Don’t think about the white bear
What happens when you don’t talk about the one thing on everyone’s mind
Ifirst heard about the white bear trick in my eighth-grade West Virginia studies class. The girl sitting in front of me turned around and said, “Try not to think of a white bear.” I said, “Huh?” and the next thing I know there’s a white bear in my brain.
“You’re thinking of one, aren’t you?” she said.
Wow, was I ever. I was thinking of a white bear so hard, too — sauntering along somewhere in the Arctic. How come I couldn’t not think of a white bear? I was usually so good at not thinking of white bears!
I later learned this came from a famous psychological experiment, first conducted in 1987, by the Harvard psychologist Daniel Wegner. Apparently Wegner was inspired by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, who wrote in 1863: “Try to pose for yourself this task: not to think of a polar bear, and you will see that the cursed thing will come to mind every minute.” Curse you, Fyodor.
The white bear paradox pops up in my work a bit. I’m a comedian and often when I do a show, I’m asked to avoid certain subjects or words. Particularly if I do a corporate gig, the booker might say the show needs to be “squeaky” clean or “G-rated,” which translates to, “If you say a bad word, the company will fire me as the booker, and then I’ll fire you as the comic.” I’m generally on the “clean” end of the spectrum, so what’s strange is when I do these “family friendly” gigs, I have a sudden powerful urge to start cursing.
I’ve heard several stories of comedians self-destructing at these types of shows, and derailing into vitriol. A booker once said to me, “I guess that comic didn’t know what ‘clean’ meant,” but I suspect it was the white bear, rearing up his head. And there he is again now, stopping to sniff the air. I see you there, Larry. (Polar bears give off a “Larry” vibe, don’t they?)
Most audiences, although they might think they’re above it, laugh more at “dirty” jokes. I’ve heard Jerry Seinfeld say on a podcast (not name-dropping him as a friend — he wishes!) that curse words are shortcuts, and without them you have to make a joke stronger.
I think most comics, no matter their style, and regardless of how badly I’m misquoting Jerry Seinfeld, would agree with that.
Recently, a guy approached me after a show in Indiana to tell me that a “well-placed” curse word would get me bigger laughs. He gave a specific example from my act: “When you say ‘squished by a boulder,’ you could say, ‘squished by a flipping boulder.’” Except he didn’t say “flipping,” I’m just keeping this “family friendly.” He insisted this would work, and technically he wasn’t wrong. If you place a curse toward the end of a punch line, the joke will get a bigger pop. I just liked that in his mind he was opening my eyes to the concept of dirty words.
A well-placed curse will hit people in their tickle bone (comedy term), and particularly late at night it will also command more attention. The challenge is then to stop saying, “I don’t want dirty” and to think harder about what we do want.
When I was starting out in comedy, I found that one survival tool was to have some jokes about alcohol. Now, you’ve probably never heard someone say, “I love alcohol jokes!” But if you go to a comedy show, most people have drinks, and it’s easier to get laughs out of what is sitting right in front of everyone. One of my early jokes was about how I ordered a $1 PBR at a bar in Charlotte, North Carolina. It tasted stale, so I said, “Hey, I think there’s something wrong with this beer,” and the bartender said, “Yeah, it’s a dollar PBR,” and then I just kept drinking it.
The problem is, if you talk about the thing in front of everyone, you will get instant gratification but miss out on more interesting topics. At some point, I realized that my alcohol jokes were not interesting to me, so I dropped them. If you don’t talk about the shiny thing sitting right in front of people, you have to get creative and take people to the place you want to go.
I really wanted to talk about the size of the universe, but it’s not exactly a hilarious topic. The universe inspires awe and wonder more than it does reflexive belly laughing. I tinkered away and eventually landed on something that worked, and many more people came up to me after shows and commented on my (awe-inspiring) universe bit.
There are certainly times when the “easy” topic can become an elephant in the room if you don’t address it. If a tray of drinks crashes to the floor, I pretty much have to do my alcohol jokes because at that point it becomes too in front of everyone.
I’m aware of only one instance when it’s much better not to address the elephant in the room. If I’m sick, I pretend I’m fine. “Hello, everyone, I’m terribly ill, let’s get through this together,” does not go over well. Inevitably, the audience deflates and the show goes poorly.
What’s strange is, if I croak out my jokes — making no mention of my sniffles — the audience seems delighted.
Which means there are times it’s smarter to avoid the elephant in the room, or the white bear, and that’s kind of what it feels like at this moment in our country. Should I mention it or not? Is it easy, or is it necessary? There’s an obviously sick elephant in the room, being attacked by an insuppressible white bear, and I’m over here just trying to talk about some gigs, hoping it doesn’t come to mind for a minute.