Commit to the Bit

Near the end of the pandemic, some time in 2022, I became friends with a comedian. He was filming a TV show near where I lived. It was one of those short-lived friendships where a local celebrity becomes fascinated with you. He exchanged his tales of working in showbiz for mine of working in an office. Somehow, he found my work life especially fascinating.

One summer evening, we agreed to go to a show. He was to pick me up from home. Waiting by the door, I saw his hatchback pull up to the street. He parked on the opposite side, driver window open. Then he busied himself in his phone, possibly to text me of his arrival. I opened the door, passed through the gate, and broke off a long blade of toe toe that hung in the garden. I’ll do something funny with this, I thought.

I crept up to the car. But two metres out from the driver door, he spied me. In an instant, I tossed the toe toe aside, and shrugged - as my greeting. I was going to shove the grass stem in his face… I think? But I realised it was a dumb idea, and abandoned it.

“I thought you were going to do something,” he said as I climbed into the passenger seat.

“I did too, but I decided not to.”

“I wanted to see what gag you had in mind.”

“But it wasn’t funny.”

“Doesn’t matter. You need to commit to the bit.”

I felt foolish. Foolish enough to remember this light-hearted exchange years after. My attempted gag was a feeble joke. Impulsive but poorly improvised. I started it, then stopped. This was a bad look. And my friend was right. It would have been better to commit to the bit, and shove the grass, seeds and all, through the rolled-down window, and into his face.

Have you ever started telling a story to a group of people, and then abandoned it? Perhaps you’re at a party, out with friends, or at work. You start setting the scene to the two people you’re already chatting to. As it unfolds, more eyes turn your way. They are intrigued by where you’re going. Soon you’re aware of the weight of the room, closing in on you. And you stop. You’re waving away the story. “Sorry, I didn’t expect everyone to be listening” or “It was a dumb story, doesn’t matter”.

If you haven’t been there yourself, you’ve witnessed this collapse. Often those demure persons, whose parents always told them not to make a scene, fall victim. At the point of collapse, there is always a tinge of shame. It comes from stopping a story, or anecdote, or insight halfway in front of a crowd. Quitting halfway offers up a disappointment greater than a dull or lacklustre ending. People really don’t like it. Why do people want you to commit to the bit?

People are drawn to those with a well-developed sense of self. Committing to the bit tells others you believe in what you’re saying or doing. It shows you believe in yourself. Your audience may not like the bit. They might disagree with your views, or even hate you for it. But follow through, and they cannot negate your selfhood. By committing to the bit, you commit to existence.

Committing to the bit is a rule of comedy. I don’t like writing about comedy. It collapses when you measure it. But no seasoned comic will stop a gag halfway and say, “never mind, this joke was shit”. Mind you, as I write that, I am imagining a comic setting up a joke only to ditch it halfway, to piss off the audience. That does sound funny as a bit! But to make it work, the performer would need to valiantly shut down the joke halfway - full conviction. Even when you don’t commit to the bit, you need to commit to the bit!

We are a lost people. We are sheep, in search of a shepherd, and have been since Biblical times. Few of us like to be labelled as sheep. Levelling sheep at someone insults their judgement. But place any person in a social situation, and they scan the room for social order. Who will lead us? Then they anchor themselves to them. As a people, unconsciously seek the leader. A leader who, if not guide us, is “the guy” or “the moment”. That person commits to the bit.

To further our understanding, consider the counterexample: a strong leader who is non-committal. Doesn’t that sound like a contradiction? Can you imagine trusting a leader who abandons their great promises, flip-flops, and tells meandering stories that go nowhere? Oh, you do? Ah yes, him. And that other guy too. Okay, the sheep make mistakes when in the herd. But the individual lamb bounds towards the shepherd who commits to the bit.

I have no theory to draw on for committing to the bit. Let’s have a roleplay instead and set the scene.

[Scene: Office kitchen. Alison and Andy stand by the coffee pot, chatting lightly.]

[Enter Alistair]

Alistair: Oh, hey you two.

Alison and Andy: Morning Alistair.

[Alistair directs his attention to Alison, who is wearing a floral top and a brown knee-length skirt.]

Alistair: Great outfit, Alison. You look like a plant!

Alison: (smile fading) Oh… thank you, Alistair. I wasn’t trying to dress up as one.

Andy (smirking): Here we go.

Alistair: Oh no, not like that. I mean, with the leaves on your top. And your dress kind of looks like soil — no, I mean, like a pot.

Alison: Wow, thanks Alistair.

Andy: Keep digging, Alistair!

At work, I witnessed this exact exchange. I have modified names for privacy. We observe Alistair falter as soon as he downplayed his plant comparison. Women do not like being called pot plants. There is no taking back that fact. But when Alison objected to the plant comment, she placed Alistair at an inflection point. Look out for these! Instead of committing to the bit, Alistair withered quicker than a peace lily in direct sunlight. Though he could not undo the damage, he lost further honour by the end of the exchange.

Here’s how it could have gone, this time committing to the bit:

Alison: (smile fading) Oh… thank you, Alistair. I wasn’t trying to dress up as one.

Andy: (smirking): Here we go.

Alistair: Yeah, you look elegant, like a peace lily. Or one of my monsteras.

Andy: Oh, she’s a monstera now, too?

Alistair: Sure, if you think they’re elegant. They’re my favourite.

Alison: I’ll have to dress as a tree next.

Alistair: I would love that!

This amended exchange is completely made up. In the real world, people shut down, or take comments more lightly; they may grill you, or change the topic. Whatever the case, commit to the bit. The Andies of the world will try to escalate the situation. They want to make you look bad. Like scavenger mammals, they hang at the edges of conflict, and feed on the remains. Their greatest meal is your downfall. When you commit to the bit, you starve the Andies of dead flesh.

I usually don’t give or accept broad sweeping advice. People say Be yourself or Live each day like it’s your last - and they sound good at first. Then you wonder how you’ll unload the dishwasher, if you’ll be dead by morning. Commit to the bit falls under this category. You could get into a lot of trouble by blindly committing to the bit. And you may find it saves you one day. Whether your audience is one or one thousand, committing to the bit fortifies your identity. And that’s the greatest thing you can do for yourself.