Aparna Nancherla is the same vulnerable comedian we know and love
The Indian American standup comedian takes you inside the mind of an introvert and invites you to stay for a while
Aparna Nancherla's latest comedy special, "Hopeful Potato," premiered on Dropout in December 2025.
Courtesy of Aparna Nancherla
Words by Aleenah Ansari
Aparna Nancherla didn’t grow up being the class clown. In fact, her version of performing as a child was reading stories to her stuffed animals at home. But one thing that has carried over from those younger days in her bedroom to her career as a standup comedian is providing perspective on what goes on in the mind of an introvert. In this way, her work is personal, vulnerable, and an extension of the questions she asks herself.
I sat down with the comedian, actress, and writer to talk about finding her unique perspective, evolving alongside her comedy, giving weight to the topics that matter most to her, and her latest special, Hopeful Potato.
This interview has been edited for clarity and length.
Aleenah Ansari: Did you always know you wanted to be a comedian?
Aparna Nancherla: I liked that standup was something you could do on your own terms and find the places to share it. With theater, it felt like you needed someone else’s approval or needed to be cast. With standup, I felt like I could DIY it.
AA: That’s interesting because I think of standup comedy as a place where you “need” the audience’s approval. Do you feel like you need something from the audience?
AN: Even if it feels like a one-way conversation, it ends up being a dialogue. Some audiences may be more or less receptive. Whatever you’re bringing to them is fully in your control, and you can adjust your material based on what lands or what feedback you get.
The best part of standup comedy is that you don’t have to fit someone’s version of how you need to show up. You can show as much or as little of yourself as you’d like. Personally, I’ve approached comedy from the inside-out perspective versus outside-in. Early on, I was interested in writing as someone who’s introverted and approaches the world as an observer. I wanted to share how I keep myself company in my brain and invite others into that.
AA: Humor is often used as a coping mechanism, but what’s interesting about your comedy is that you’re not using humor to gloss over the hard things. You’re actually talking through your feelings, not around them. Does talking honestly about mental health, aging, and everything in between feel healing in some way?
AN: I’m always trying to control my life and circumstances, and writing about it was a way to do that. Even if I can’t control something I’m experiencing, it has to bend to my metaphor or fit in the container I’ve created for it. In an old comedy special, I had a metaphor for anxiety as an improv group in your brain. It was a way to explain this to someone who doesn’t have it in a way that’s clear and funny. Doing that didn’t get rid of the anxiety, but it was a form of problem solving. Plus, anxiety and depression are such internal states, so I want to explain to others how my brain works.
AA: You recently came out with a comedy special, Hopeful Potato, on Dropout. Were there things you wanted to explore with that set?
AN: That hour on Dropout was informed by the break I took from standup and the time spent writing my book, as well as the pandemic. It felt like a way for me to reacquaint myself with standup and explore new topics. Now, I’m in my 40s, and it’s a time when women start experiencing mental, emotional, and physical shifts. It’s a reckoning with yourself and a second adolescence. If you’re at a place where half your life is done and if you’re lucky, half lies ahead, what do you want to do with that time? Who are you now, and who are you becoming? I’ve always run existential, but when you’re in a place where you’re thinking about mortality, it adds another layer.
AA: What are some of the other topics that you want to talk about most in your comedy?
AN: When you’re starting out, you’re trying to find the balance between where you end and where the audience begins. You may be trying on different versions of yourself to see what the audience connects with. The more you perform, the more comfortable you get in your own skin.
When I started talking about mental health in my act, I was struggling with anxiety and depression to the point that it was getting hard to perform in general. It resonated more than I expected, and it became something I became known for. Then I had to reckon with whether this was the only thing that was notable about my work and if people wanted to hear me talk about anything else. As a minority comedian, people want to flatten you, but we have a full range of human experience. And part of the reason I lean into darker things is because they connect us, even though they can be harder to bring to light.
AA: I think people appreciate that someone like you on a stage could be so vulnerable about the highs and lows of your life. There’s also a delicate balance between discussing the hard times in your life in a way that gives them the weight they deserve without trivializing them or turning them into a teachable moment in an after school special.
AN: That’s part of the reason I wrote the book Unreliable Narrator. I want to remove myself from the narrative of describing a hard time followed by a happy ending. Most of life is not like that. You’re meeting new versions of yourself, but old parts of yourself come back. I wanted to write about this messiness without the pressure of packaging it as a joke with a punchline.
AA: What was it like to write a collection of personal essays that drew from your own life?
AN: It was very challenging, especially when you’re excavating your mental demons. When you write about things that are destabilizing to your sense of self, you’re in a very raw place. It took a while but with a little distance, I was glad I put a lot on the page because I hadn’t done that kind of self-audit before. I also gave myself space to not know exactly where things were going and be messy. My inner critic was telling me that my life wasn’t interesting enough, and I had to recognize that this voice wasn’t all of me.
AA: What has helped you trust your own intuition as a performer and comedian?
AN: It came up in the process of writing a book about impostor syndrome, which creates this dynamic where you’re constantly distrusting yourself and others’ perception of you. There’s a disconnect between how you’re perceived and how you perceive yourself, and writing the book helped me understand that these are narratives and not objective realities. I’ve gained more peace in knowing that no one really knows what they’re doing. If I’m doing my best and my intentions are good, that’s all that matters.
Trusting myself has also come from letting go of other people’s opinions, which is so ingrained in you as a comedian. If you can loosen your grip on others’ opinions, it gives you and others more breathing room. Like any job, there are good and bad days, and you’re not tied to what others think of you.
AA: Where do you find inspiration as a comedian and writer while still staying true to yourself?
AN: I feel so inspired by my peers and the ways they bring themselves to their act, and I try to remember that other people might feel that way when they see me. At the end of the day, you need to follow your own creative muse versus what capitalism wants.
Published on May 25, 2026
Words by Aleenah Ansari
Aleenah Ansari (she/her) is equal parts storyteller, creative problem solver, and journalist at heart who's rooted in the stories of people behind products, companies, and initiatives. She’s written about travel, entrepreneurship, mental health and wellness, and representation in media for Insider, CNBC, The Seattle Times, Kulfi, and more. You can usually find her searching for murals in Seattle and beyond, reading a book by a BIPOC author, and planning her next trip to New York. Learn more at www.aleenahansari.com.