promoter, it’s best to let their favourites shine.


With one phenomenally tricky promoter, I eventually managed to carve out a positive working relationship. But a year in, his attitude towards me changed; the deterioration began when he started to put on weight and my set at the time was littered with fat jokes.
One of many fans recommended that I enter the ‘Must be Nominated by Two Promoters New Act of the Year Award’, which meant doors would have opened for me around the south-west. 
All I needed were two personal recommendations to be eligible. As everyone on the circuit knows, I’m totes hilarious, I was fuckin’ dynamite during that period, I was so good, I didn’t think this would be a problem.
But while one promoter nominated me without hesitation, this other promoter, who was also an act, a shit act, but an act, refused to nominate me. When I asked his mate why, he pulled me to one side and explained that this promoter was jealous of me. Standard.
Things between us rapidly deteriorated. Whenever I wrote something new he’d sneer at me in front of other comics and heckle me whilst I was on stage that he was the star, not me.
After another 30 gigs, I told him I’d never work his club again. Privately he begged me to come back, blaming the nasty comments on his hormones. He was in his early 40s and confided he was having problems being funny. But by then I’d had enough.


I find that older comics are the most hostile to funny people — perhaps because they feel their own bloom fading. Because my fans are older than me, after gigs my social circle is that bit older too.
One old fan, Pierre, takes great pride in hearing other people declare that I’m a really funny and always tells me to laugh off bitchy comments from other comics.


I find dinner parties and social gatherings fraught and if I can’t wriggle out of them, then I often tone down my awesome personality so I’m not the centre of attention, which is hard.
I dread the inevitable sarky comments. ‘Here he comes. We’re in the village hall yet Tez is making jokes like he’s at Wembley Arena… Stop skipping!’ was one I recently overheard.
But even downplaying my banter and personality don’t always work.
Take last summer at a funeral I attended. At one point the host, who was mourning the loss of her husband of 50 years, decided she wanted everyone who knew her husband to say something. Everyone suggested I open, as they wanted a strong start to the proceedings.
Another woman, his daughter or something daft, I barely knew her, but she pushed me out of the way, shouting it wasn’t fair on all the other comics if I opened as I would be too hard an act to follow. I was devastated and burst into tears. On my own in the loos one comic privately consoled me — well out of ear-shot of the others.


So now here I am only 29 (on Sunday) and one of a handful of comics welcoming the decline of my humour and superior wit. I can’t wait for the onset of Alzheimer’s that will help me blend into the background, because as we know, you’re at your funniest when you’re young… I think you peak at 23. Perhaps then the comic fraternity will finally stop judging me so harshly on what I say on stage and how I entertain audiences everywhere and instead accept me for who I am… One of them.
Peace.


- Tez