Meet Katie Bowman: Denver Comedian, Artist and Podcast Host Extraordinaire

The multi-talented Denver-based comedian, artist and podcast host Katie Bowman (she/they) is known for a goofy, confessional style that connects with audiences on a personal level. And after touring her latest hour around the country, Bowman is eager to record her first comedy album, Neurodivergent Nightmare, with Burn This Records at the Bug Theatre on December 2.

Bowman has been Comic of the Week on "The Jackie and Laurie Show" podcast; hosts her own podcast, Help Me, I'm Scared With Katie Bowman;  and has performed at such prestigious festivals as Cloudtop Comedy Festival, Altercation Comedy Festival, Limestone Comedy Festival and High Plains Comedy Festival. Locally, Bowman and Brad Galli host Hai Comedy every Thursday at Sushi Hai. In addition to her comedy career, Bowman is also the creative force behind the Curly Bush, the website where she sells her explosive and expressive artwork.

Whether she's making you laugh with her standup and improv comedy or captivating you with her colorful artwork, Bowman is a true talent worth getting to know in Denver. Join us as we dive into Bowman's world to get the inside scoop on the realities of building a career in comedy in the Mile High City.
Westword: How did you get into comedy?

Katie Bowman: Back in my early twenties, I was finishing up art school at CU Boulder. There's not really much in an art school that they tell you when it comes to business or jobs. They only give you a few options for what you can excel at: You could be a teacher, go into galleries or do more school. I'm lucky — I'm privileged, and my parents did pay for my schooling, but I do wish that I could have just waited a year after high school. I was a bad kid, so I was always told, "You're going to college." But I don't think that was a good choice for someone who was as mentally lost as I was. I was just getting out of a relationship with a boyfriend who was way too old for me, and then you get thrown into a school environment in which no one tells you how anything works. ...

Anyway, I graduated and...I applied to all the graduate schools. I had moved to Denver right after school. My parents really wanted me to move back to Dallas, but I stayed in Denver, and I got all my applications ready. But then one of my mentors, two weeks before the deadline, was like, ‘Hey, I'm really sorry. I know I said I would write you a letter of recommendation, but I don't think you're ready.’ It was a long email and it hurt, especially because I was interning at the art museum and working at the science museum, so there were no days off. ...

After receiving that email, I was devastated; however, this was also when Tinder was booming, so I was going on all these dates to distract myself. I remember texting one of the guys I was talking to around the time that Broad City had come out, asking if he had seen the show. He literally texted me back and was like, "No, I'm so sick of ugly women trying to be funny. They're not even cute. Girls just need to stop trying to do comedy."

It was so weird, because all we did was text each other jokes as friends. I didn't understand how we could have this funny, hilarious relationship in real life, but then you don't want to support women in comedy? We got into a fight about it, and then I was just really upset. Then I went on a date with this guy from Denver who took me to an improv show, and while I wasn't really into the guy, I was really into the improv. That was the first time I ever thought about getting into comedy.

Who did you grow up watching?

I grew up watching all the fucking SNL. I love comedy movies, but I was definitely more of a sketch person. When I was younger, I watched a lot of standup, but I just didn't have access to a lot of it, either. Only the standards I really knew, like Dave Chappelle, Carson Lynch, Louis C.K. and Sarah Silverman. I loved all of them, but I wasn't super familiar with the scene.

I was hanging out with this guy from OK Cupid; we had been drinking and hooking up a bunch, and I turned on Broad City. This is in that same three- to four-week period when I was with that other guy, and I was like, "I want to do comedy." And then this guy I was hooking up with was like, "You should just do it." And I was like, "You're right; I’m going to try it."

Then the next morning, after we kissed goodbye, he ghosted me. So it goes, but I kept thinking about what he said, and so I signed up for improv classes. I realized I needed to take a break from dating, focus on myself and try comedy. I remember just feeling terrified. When I started, there were only a few women in the scene that I knew were really practicing.
What year was that, when you first entered the Denver standup comedy scene?

I remember this clearly because it was a very humbling time for me. It was around 2014, 2015. A lot of people told me that you're probably not going to be friends with anyone you start with, and I was like, "No, I'm going to be friends with everyone!" But the further along you get, the more isolating it becomes. I do find myself gravitating toward different people as things change. There are a lot of times when people get a little bit of success and that can really change how they see people and view the world. There are a lot of my friends who I started with that are too cool for school now, and I'm like, "What happened? You used to be this very approachable person" — but ego is such a big part of comedy.

What styles have you found yourself attracted to as your comedic sensibility evolved?

Over the years, I kind of gravitated toward standup instead of improv. I still like to play in the improv space when I can, because I think improv is fun, but I also feel like every creative space has a lot of creeps in it. People in standup are awful and people in improv are terrible; however, I think that’s just the world we live in. I worked at Planned Parenthood for six and a half years, and there's a lot of terrible shit there, too; they don't pay their employees enough and there's not a lot of accountability. I guess in any workplace, you deal with a lot of assholes, so you just have to pick your poison in life. And what better poison than comedy? I’m sure it’s similar to writing in the journalism world; it just gets weirdly competitive. ... These are the people who are your colleagues, but at the same time are your friends. Off-stage or outside of the show, it's a very muddy place to be, but that’s the industry I entered in Denver and how I got started.

What are some of the things that you like to joke about?

Most of my comedy comes from being confessional. I like to take things that happen to me personally, especially awful traumas, and try to make them funny or hopeful in some way. I'm a child of the ’90s, so I grew up with a lot of fat and body shame, so I definitely talk about that. And then I also worked at Planned Parenthood for several years, so I have a bunch of jokes about working there and reproductive health. I spent a lot of my earlier years trying to talk about all these global topics; I was basically trying to be a late-night monologue writer. But at the same time, you have to find your voice first. I remember one of my mentors from art school saying, "Why are you trying to do all these things when you can just talk about your own story? No one can tell your own story but you," and that is what stuck with me. I carry that a lot into my standup. Standup is your point of view and your life at the same time.

How many times have you done something stupid and Googled what to do and there are a hundred people who did the same thing as you? There's something relatable about the smaller details of your life. The confessional parts of life are my favorites. I also talk about things like horror movies, being an artist, and my relationship. Ms. Pat is another comic I look up to, because she had a really fucking crazy life and used that for her jokes as well as a way to discuss what had happened to her. I really believe in that: In order to move on and get better, you have to talk about the hard things in life.
How has this leg of your tour been going?

It's consistent; I've been workshopping the material I’m going to film at the Bug Theatre. It’s a lot of trying out how jokes land. Every time I work on it, it just feels like it's coming together more and more. And it's really fun working on it in different cities. I just went to some more conservative places back in August, like Arkansas and Missouri, and I was really nervous, but it actually went okay. I mean, they were really tight for any sexual jokes or my Planned Parenthood material, but I was able to be proud of my work. It's nice to go to a more red state and have material land.

It's a dream to be able to work on an hour of material in other states, but it’s a little sad, too. Like, you think you're going to get some spots in your hometown from friends and stuff, but not everyone books you for those spots. I remember listening to a podcast by a comic who said you have to leave town to headline when you're starting out, and that’s more true than you think. I reached out to a lot of people, and I was like, "Hey, I got a record deal. I'm working on this album. If you have any cancellations or if you have a spot before December 2nd, please let me use it. I'm trying to run as many times as possible!" And some people that started with me left me on read, which can be a little frustrating.

What have you learned from leaving Denver to tour the show?

I think leaving town and working on it in different places has been the best part. Now, looking back on it, if I had just tried to work on it in Denver, it would have been very isolating. But when I get to go on the road, there are always a bunch of people who don't know who you are and they're just excited to be there.

How did you settle on the Bug Theatre as the place to record?

It's actually where I did my first open-mic set. It was for the Freak Train. It's incredible, and the Bug is just an incredible space. Before I started standup, I would go to local shows sometimes at the Bug, like the Grawlix, and just be in awe. Like, ‘How do I do this?’ But no one tells you how to do it. Now there are classes and resources, but there wasn’t all that stuff.

The Bug has been like a little comedy haven for a while. And I also love Alex Weimer, the Bug Theatre’s executive artistic director. He's just a really honest, chill and sweet person to work with. Also, I was looking at other venues, and when I sent in what I needed to these other places, they'd offer me a late-night spot on a Sunday. And I'm like, "Really? Sunday is a bad day to record, but I guess I’ll think about it." I had one place offer me 10 p.m. on a Friday. That is when the drunkest people come to see comedy, which could go good or bad. I was hoping for 7 p.m. because everyone’s still awake. If they're drinking, they're at the beginning, so they're still thinking. My jokes are for thinkers, and if you're not thinking, you're not going to get them.

In the hour you've been working on, what are some of the topics that people can expect?

Working in reproductive health, being a fat woman in society, growing up as a Catholic kid, my interests like art and horror films, my relationship and bullying — I try to be kind of an underdog or like an unsung hero. I want people to feel empowered, but I also want it to be wild, crazy and fun.

Who would you recommend your comedy show to?

People who are feminine or queer — that's mostly my audience. Or if you just like really wild, crazy, gross shit.

Katie Bowman: Neurodivergent Nightmare Album Recording, 7 p.m. Saturday, December 2, Bug Theatre, 3654 Navajo Street. Get tickets at katiebowman.rocks.