Welcome to Sentivia

Okay, so, you want to know about a widely accepted belief in my field that I secretly think is completely wrong? That's a good question. I've been doing this comedy thing for a while, traveling around, seeing the world, and yeah, there's definitely one thing that gets under my skin. It's this idea that humor, especially observational humor, is *universal*.

See, everyone loves to say that "laughter is universal." You hear it all the time, right? "Oh, humor transcends borders, it's a shared human experience." And sure, on the surface level, that feels good. It's a nice, comforting thought. We can all laugh together, despite our differences, right?

But I've found, from all my travels, from this experience I just shared with you about being here in Doha, that that is absolutely not the case. Humor is *heavily* shaped by culture, by history, by our specific circumstances, it's not this universal cookie-cutter of laughter.

This idea of universality is lazy. It's this comforting thing people tell themselves because it's convenient. It lets us assume that if something is funny to us, it's funny to everyone. Which is just not true. We, as humans, are more nuanced than that.

Take for example my bit about the kisses. It's not just about the number of kisses we give when we say hello, it's about the whole cultural dance of greeting, the unspoken rules and the social nuances. I may get a laugh about the absurdity of it when I'm here talking to you in Qatar, or maybe I can get a laugh in Egypt but if I tried this bit somewhere in Europe, they may just look at me puzzled! What might strike you here as funny absurdity might fall flat somewhere else.

I mean, look at how I framed my jokes tonight. I talk about the stereotypes Americans have about Middle Easterners not laughing, right? It only works because I'm aware of those stereotypes! It works because I am playing with them, I'm showing you how wrong they are.

Or consider my bit about the cab driver in Doha. The humor there arises from the specific situation of a new arrival, thrown into a job without knowing the city. The absurdity of *that* wouldn't land the same way in a place where, say, taxi drivers have a long history of knowing their city well. Or if I was talking to a group who had a different relationship with technology. They might think, what's funny about that?

And I'll be honest, sometimes it's really frustrating. When I see comedians who don't acknowledge this, it feels like a missed opportunity. It’s like they're just churning out content without thinking about who they're talking *to*. We, as comedians, are supposed to be observers. We're supposed to be listening, paying attention to our audiences, engaging with the specific culture in the room. We aren’t just telling our jokes to empty space.

Even the stuff I say about the Muslim family on the airplane. That hits a nerve because of *very specific* context – the post-9/11 world, the fear and suspicion around Muslim people. That's not going to resonate the same way in, say, a place where religious diversity and freedom is widely accepted.

So, while everyone is walking around saying “laughter is universal”, I’m here, in a place as vibrant and diverse as Doha, thinking no, it's really not. And it’s that very non-universality that makes comedy interesting. It's this amazing chance to connect with each other, even through our differences. When you *get* a joke, when a joke lands, it's not just about the laugh, it’s about that moment of shared recognition, of understanding. And I think that’s way more powerful than some idea of universality that flattens everything out. I'm not just making jokes, I'm trying to build bridges. And, honestly? It makes this job so much more meaningful.