Merely a Trinket

Maybe I should ditch the rice paddy hat. I donno. In the beginning, I was the only Asian dude performing at the Cellar, and now there are three. And on top of that, people aren’t loving cultural stereotypes these days. That makes me want to wear it more, actually. Fuck it, maybe I’ll get someone to hit a gong at the end of my bit! Aren’t I the one who is supposed to be offended by this shit? Didn’t Betty Boop wear one? Bugs Bunny? I should be fuming! Stomping my feet with rage! But I’m not, because that shit is funny. Maybe it’s a gauge for a good audience vs bad. If they laugh at the hat, you know you got a good one.

I actually found the hat online. I knew I wanted to create a “look” for my stand up that was hilariously and stereotypically Asian. I searched “rice paddy hat” and boom - a guy was selling one in Tribeca for $10. So, I hopped on the train and headed out to pick it up.

“Richard” lived at 443 Greenwich Street, an old warehouse converted into swish, new condos. When I told him how nice the building was, he waved an arm around dismissively “It used to be a book bindery.” I think he sniffed after. It’s a point of pride for rich Manhattanites to live in a place with a tiny crumb of history. Like, half the reason you buy a condo in an old building is to tell people what the building used to be. God forbid you buy a new build, then what the FUCK are you going to tell people then? “I’m so embarrassed, this was… *coughs into fist* a new build.” He was a thin white guy in his 70’s, very buttoned up: white collar, cardigan, freshly pressed khakis, a little “Mister Rogers” in the face. He was one of those people that talked to you while taking in your clothes from head to toe. No eye contact, just steady-eyed judgement of this 5 '7 Chinese American man in a Wu Tang t-shirt ready to buy a rice paddy hat.

Richard brought the hat out and proceeded to tell me that he got it in China on a “Imperial China Discovery Tour”. I immediately pictured this very reserved white man conducting his daily activities while wearing the rice paddy hat: playing chess in the park with his friends, ordering a bagel with dairy free cream cheese, picking up his arthritis meds from the CVS. “Did you ever wear it? The hat?” I ask suddenly hoping he’d say yes. He snorted. “Oh no. This was simply a trinket.” I nod, and begin to realize that my new hat may be spinning new material for me as I stand here in this posh apartment. I want to ask him what else he’s getting rid of. Did he go on an African Safari and bring back a pith helmet? An Emirati Headdress from Dubai? I suddenly just want to push Richard on stage and see how many people in Greenwich village he could offend with his “trinkets.” That would be a great bit. I ask Richard if he’d like to come watch me perform at the Comedy Cellar tonight. Richard considers this while doing the staring-at-my-clothing-up-and-down while talking thing “Do you need people to laugh?’ Confused by the question, I say “Yes Richard, people generally come to a comedy show to laugh.” Richard fusses with his hands nervously, not really grasping what I mean by this invitation. “I will have to check my schedule” (pronounces it “SHED dule”)., I nod “Ok, nice to me you Dick! Thanks for the hat.” Richard awkwardly shakes my hand that’s up for a high five. It was a small, cold pincer of a hand, like a lobster handshake. Without turning around, I yell “I’m on stage at 11pm. Get there early and ask to sit in the front row.” I get on the elevator and press the close door button, already wearing my new headgear. It’s a lightweight, woven grass cone and there is a layer of dust over the whole thing. It’s perfect. I end up wearing my new hat to the skatepark. It’s hot, but the sun is kept at bay due the wide brim, and the weave of the grass has purposeful gaps for venting. I was feeling good.

That night I forgot about Richard and the invitation and headed to the Cellar to prepare for my set. The club is packed and the audience is rowdy. My favourite. A little drunk, but not too drunk. I don’t want you vomiting, but I DO want some heckling, I’m the rare comedian that enjoys a heckling. The tourists coming here aren’t prepared for the dressing down I’m about to give them in front of a hundred people. I thrive on making Connor from Ohio look bad in front of his date. I know other comedians hate the heckling and will go to great lengths to diffuse it, but for me it’s a nice little grenade thrown on stage and I get to pull the pin.

The comedian before me is finished and they introduce me. I step confidently through the curtain onto the famous stage wearing my new hat. While I normally can’t see the crowd due to the bright stage lights, tonight I can. The brim of my hat shades my eyes perfectly and I can clearly see the front row (which is great for addressing the hecklers). There, front row centre, is Richard sitting up very straight, small pincer hands folded in his lap. He’s wearing a button up shirt tucked into jeans with an oversized belt buckle. It was as if he put on his “trying to appear casual” costume. I immediately launch into it “Look at this guy in the front row, here. What - did you stop wrangling cattle for an hour to come to the show?” Richard looks confused. “Your belt buckle, man. You come from a gunfight, or what? ” Richard looks down, seeming to finally understand the reference “Ah this! it’s merely a trinket.”