Born in Bathgate, West Lothian, in 1986, Fern Brady is a standup comedian and author. Her broadcasting credits include Channel 4’s Taskmaster, 8 Out of 10 Cats and Radio 4’s The News Quiz. Her memoir, Strong Female Character, about her autism diagnosis in adulthood, is shortlisted for the inaugural Nero book awards nonfiction prize (announced on 16 January). The book comes out in paperback on 11 January and tickets for Brady’s tour, I Gave You Milk to Drink, are on sale now.
Congratulations on the award nomination. How does that feel?
It’s great! People had assumed that I was writing a flipping comedy book, and although there’s nothing wrong with that, sometimes comedians – and other people – just do a book for the sake of it. For this, I wrote a proposal in secret, approached my agent with it, and he was, like, “Oh! I didn’t know you were writing something like this.”
What’s it like for you to tackle autism in comedy?
I haven’t talked about autism in my standup a lot, because the only way I can is to frame it in a way that most people understand. Often, I get told my standup is uncompromising, which is funny to me, because I’m constantly compromising. Chris Morris – the one from Brass Eye – said he didn’t like standup because it relies on the consent of the audience and what you see is shaped by performing it to audiences night after night after night. A book allowed me to be more vulnerable, to say what I wanted to say.
Was writing for a reader rather than an audience different in any other way?
It freed me from the shackles of this [thick Scottish] accent. But if you only ever show Scottish people on TV where they’re drunk or aggressive, you can’t blame people when they have that unconscious bias.
What reactions have you had since discussing your diagnosis publicly?
I followed that rule of “try to write for what you wished existed when you were 21” and people have said it has helped them. That’s great – it’s why I wrote it. But unfortunately, most people’s understanding of autism is still quite limited. People think that it’s this tragic thing, or people try to tell me it’s a superpower, which I know is well intended, but autism should be viewed as quite neutral, really. But then something like 40% of the population still think autism is a mental illness. It’s not – it’s just a neurotype.
Would you like to write in any other genres?
Before the book, I’d been writing a TV pilot for about five years, influenced by working at strip clubs when I was at university. No one ever came into them, so we were just sat in our clothes watching telly. I thought that could be funny. It got stuck in development hell.
What did your strip club teach you?
People assume I’ll think it was empowering. One of the old clubs I worked in got in touch saying they were trying to save all the strip clubs in Edinburgh and I was like, “Shut them down! Burn them down!” They radicalised me towards feminism, and I’m grateful – otherwise feminism would’ve stayed as an interesting theory I’d learned at university. I’ve seen men on their stag dos there, and it changed me permanently.
You began a degree in Arabic and Islamic history at Edinburgh University. What inspired that?
9/11 had just happened and I wanted to be a spy.
Would you have been a good one?
I would have been a terrible spy. One of my most repeated phrases is: “Don’t tell anybody I told you this.” I switched to English after a month. All I can say in Persian is: “My brother has a pomegranate.”
You trained as a journalist before trying standup for an article. What journalism do you enjoy?
I like well-researched features on websites like the Cut, which is the stuff I wanted to go into, but I trained in news because I didn’t have any connections. So much of the media is run by privately educated people with nepotistic connections. After my diagnosis, I also got the predictable approaches from producers for me to do a documentary.
Did you entertain the idea?
Just the thought of it horrified me. I could already see it in my mind: it would be called “Fern Brady: Autism and Me”, and I would go on a journey and cry on cue at the 45-minute mark. The media in the UK assume that audiences are stupid. With a book, I could try to speak to people as if they were intelligent.
You were a big hit on Taskmaster. What would be your dream task?
It’d be nice to have a Taskmaster/Bake Off mash-up, where you were baking a cake of Alex [Horne]’s head. I’m a good baker. They trust comedians to be funny on Taskmaster. You don’t get that very often on TV.
You came out as bisexual on the BBC’s Live at the Apollo in 2018. Did that feel like a monumental thing to do?
Not so much now because bloody everyone says they are. I was bisexual back when it was still gross and embarrassing.
Does your national identity mean anything to you?
It has always been weird to me. So many pockets of Scotland are more similar to Northern Ireland than anywhere else, where people define themselves against being a Catholic or a Protestant. I grew up with my dad telling me things like, “Catholics always have messy gardens.”
Do your family have interesting reactions to your comedy?
There are some people in my family who I’ve not spoken to for years who got in touch with my dad recently to be like, “Are you embarrassed about what Fern has written in her book?” And my dad was like, “No, I’m proud of her.” That was so lovely.
Strong Female Character is out in paperback on 11 January (Octopus, £10.99). To support the Guardian and Observer order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply
