Tag: Clown School

Step-by-Step Instructions (Feb 15 2026) 

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In which Our Hero reflects on unusual timelines. 

People often ask me how I formed such an excellent relationship. (No one has asked me. But let’s assume.) 

Here’s my process, in case it helps: 

  1. Date her friend 
  2. Have a threesome with her and another one of her friends (not the one you were dating) 
  3. Let 10+ years pass 
  4. An AI matchmaker pairs you
  5. Schedule a 3-day-long camping trip as your first date 
  6. Extend date to 10 days long, ending only when one of you comes down with Covid 
  7. Wait 2 weeks <cough, cough> 
  8. As a second date, she moves into your van, and the two of you drive across the country together
  9. Attempt to purchase a house together in Puerto Rico within the first 6 months
  10. Backpack though Europe together
  11. Break up 
  12. Attend clown school together in France
  13. Get back together 
  14. Put down a deposit to buy an apartment 
  15. Buy life insurance on each other 
  16. Within one month:
    • Make embryos
    • Get engaged 
    • Buy apartment 

We’ve got all the right steps, just not in the normal timeline. Maybe next we have kids before getting pregnant. 

Hate Mail (Feb 11 2026)

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In which it’s nice to be seen 🙂 

My first piece of hate mail arrived in the form of a google document from my partner’s former grad school weightlifting friend. It articulated all the terrible traits that he observed during the long weekend we stayed with him. It included such gems as, “There were multiple occurrences of him saying something to the effect of ‘this happened because of some thing you did Nikki’ or ‘whose fault is this?’ And because he was saying it in a silly way it is expected to be a joke.” 

I read this criticism to a clown school friend of mine, who asked, “Oh, so you were doing bits?” 

“Yes,” I replied. “One was blaming Nikki for absolutely absurd things that were clearly not her fault, like the weather.” 

“That’s a pretty good bit.” 

“I agree.” 

—

Then, two months ago, I received a second piece of hate mail. This one came as a series of text messages from a fellow clown student. She derided my blog, my relating to other humans, and my analytic approach. I hadn’t spoken with her in ~a month (I had broken my foot and stepped away from clown school), and before that, I recall only neutral-to-positive experiences. Apropos of nothing, she sent me this diatribe. 

I have since shared that letter with a few friends. To a person, they describe it as “unhinged” (or various synonyms). 

In her hate mail, she made a few good points. My writing was likely alienating to some clown students. Clown school is a beautiful place and a precious gift. 

She also took some shots. Specifically, she said I “wasn’t funny yet” (the newsletter was called “Am I Funny Yet?”) and she described my blog as “very public and mediocre”. 

After I received that letter from her, I of course didn’t reply. I also of course didn’t alter my writing or publishing schedule. The article I published that day prompted a second screed from her the next day. She – in whatever reality she was experiencing – thought my intervening post had been about her (it had not). 

This second screed brought me great joy. 

“Ah,” I thought. “How wonderful it is that she reads my blog every day!” 

—

I like to live my life in public. I adore New York partly for that reason: meeting strangers and living in an environment where big, bold people are appreciated. I take my shirt off in public. I do so even though I’ve grown breasts. 

I also think it’s funny to call a blog about someone’s daily struggles “mediocre”. It’s not polished. It’s not complete. It’s not intended to be either of those. It’s a documentation of my attempts to do new and challenging things; a collection of my thoughts and observations and learnings and experiences. I’ve never been accused of waiting for perfection (and my partner, at least, thinks my life is better for it). That’s one of the clowning lessons: fail more, and befriend your flops. 

To quote my partner: “Being mediocre is the first step towards being kinda sorta good at something”. 

At present, I have 21 Substack subscribers and 168 subscribers. 

I’ve never looked at my stats before. I haven’t cared. I still don’t. But it’s nice to know that her estimate is also true numerically. 

So yeah, with my hundred of fans and my abnormal life, I’m proud to be: 

Very Public & Mediocre. 

Mellow and Dramatic (Jan 26 2026)

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In which Our Hero mellows in the drama 

Today was the first day of the second term. I’m not there. I’m in Etampes, four minutes walk from the school. I walked earlier today by the train station cafe that doubles as the student haunt. Yet I’m not there. Do I miss it? 

Today my mother and I dawdled down a classic Parisian street. Over lunch we swapped plates four times so we could experience what the other was eating. An Eastern European tourist offered us alcohol at Jim Morrison‘s tombstone. A California native gushed his worries about American politics 10 feet away from Molière corpse. 

This evening, my housing purchase was confirmed. After 8 years nomadic (homeless?), it’s time to put down roots. My partner ordered a bed for the empty apartment. I ordered locks for the doors. We’re buying one way flights like we always do, only this time they’re to home. 

The clown course I’m missing is melodrama. A fellow student once told me that melodrama is about stretching moments. What should be a five second stroll becomes ten minutes of dramatic, hyper-experienced anguish. 

Today stretched. From sprinting for the train to dashing through loan documentation, I was hyper present. Focused. Immersed. 

That’s one of the goals (or is it *the main goal* of clown school). Presence. Giving. Moving forward. 

I don’t miss melodrama. 

I’m excited for my life. 

Clown School Break Day 36: Empty Spaces

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In which emptiness permeates Our Hero. 

Today I drove in silence. My partner in the passenger seat, surrounded by calm empty space. 

Usually I drive with music or a podcast. This drive was 3.5 hours. 

For the first two hours, just being. 

Once in a while adding a comment. Saying something. Mostly quiet. 

It was nice. 

— 

It reminded me of some time spent on stage. The increased comfort that comes from increased experience. The greater ease that comes from an acceptance of emptiness. 

I’m reminded of the idea variously attributed to Miles Davis and other musical greats: playing the spaces between the notes. 

It’s pleasant to play the spaces between the notes. 

It’s even more enjoyable to let the spaces between the notes play. 

And then

To level up

To the notes themselves playing 

And you simply helping

😌 

Clown School Break Day 29: On Moving Holidays

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In which Our Hero experiments with time.

My family moves holidays.

By moving them, we get more time together. And the ability to do more Christmases with others. (This year, I’m doing one Christmas with my family and then three with my partner’s.)

The official Christmas – or “consensus Christmas,” as I call it – is arbitrarily chosen anyway. Orthodox Christmas is in January; Jesus’ actual birthday is unknown; and Dec 25 was chosen in the 4th century. So we slide things around.

Today was family Christmas Day 1. I received two clownish gifts. 

One was from my gluten-free brother-in-law: a large, baguette-shaped pillow.

[In a French accent: “honh honh honh”]

The second was a sign saying “Beware of Clowns.” It’s visually akin to a normal “Beware of Dog” sign.

Teeheehee.

Musing on this relationship with time, I wonder how much it’s shared by clowns. They’re an immediate lot, making plans for now and changing them when the wind blows. The school allows for drop-ins and drop-outs as desired. You can come for a year. Or for one course. Or leave and return next year. Or the year after. And you definitely can’t take the second year clown course until after you’ve taken the foundational Le Jeu course. Or at the same time: that’s fine too. 

This is a game with time and convention. 

Most people have never considered moving a holiday. “Christmas is on December 25th”, they might say. And they’re right. But they’re only right because people decided they’re right. And social constructs are fertile ground for games. 

It’s also an act of engineering. We found a problem: many demands on the same time. So instead of moving our bodies (see the movie “Four Christmases,” where a couple tries to do all four divorced-family Christmases in one day), we move the holiday. 

Clowning and systems engineering are shockingly similar. One is attempting to achieve a system result; the other an emotional one. But the method is the same: find what’s out of balance and adjust it until the whole thing works.

It’s nice to play with social temporal agreements. But it’s nice because the people I care about agree with it, and all play in similar ways. 

There are also times when I think something’s a game and someone else thinks it’s absolutely not a game. Those times are no fun at all. 🤡

Clown School Break Day 27: Beards and Bouffons

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In which Our Hero chuckles at a mistranslation, then engages with the point itself. 

The question was posed earlier today: “How much of your feeling of lack of social fitting at clown school comes from your grooming, or lack thereof?”

A fair question.

I last shaved my face in October. I last cut my hair in 2021.

(To be concrete: at clown school, I showered daily, wore deodorant, and washed my clothes weekly. This topic is about aesthetics, not hygiene.) 

I’ve never grown facial hair before. It was always patchy. Now, since July, returning to my endogenous testosterone production with a little bit of external boosting via a doctor-prescribed chemical called Clomid (a 10/10 experience, but a different story), I have finally been able to grow a beard. It’s nice. My partner enjoys the softness. I enjoy the newness and the exploration (and the scritches).

And then, on the hair front, it’s long. Sometimes (3 or 4 times in the last 4 years) I get it treated at a salon to make it simple and easy to manage. Others, I wear hats or put it in a ponytail.

I’ve heard I have split ends. I don’t care.

So:

Do clowns?

The first answer is: probably. Clowns are an immediacy-focused group. One that cares about emotional presence and current experience. They also therefore care about appearance and presentation. And they should: performers are perceived based on their appearance. A comedian who either gains or loses a lot of weight will need to adjust their behavior and performance based on their new perception. (For a biting and sad example, see either this article about Chris Farley or how many Chris Farley bits involve his size.) 

So yes, my grooming has probably had an impact.

I mentioned something like this to my interlocutor, to which they replied: “Not because you don’t look good, but because you look like you aren’t taking care of yourself.”

This comment seems worthy of analysis.

Like.

I am taking care of myself.

I’m just not doing things with my body that you (the collective “you”) want me to. 

“Not taking care of yourself” is often a polite mistranslation for something else. What it usually means is: you are emitting social signals I don’t enjoy. 

I’m enjoying the beard growth. I’m curious where it goes and what it’s like. I’m enjoying the new experiences, even some of the difficult or disgusting ones. (The presence of my mustache means I have to re-learn the skill of using a napkin.) I like my hair as it is: I’m enjoying it growing out. 

It’s less “not taking care of myself” and more “not playing others’ game”. 

Grooming isn’t just maintenance; it’s signaling. And one of the signals I was sending – intentionally or not – was: I’m not optimizing for your approval.

Which is

perhaps

a fair point.

I’ve opted out of a bunch of life’s societal games. The 9-5 job (or employee status more generally). Living in a fixed location. Dating via specific social rituals. Following a prescribed gender behavior.

It limits who likes me. It limits who spends time with me. But the people who do like me really like me. 

I’m thinking about this with clown school. My goals were 80% spiritual and 20% clown-y. That already separates me from the crowd. I’m not the only one in clown school for spiritual reasons: a classmate shared that her motivation was to re-learn how to play so she could enjoy playing with her children again. The majority of my classmates are professional actors. 

My clown-y goals were 1) learn the practice of clowning; 2) learn the theory of clowning; and 3) make friends. 

If my spiritual goals are not most clowns’ main focus, and most clowns aren’t interested in the theory, then I’m already pretty limited in topic interest overlap.

Add to that the fact that I don’t find fun many things that other clowns do – drinking alcohol; socializing in groups; group texting conversations – and my pool becomes even smaller.

Clowning is about finding games and playing them. It’s about being open and connective and sensitive with others. My first few weeks, when my facial hair looked good rather than just a lot, I was more in flow. Is that a coincidence with the fact that I also enjoyed the class subject matter (Le Jeu) more? Is it true that my focus turned more inward over time, and this didn’t jive with the peers? Complicité is a two way street, and maybe I was blocking the other lane. (As a friend put it: “maybe your flow comes partially from the interactions with others and maybe your appearance changes their interactions with you, which compounds”.)

The most generally-liked clown who I met at clown school was a person who’s constantly generous. Not especially generous with time, resources, or skills, but extraordinarily generous in emotional and social dynamics.

And I

just

don’t value that

as much

as the other

clowns do.

Emotional generosity is the local currency. I value it, just not always above curiosity, theory, or truth. That difference matters more here than I expected.

This isn’t a critique of emotional generosity. It’s a recognition that I underweighted how central it is to clown school, and that mismatch had consequences I’m still understanding.

So I write a daily blog about clowning.
And others
are better
clowns
🤡

Clown School Break Day 26: Clowning as Emotional Oddity

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In which Our Hero ends on an unusual question. 

Clowning is an odd emotional experience.
Clown school is an odd emotional context.

Where else is one assigned the task: be emotionally open, vulnerable, generous, light, and kind?
Where else is one given an explicit assignment to manipulate their own emotional state in service of others?

One place that comes to mind is politics.

I recently happened upon a (¿state?) senator. I was coming from a friend’s birthday, and the senator commented on the hat I’d given my friend. The senator exhibited genuine-seeming curiosity about what it meant, then delight in the silly inside joke it represented.

And,
like,
he wasn’t being inauthentic.

But,
like,
that is his job.

I don’t believe he was deeply interested in the game itself. I doubt he’d want to watch it or play it unless it came packaged with votes or fundraising. And yet: the delight was real.

I suppose clowns are the same way.

It isn’t inauthentic to change your emotional state and then share that state with others.
But it is contrived.

It’s not inauthentic to manipulate someone at a poker table either.
But it is manipulative.

So what’s the point?

Is this the core function of most people-leadership roles? From CEO to politician to parent to clown: are they all versions of the same act?

If behavior flows from emotion, is a leader’s primary job internal emotional manipulation, followed by broadcasting the result?

I’m reminded of LBJ amping himself up – working himself into a righteous frenzy – before speeches and political events, especially if it felt like he was behaving in ways antithetical to his values. He told himself he was doing it for people he cared about. That the moral sacrifices were worth it.

And then he sent those people to die in Vietnam.

I’ve known a CEO who practiced a similar kind of self-amping. His former employees now, at a remarkable rate, despise him.

So what’s my point? The connection to clowning?

Is it bad to manipulate your own emotional state? Obviously not. But when does it become bad? Under what conditions? In service of what ends?

What’s my point?

I don’t know. I’m musing.

That’s what this blog is. Thinking out loud. Marking where my thinking currently sits and letting it evolve. I don’t endorse everything I’ve ever written. That’s part of being a writer.

But today I’m reminded of how strange an emotional experience clowning is.
And how much people hate politicians.
And I find myself wondering whether – or more precisely, to what degree and in what ways – they should also hate clowns.

🤡

Clown School Break Day 25: Ridicule, Moi?

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In which Our Hero pokes fun at poking fun.

A college friend and I were at dinner with his new girlfriend. We were playing a silly word-association game we’d been playing for years. At some point she said, “Stop making fun of me.”

We weren’t making fun of her. We stopped immediately.

But something interesting happened. By misidentifying play as ridicule, the game collapsed – and a contradiction surfaced on its own. No mockery was applied. None was needed.

Play is fragile. When it is misnamed as ridicule – or when the target of ridicule is misidentified – it stops being play at all. And in trying to prevent harm, one can sometimes create the very harm one fears.

—

I find this behavior socially corrosive. Constraint masquerading as protection should be ridiculed and scorned.

Societally, we accept it. Because its harm is not as apparent. It is stifling, restricting, and just plain un-fun. It is stopping someone else’s kid from climbing up the slide because we don’t want our kid to climb up the slide.

—

I laugh probably 3x more than the average person. I find humor probably 3x more often than the average person does.

Infrequently, it’s for a reason undesirable. (Someone has a name that sounds funny to me, so I’m implicitly outgrouping their culture.)

Generally, it’s because 1) they’re doing something that reveals a contradiction between their goals and their behavior, or 2) they’re doing something “silly” – i.e. something that reveals a comic underpinning to existence.

—

When we let people police down to the lowest common denominator, life is duller and weaker.

And that’s how the terrorists win. 

🤡

Clown School Break Day 23: Chill vs. Sprint

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In which Our Hero wonders whether ease is wisdom—or just comfort.

My life is much nicer when I’m chiller.
Easier. More relaxed. Less intense.

I’m also fifteen pounds heavier than I like to be.
Running not daily. Not even weekly. (#brokenfoot.)
Accomplishing little in the category of “obviously beneficial to myself, my family, or society.”

Is this… good?

When I was young and zealous, I worked hard to be the best.
I picked a category where being the best seemed possible. I sprinted at it.

At some point in the last nine years, I stopped obviously caring.
Preferences shifted. Priorities shuffled.
What mattered then matters less obviously now.

Sure: do your best on your chosen path.
But also: life is nicer when you chill out.

Is that a lesson of the clown?

There’s a clown I love – an incredibly successful one – who, to my eye, misses mass-market success because of over-intensity. Over-try-harding.
I brought two friends to his show. They left overwhelmed.

“That was a lot,” they said.

I adored it. I went back the next night.
I am a comedy lover.
They are mass-market comedy dilettantes.

My partner says: try hard at what you want.
Sprint at it with intensity.
Relax on the rest. 

I like this.
I do this.
I also wonder:

How much of my life is currently nice
because I’m just so chill?

How much would change
if that chill went away?

Am I just
fat
and
happy?
🇺🇸

Will I soon be
fat,
happy,
and bored?
👀

Clown School Break Day 22: The Quiet After the Honk

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In which ease arrives. 

The clown school term ended yesterday.
Not with a bang, but a nose honk.
(Editor’s note: only second-year students currently wear red noses.)

My presence there is mostly absence.
I followed the group texts a little, from afar.
I learned the gossip – and how that gossip spread.
A gossipy bunch, the clown schoolers.

I don’t regret missing the most recent course. It was my least appealing (or second-least appealing) of the term. I think I’d burned through my capacity to take in more. Over-exhausted the intake valve.
I’ll be glad to return at the end of January.

—

The past three weeks have held a lot of joy.
Poker: played and studied.
A friend’s birthday.
Time with my family.
Snuggling with my girlfriend and tiny chihuahua.

Today I fixed a door lock, installed new lightbulbs, and upgraded the curtains – all in my parents’ house.

What’s strange is how easy this felt.
(The activity being: doing household tasks.)

Why?
Pent-up doingness from a broken foot?
The return of baseline testosterone?
A heightened ability to find pleasure thanks to clown school?
Or the simple fact that after sustained intensity, everything else feels light?

I don’t know.

I like it.

—

Note: I edited yesterday’s post to add a video of the Egg slot machine discussed at length. That video is also linked here.