What's clown got to do with it

Find zeeeee pleasure in playing

Let’s talk about authenticity

That enigmatic holy grail everyone's chasing these days. We're all desperately trying to "be real," whatever that means. You've heard the self-help mantras: "let go," "drop your masks," "be vulnerable." (Eye roll, right?) But here's the delicious irony: sometimes the best way to be authentic is to embrace being an absolute fool.

Enter the noble art of clowning. Not the birthday-party-balloon-animals variety (though respect where it's due), but something far more subversive. I'm talking about the sacred practice of making a magnificent ass of yourself on purpose. And trust me, as someone who's spent years studying this peculiar art form, there's profound wisdom in willful idiocy.

At the prestigious Lecoq school in Paris, my teachers kept insisting we "find pleasure in playing." At first, I thought something was lost in translation (or they were just very French about everything). But eventually, I got it: they were asking us to rediscover something we'd all forgotten – the pure joy of being gloriously, unapologetically stupid.

Think about it: we spend decades constructing these sophisticated personas, carefully curating our social media presence, and generally trying to convince everyone we're Serious Adults™. Meanwhile, our inner fool – that brilliant idiot who sees the world with wonder and doesn't give a damn about looking cool – gets stuffed in a drawer somewhere between old tax returns and abandoned New Year's resolutions.

The clown isn't a character you put on – it's what's left when you peel everything else away. It's you at your most honest, vulnerable, and yes, ridiculous. When you're truly playing as a clown, you're not performing authenticity; you're too busy being present to remember you're supposed to be pretending to be present.

Look at the great clowns of our time: Sacha Baron Cohen, Buster Keaton, Lucille Ball. These weren't just entertainers; they were philosophers in fools' clothing, showing us our own beautiful absurdity. They understood that wisdom often wears mismatched socks and trips over its own feet.

In my clown classes, I don't teach people how to be funny – I help them remember how to be human. We work on the profound art of "making a poop" (metaphorically speaking, thankfully). We explore rhythm, timing, and the exquisite pleasure of playing with absolutely nothing at stake except the joy of the moment.

The more you embrace your inner beautifool (see what I did there?), the more authentic you become in everything else. That report you're dreading? Play with it. That awkward relationship conversation? Find the game in it. Those dishes piling up? Turn them into an orchestra of splash and sparkle.

The real truth? maybe we're all clowns, stumbling through life, trying our best to make sense of this bizarre circus we call existence. Some of us just wear our red noses on the inside.

So next time someone tells you to "be more authentic," consider this radical proposition: maybe the path to genuine presence isn't through more self-help books or meditation apps. Maybe it's through embracing your inner idiot, finding pleasure in play, and remembering that sometimes the most profound truth comes wrapped in a pratfall.

After all, in a world that takes itself way too seriously, being a beautiful fool might just be the sanest choice of all.