Ive been a fan of comedy for years. I grew up, like many of us did, listening to the greats (yes, listening, because my parents had albums). I also remember staying up late to catch HBOs Def Comedy Jam. I can still hear the late, great Bernie Mac saying I aint scared of you muthafuckers in my head as I write this a mantra Id need later when I began to develop my own stage identity.

Def Comedy Jam was raw, hilarious and probably the reason people are scared to sit up front at comedy shows today. So buckle up, because nothing was off-limits. A comic would hit with the jokes and roast the crowd, leaving everyone in tears. The roasting felt familiar because growing up, the dinner table was crowd work my family had jokes for days and on any given evening, you might just end up being the butt of one.

In the 90s, shows such as Def Comedy Jam and BETs ComicView were like boot camps for aspiring comedians. The race and gender representation piqued my curiosity, leading me to believe that I, too, could one day get up onstage and tell jokes. As a Black woman, watching comedians like MoNique command the room before even touching the mic inspired me to examine what her magic was made of. When Whoopi Goldberg, Melanie Comarcho and Wanda Sykes shared their stories onstage and on screen, there was a distinct vulnerability that shone through. It made them mesmerizing and accessible all at once and it gave me the confidence to eventually get out there and shoot my shot.