“You do improv comedy, how are you still such a control freak?”

Why it can be especially hard for a certain breed of extroverts to “just get out there” on social media.

The only app on my phone that has ever consistently given me joy when I open it is NYT Games. Wordle got me through the pandemic, and getting to “Genius” in Spelling Bee gives this former Scripps-Howard Spelling Bee regional qualifier runner-up the most dopamine in these fascist, chaotic times. But because of who I am and what I do, I’ve got to use social media.

Of course I still have the trophy.

If I could feasibly give up the sadness box in my pocket, I would. I have deleted various social media apps from time to time, as the psychologists suggest you do when your brain needs a break from news burnout. I got emotional the other day thinking about how much I miss the era of my life when most of my interaction with friends was in-person. Does anyone else remember that? I actually had to retreat to my room and go on my laptop to use Facebook. I didn’t spend nearly as much time on it either, because it wasn’t always with me, and the most meaningful parts of life were outside, with other people.

But because I need to run a business, sell a book, promote a comedy show I love hosting, and I want to continue doing all these things as long as possible, I need to have an online presence that’s interesting to strangers. So, all the apps are here to stay for this elder millennial. I’m amping things up online a lot more lately, since I need to build a platform ahead of my book launch, so I’m trying to learn how to do social media better. Part of that is posting the type of funny-yet-interesting-yet-insightful-within-three-seconds video content that performs the best across most platforms.

Should be easy, right? Especially for me! I’m an extrovert. I get up on stage regularly and make things up for an audience who has paid to see it! I should be a natural. I shouldn’t have to overthink it.

Except here’s the thing: I absolutely will overthink it, and people might be surprised to hear that I am momentarily paralyzed by self-doubt every time I hit the “post” button. Here’s why:

Publicly being new and not perfect at something often feels bad, and the internet makes your early failures part of your permanent record.

That’s a little nugget of wisdom I’ve realized through

Leigh Stein

’s Hype House, a social media workshop I’m doing with other authors who have books to sell. It does perfectly explain why I’m so hesitant to post videos of myself saying or doing funny things, even though I will happily play a booger-eating goblin or anything else to look ridiculous when I’m doing a show with one of my improv groups (one has voted me “most likely to end up on the floor”).

This is the kind of thing I often do with my face onstage during an improv show.

Improv is all about not overthinking it, giving up control, and “yes-anding” – that’s where the comedy comes from. The more you try to control a scene, the less organic and funny it feels. I love making an audience roar with laughter as my scene partner and I are pretending to be aggressive mall-walkers dodging various obstacles in search of an Orange Julius. But the great thing is, I also know that when I’m up there, my mistakes are not permanent. No show is the same twice in a row. It’s ephemeral. As long as I’m not an actual asshole saying hateful stuff onstage, it’s not a big deal if I do something a little weird and cringey that doesn’t land right. Any failure is pretty much immediately forgotten. Even if the whole show was recorded and put on YouTube, let’s be real: only about three people will ever see it again after that night.

I’ve also been doing improv, in some form or another, for over 23 years now. If you’ve got a skill you’ve been using or a coping mechanism you’ve practiced since you were a teenager, it feels natural and easy most of the time. For me, doing an improv show is like applying winged eyeliner or blasting My Chemical Romance when I’m mad at the world: I’ve known how to do it for decades, and it’s pretty much guaranteed to make me feel good most of the time.

Meanwhile, I’ve only been someone who writes novels for a couple of years. And I’m really brand-new at this whole “being a ‘content creator’ online” thing. So for me, the thought of posting a video where I just yap at the camera and dispense witty life advice with the aim of getting a strangers’ attention for more than three seconds evokes a lot of the same gut-churningly anxious feelings many people report when they take their first improv class.

Improv comedy also has the added bonus of being made up on the spot, in front of people who are physically there with you. Many people are impressed if you’re able to do anything on the spot in front of them, and improv shows are for the people who are in the room–nobody else. So if something you made up on the spot in that room is lackluster, the audience will move on if you move on. Improv audiences are pretty chill like that.

But if you’ve had time to conceive, edit, and post something online, and it flops? Internet audiences are massive and definitely not known for being chill. It’s a perfectionist control freak’s nightmare, AKA my nightmare. Offstage, I’ve always been a type-A eldest daughter in many ways. Sure, I’m irreverent and outgoing, and give off a relaxed vibe when I need to, but I’m intensely anxious about anything I put effort into being received the wrong way—and I suspect a lot of other seemingly easy-going, always-confident people who do comedy are the same.

Some people probably view their social media accounts the way I view doing an improv show: a fun way to inhabit a different persona and do silly things in a place where nothing matters. But for others, even the most incorrigible extroverts who are willing to look very unattractive onstage for the sake of made-up comedy, “just getting out there” online is ironically something they can struggle with, especially if they’re the perfectionist, control-oriented type offstage.

In a world where so much seems increasingly out of our control, it’s kind of natural that I would cling to control wherever I can, right? Except I’m learning that ironically, my “giving up control” skills are really, really strong in one area where it’s an obvious benefit—and honestly not that strong in areas where it could be a benefit.

*Leigh Stein also writes incredible books. Her latest, If You’re Seeing This, It’s Meant For You, can only be described as a TikTok hype house gothic, and I loved it.