Born in Stoke-on-Trent in 1990, Phil Wang is a comedian, actor and writer. He spent most of his childhood in Malaysia with his English mother, Chinese-Malaysian father and sister, before his family moved back to Bath in his teens. Wang studied engineering at Cambridge University, where he was president of the Footlights. After winning two student comedy awards, he began comedy professionally. His TV appearances include Taskmaster and Have I Got News for You, with acting roles in Wonka and 3 Body Problem. Wang’s second Netflix special, Wang in There, Baby! is out now.
This is me, sitting on a tricycle in my childhood home in Kota Kinabalu, north Borneo, where I lived until I was 16. Dad designed the house: he’s an engineer, and wanted it to look like a tree, so we had a big green tiled roof. Behind me is a folded ping-pong table; I think we used it once. From time to time, the nearby river would overflow and flood the basement, where this was taken. We wouldn’t be able to play down there because it’d be full of centipedes and snakes.
I was a massive fan of professional wrestling. Partly because I was a big kid – I discovered food when I was nine and got huge. Because of my mum’s European genes I was tall, and because of Dad’s native genes, I was very broad. East Asians and Malaysians are quite small in general, so I felt like a freak at school. As soon as I saw wrestling on TV – all these big men running around being charismatic and entertaining – I suddenly realised: “Wrestling is the thing for me!” “Stone Cold” Steve Austin was my favourite, but you couldn’t call yourself a fan of noughties wrestling without owning a T-shirt with the Rock’s face on it.
Until the age of 10, I went to Chinese schools, where corporal punishment was normal. We would get caned for speaking in class or for missing homework. One teacher was so strict that students would get a strike of a cane for every per cent you got under 80 in a test. That atmosphere made me close in on myself – I became quiet, very frightened and very private.
At home, away from the fear of physical punishment, I could be funny. I grew up watching Jim Carrey and I loved British sitcoms like Mr Bean and French and Saunders. I had a big rubbery face; a lot to play with. This photo is a moment where I’m luxuriating in silliness.
While school instilled a fear of authority in me, I also credit that experience as being one of the things that drew me to comedy. Comedy was an environment where you were supposed to break down the rules. Being irreverent was encouraged.
While in Malaysia, I felt white compared with everyone else; in Bath, I suddenly felt very Asian. I realised then that everywhere I went I would feel like an alien.
My first gig was at school, when I was 17. Mr Harding, the drama teacher – whom I’ll always be in debt to for giving me my first gig – said I could do five minutes at Club Haha, the comedy show he was putting on for the school’s improv team. I mainly ripped-off Russell Peters, who is a Canadian-Indian standup comic. I swapped out “Indian” for “Chinese” and found that most of his jokes worked relatively well. I did another show at school, then wrote an original set of material – 10 minutes on the things I had noticed about the other students and teachers. It went great. I was relieved. Plus it was helpful in terms of the social ranking. The cool kids were like: “Hey! I heard that you were really funny!”
Through the Cambridge Footlights and through the comedy scene, I found a community – other funny people, and people who are funnier than me that I could learn from. It was so intoxicating. At times I felt like Batman. By day I’d be doing engineering; at night I’d be running standup gigs and doing my own sets. I would often only get four hours’ sleep then be nodding off in class.
Once I moved to London, my pursuit of comedy became more of an addiction. I lived in a flat with my sister and did whatever gigs I could. There was a real thrill in defying people’s expectations. Being the only East Asian person on the bill most of the time, I knew I’d come on stage and people would see a Chinese-looking guy, and would probably think: “Oh boy. Is this gonna be good? I’ve never seen this before.” The rush of surprising them was unbeatable.
Not much has changed in that respect. No matter how much experience I have, no matter how many times I’ve been on TV, I always approach every gig assuming people don’t know who I am, and have noticed that I’m Asian. It’s like a tick for me. I can’t stop trying to bridge the gap by joking about it. I’m writing new material at the moment and already the first few minutes are about being Chinese. It’s not conscious. Jerry Seinfeld once said every comedian only really has the same 10 minutes, and I think there’s something to that. Doing standup about Asian-ness is a way of me taking control – addressing what I think is the elephant in the room.
As my career has progressed, comedy has become a different experience. The way I see it is, I used to date comedy and now I’m married to it. I still love it, but it’s not all about new experiences and places; it’s now just part of my life. That’s not to say I am complacent. I still worry about not getting 80% in whatever I do. I recently watched my first special on Netflix and thought: “This could have been better. I got that bit wrong. Next time, maybe I’ll get 100%.” That approach means I keep improving but I never celebrate. I’m never happy with anything. At the end of my first Live at the Apollo set, I thought: “What a relief.”
As for my relationship with my body, I now have a personal trainer whom I see three mornings a week. That makes me feel good. Although by the time I get back, I’m so sleepy and hungry that I generally end up licking my wounds until about 3pm.
Wrestling is still a big part of my life, mainly on Instagram. My algorithm is almost entirely wrestling from the early noughties. I don’t feel connected to the new stuff, or any other kind of fighting. There’s something about the controlled violence of that classic era that makes me feel really comforted. In fact, it does in real life, too. I’m actually the reigning comedians’ wrestling champion. The comics Max & Ivan put on a wrestling tournament in Edinburgh in 2023 – it took place in an actual ring, with actual comedians wrestling each other. It was a huge extravaganza. I wore my Taskmaster yellow outfit, and at one point crashed through a table. The feeling was weirdly nice. In fact, I recommend that to everyone. Forget wild swimming: crash through a table instead.
