Self-Deprecating Humor Starts When Being Human (On Humor)
Humor columnist Karim Shamsi-Basha shares five tips for delivering self-deprecating humor by harnessing the simple act of being human.
This is a column about psychology.
Not really! I did read a few Psychology Today articles for credibility, but let’s not get carried away. This is still about writing funny. And at the heart of it, the aching, slightly embarrassing, wonderfully human heart of it, is this: Humor begins the moment you point gently at your own flaws. In other words, self-deprecating.
Self-deprecating. A term that sounds like it needs therapy. Or at least a nap.
Let’s define it before we turn it on ourselves: Self-deprecating humor is the art of poking fun at yourself, lightly, deliberately, and with just enough charm that people laugh with you, not at you (though, let’s be honest, sometimes both happen and we survive).
Done right, it’s disarming. It tells your reader: I am flawed, aware, and still allowed in public. Done wrong, it reads like a long apology letter no one asked for.
In humor writing, especially the kind that leans on storytelling, self-deprecation is your handshake. It builds trust. It says, “I’m not above you. I’m right here with you, probably making the same bad decisions, just with better punctuation.”
But like garlic, you don’t dump the whole bulb in.
Target Minor Faults, Not Core Insecurity
Go after the small stuff. The human stuff. Your inability to read a map. Your tragic relationship with technology. Your ongoing war with recipes that include the phrase “just fold gently.”
Example: I have never successfully used GPS without arguing with it, which feels like losing a fight to a calm, invisible woman.
Balance With Competence
Here’s the trick: You’re not actually tearing yourself down; you’re revealing that you don’t take yourself too seriously. There’s a quiet confidence underneath it all.
Example: I can meet a deadline, craft a story, and interview a stranger with ease. But ask me to assemble a bookshelf and suddenly I’m negotiating with a screwdriver like it’s a hostage situation.
Be Authentic
If it’s fake, it flops. Readers know. They always know. Self-deprecation only works when it comes from something true, something you’ve already laughed about in your own kitchen at midnight.
Example: I’ve been “organizing my notes” for years, which is just a polite way of saying I move them from one pile to another and call it progress.
Be Spontaneous and Brief
Think of self-deprecation as seasoning, not the meal. A quick aside can sparkle. A paragraph of it can feel like you’re asking for emotional reassurance from strangers on the internet.
Example: I tried to get my life together. It turns out my life had other plans.
Wink
In conversation, we have tone, a smile, a pause. On the page, you create that wink with rhythm and restraint. Don’t over-explain. Trust the reader to meet you halfway.
This is how: Keep it light, slightly exaggerated, and then move on before the joke starts explaining itself.
Example: I decided to simplify things. It’s not going well, but I feel very committed to the idea.
Good self-deprecation sounds like this:
“I’m pretty good at marketing, but I can’t figure out how to send a calendar invite to save my life.”
“I tried to bake a cake for this, but I think I invented a new type of doorstop.”
What to avoid? Overdoing it. Undermining your actual talent. Fishing for compliments like, “I’m so terrible,” and waiting for someone to rescue you. That’s not humor, that’s emotional outsourcing.
The goal is not to make yourself small. It’s to make yourself approachable. To say: Yes, I know who I am. I also know it’s a little ridiculous.
And really, that’s the sweet spot.
Because if you can laugh at yourself, your reader will laugh too. And maybe, achingly, beautifully, they’ll recognize a little of themselves in the mess.
Here is the “human” part:
Don’t take life too seriously. Not on the page, and not off it. The moment we start believing we are terribly important, the universe usually sends a reminder, often in the form of a burnt dinner, a typo in a headline, or a text message sent to the wrong person.
Self-deprecating humor simply beats the universe to the punch. It’s our way of admitting, with a small smile, that we’re all stumbling through this life with varying degrees of grace. And if we can laugh at ourselves along the way, honestly, and with a wink, then we’ve already mastered one of the best survival skills a writer, or a human, can have.
