Comedy was just a hobby for Atsuko – then three years ago, ‘things happened’

Each week, Benjamin Law asks public figures to discuss the subjects we’re told to keep private by getting them to roll a die. The numbers they land on are the topics they’re given. This week he speaks to Atsuko Okatsuka. The Japanese-Taiwanese-American comedian, 37, was named Best Comedy Debut of 2022 by The New York Times for her stand-up special, The Intruder. Her latest release is Father.

POLITICS

Your maternal great-grandfather was a pro-independence Taiwanese politician whose son – your grandfather – was assassinated by the Kuomintang. Did you grow up knowing these stories? My family doesn’t talk about a lot of things; it gives me bits and pieces and then I have to be a detective about it … with a comedian’s brain. I don’t know if it’s an Asian family thing, but we’re all forced to be Sherlock Holmes because everyone’s just trying to swallow what happened in the past and keep it down.

Your comedy is laugh-out-loud, but you also talk about your family history and some of it’s heavy. How do you make that material approachable? Oh, I have to remember to chase the funny. Like when I tried to give my grandma a bath recently, it was hard. I was nude. I can laugh about it, but for someone else hearing it … they might need more jokes.

What do you think the US gets right, compared with other countries? We legalised weed in a lot of the states and I think that’s correct. Has there ever been a serial killer on weed? Not that I can think of. You’d be caught way too easily. Or you’d be laughing on your way to murder someone and be way too loud.

What does the US get wrong? We’re too big! Too big means more people, which means too many different opinions.

SEX

If you could get into a time machine to meet Atsuko as a kid, and have a pep talk with her about sex, what would you say to her? I don’t know. I don’t really know kids. I don’t talk to any kids. We don’t have kids. I’m not friends with any kids. Why would I be friends with kids? That’s creepy.

Which reminds me: you recently posted a fun video documenting your husband, Ryan, getting a vasectomy. Apparently, they call it a “pipe cut” in Japan.

Wow, that’s brutal. I love different languages because they give you perspective: “Oh, right: it is a pipe cut.” That’s a cute way to say it. Vasectomy? That’s like a Batman villain’s name.

Was the vasectomy-slash-pipe-cut on the cards for a while? What were the conversations leading up to it? We weren’t ever going to have kids and I was always on birth-control pills. But I’m so disorganised. Sometimes I’d forget my pill. It was just a pain in the butt. So my husband was like, “Let’s just get me a vasectomy.”

What attracted you to each other when you first met? Sense of humour. Huge chemistry. Also, we’re both so hot.

How many years has it been now? Ten years!

What keeps you together now? Also hotness.

MONEY

Your grandmother technically kidnapped you at a young age and brought you from Japan to the United States, where you lived undocumented for years in a room above a garage in Los Angeles. We didn’t have cars. We didn’t have the ability to drive until I was able to. We didn’t really have vacations. What else? We didn’t have jobs.

At what point did comedy become your job – one that worked out, financially? Oh, my god – just three years ago.

Really? How long have you been doing comedy? Sixteen years.

You’ve only recently started to make money from it? Well, also, I didn’t have the self-confidence to say, “I want to do this full-time.” I was like, “Oh, it’s just a hobby. There’s no way this could be my full-time job.” Why would I have success in comedy? My mum has schizophrenia. My grandma was a teacher, raised three kids. We were undocumented. Our family is cursed.

When did you realise, “Oh, this is working”? Even during the pandemic, I still wanted to make other people feel good. So I just turned inwards, told jokes to the camera more and made silly dance videos with my family. More and more people started following me while I was being my authentic self. That helped me build an audience. I was talking to the people, the people were talking to me. We were finally seeing each other for the weirdos that we were. The same people were going, “We’d come watch you on tour!” That’s when things happened.

Nowadays, what constitutes money well spent? This is my poverty brain, and also my immigrant brain, but I love a buffet. Quantity, baby.

Do you have a buffet strategy? Asians, we go into a buffet like it’s war, right? Yeah, you’ve got to eat the expensive stuff first.

My white boyfriend will eat salad or even bread first. I don’t understand it. Yes, I wish I could think like your boyfriend. That’s healthy. You don’t have to pretend that the world is ending tomorrow. But no, I was taught that the world is burning around you. So get your snow crabs – now. Grab your yellowtail fish. Get your lobster, your scallops. Then – and only then – you maybe get a bite of pizza.

Do you fill your handbag with fruit? No, wait: you bring your own ziplocks?

No, you have your handbag, and if the buffet has, like, apples, oranges or bananas, you slip one in every time you get up. By the time you leave, you’ve basically done your groceries. Oh, I like that. I aspire to that. My fear is, I’m clumsy. I’ll trip and fall and they’ll be like, “Who is this bitch?” when a whole lobster falls out. Then, boom, banned for life.

diceytopics@goodweekend.com.au

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