For the Love of Ayo

WITH BOTH FEET ON THE GROUND, EDEBIRI’S STAR RISES. THE ACTOR REFLECTS ON HER NEW NORMAL.

By Jazmine Hughes

To chat with Ayo Edebiri is to commit to a bit. We spent the first few minutes of our call trying to figure out if the pain in her fingers was arthritis. (She’s 27.) Ayo is fun to root for, a real goofball who looks like she doesn’t quite understand how she’s gotten into the room, as proud and mystified as two kids in a trench coat. But she’s there because she worked for it, serving years as an active member of the comedy community. Recently, she met one of her heroes, Keegan-Michael Key, and found herself tearing up while thanking him for his work. Fame goes both ways: A few weeks later, someone approached Ayo with tears in their eyes, thanking her for hers. “I texted Quinta [Brunson], ‘Okay. I’ve accepted that the word famous could apply to me,’” she said, begrudgingly. “I operated for so long in a space of, If you know me, you know me. But all of a sudden, I have a million followers on Instagram.”

Before she began acting, Ayo, a well-known Twitter and comedy blog presence, was known for jokes like “no pronouns // do not refer to me ever” and a long-running bit that she was the showrunner of The Kominsky Method. Social media users often treat her like she’s the hometown hero of the internet. Her humor, then and now, is self-deprecating and unburdened, her Instagram feed full of blurry pictures of her throwing up the peace sign and selfies cropped too-close for comfort. That freedom is part of her charm: relishing how absurd life can be (some of her early stand-up was about ingesting so many weed gummies that she thought she was going to die) while sifting through to the parts worth holding on to, the ones worth laughing at.

Ayo has become so famous in part because—despite armfuls of awards and impeccable comedic timing—she seems like someone you could know, the girl next door to anybody with a door. The first time I met her was in a kitchen. We were at a party in Brooklyn, and she was holding court telling some story, flailing her arms about like an inflatable tube guy outside of a car wash. I have no idea what we talked about. I just remember feeling happy she was there.

JAZMINE HUGHES: When was the last time you were legitimately bored?

AYO EDEBIRI: I went on vacation with a friend to the South of France. The first week, I was having such a hard time, like, Do we just sit on the beach? By week two, I was like, Please don’t take me away! I want to summer as a verb!

JH: Do you miss being bored?

AE: I don’t. I have a hard time being still. I’m bravely admitting that I have ADHD, basically. But I miss having less responsibility—it was easier to make stuff, and feel like I was making it for me.

JH: What do you write about in your diary?

AE: I try to write down funny things that I’ve seen or that people have said, but lately, I’m tired. Because everything’s been insane, I’ve been doing it scrapbook style. I [can] remember everything that happened based on a postcard or a ticket stub. I feel like girls our age have been afflicted with, Oh my god, I’m gonna die and somebody’s gonna read my diary.

JH: Do you think somebody will rob you and post it on the internet? And then everybody is like, Damn, why would you steal a person’s personal property? But also, this book is kind of good.

AE: Yeah, and then I change the culture for the better.

JH: It’s you and Anne Frank, famous diarists.

AE: She set a standard. I’m mad at Anne Frank.

JH: Who did you want to be when you grew up?

AE: I was always writing stories about orphans, because when you have two parents, it’s the best thing to fantasize about. The fantasy was always about being a temporary orphan [in] boarding school: Harry Potter, Annie, the Boxcar Children…

JH: But you always wanted to write?

AE: Yes. I love acting and performing, I just didn’t see myself doing it. I wasn’t able to make my high school reunion, but one of my best friends brought me our reunion packets. We had written these letters to each other and to ourselves, [and mine] broke my heart. I really didn’t like myself, and I didn’t think anybody else liked me. It was sad reading other people’s letters where they were like, ‘You’re funny. You’re smart. You’re beautiful. I hope you like yourself.’ I went to writing because I was like, Well, I’m not Halle Berry. I’m not Viola Davis. I’m not CCH Pounder. I’m not Whoopi Goldberg. I just did not think I had the gravitas or the beauty or the humor. I didn’t realize that it’s just about being yourself. That’s what does the thing.

JH: It seems as if you’ve moved past a lot of those thoughts, but if you’re carrying even a little bit of that, it must feel amplified in the public eye. How do you keep yourself sane?

AE: I don’t know if I totally am. Partly, I just have to keep being like, This is crazy. This is a little bit fake. That stuff does scare me—the people’s princess stuff. Do we remember what happened to her? As kids of the internet who saw the proliferation of social media, we know that there’s another side of the coin. It does freak me out. It’s a weird paradox of, I want to be me to beat this game. But if I keep being me, they start to consume me, and I need to keep me for me and for the people that I love.

JH: The internet was our home. Obviously, it has become much different. At what point did you delete your Twitter? What’s your relationship like with social media in general now?

AE: I think I deleted it around the time of Rachel Handler’s piece. Me and Rachel Sennott were talking about it. We were like, This is feeling a bit dangerous and gross. Like, too close. I didn’t like what it was doing to my brain. Now people are starting to make content about me. And I don’t want to consume that or have that change the whole flow of my day. I had a friend who was like, ‘Why didn’t you respond to that thing I sent you on Instagram?’ I was like, ‘Just take a look at what my Instagram looks like.’ She was like, ‘This is bad for your brain, the amount of notifications you get. I’m overwhelmed. But also, I want to see more, I’m instantly addicted.’ It’s not good.

JH: As someone who was reared on the internet, you know how quickly that can change. It’s scary, and it sucks. I appreciate your honesty in trying to figure it out. Have you gotten any good advice on how to deal with it?

AE: Just avoid it. By the end of the year, I’m gonna delete my Instagram or clear it out. I need to unfollow everybody. I know a few people who have done that. It literally clears your feed. Instagram will try to send stuff but they can’t create an algorithm if you just don’t interact.

JH: For two days after I left the Times, I had 150 new notifications every time I looked at my phone. I came out of that situation genuinely feeling more empathy for celebrities and publicists. Do you still feel the same amount of pressure in person versus online? Maybe it’s girls our age, maybe it’s the corners of the internet we’re hanging out in, but parasocial relationships can blossom online. But people are mad, shy, and fake in person.

JH: Do you feel the same sort of worry or stress?

AE: I’ve had a few in person [interactions] that have been really surprising. Things that I’ve seen happen to other people, and they started to happen to me. Like somebody coming up [to me] and crying.

JH: What sorts of things have been fulfilling to you over the past year or so?

AE: Getting to make work is the best thing. The fact that both of my parents are here is really special. In the past two years, there’s been lots of death. It made me really grateful to have people in my life. I’ve fully become a Black lady, because I’m grateful for life and health.

JH: You got your pocketbook. You’re on your way to the salon. And people ask, ‘How’s your day?’ and you say, ‘The Lord blessed me.’

AE: The circle is closed. Let the circle be unbroken. Mary J. Blige just be hitting different. I can’t stop listening to Mary J. Blige. Tell me how it feels to be growing into a Black adult lady. There’s so much trauma and strain and interesting stuff roaming a Black girl. This is your self-titled era. This is Beyoncé.

I’m on my breakthrough album. Take me as I am. It’s cool. In the industry, I’m meeting more Black women where we have each other’s back in a soul-tie way. It’s just very real. It’s cool to feel that on an industry level. I love that for me.

JH: I love that for you, too. What do you want to be doing 10 years from now?

AE: I have career goals. [I want to] be in therapy still, go on vacation once a year, be close with friends, be with a life partner, question mark. Still prioritize my happiness—whatever that means to me.

JH: Oprah would be so proud of you.

AE: The top people who I want to be like, Do you know who I am? are Oprah and Beyoncé. I think that Beyoncé does. She and Jay-Z watch Abbott Elementary so I’m sure they’ve at least seen me in a cameo.

JH: What’s your parents’ favorite thing about what you do?

AE: For my mom, it’s the fact that her WhatsApp is blowing up. She loves going to the award shows. My dad loves movies and TV. I know, generally, that he’s proud. He’s also very African and very concerned with stability. So when I booked the Marvel thing, he was like, Correct. And ultimately, it did not work because of scheduling. And he was like, Incorrect.

JH: If you could take one day off—no stress, no guilt—how would you spend it?

AE: I’d literally wake up and everything would be done, and I’d know that I actually have the next day off so it’s not like I go to bed thinking about it. Nobody’s allowed to speak to me about work. I’d make coffee or matcha. I’d listen to music or a podcast. Then I would have breakfast. I would put on a movie that I’ve been meaning to watch. I’d go on a walk with a dog or a friend. And we’d just gossip.

JH: You know you’re talking shit. You’re getting a delicious piece of gossip.

AE: I’d call my mom. And she’d be like, You’ll never guess what I heard about this girl. We went to church, and she’s pregnant.

JH: Do you still go to church?

AE: I haven’t gone in a really long time. But I love listening to gospel music and kind of praying. Not in the same way that I used to, when it had a lot of judgment attached to it.

JH: You have a strong sense of self and a strong sense of justice, which I admire. I wondered if that came from growing up in the church.

AE: I was obsessed with righteousness and justice and wisdom. I prayed for wisdom.

JH: Did you get it?

I’m still waiting.

JH: Why were you obsessed with those particular traits?

AE: I was obsessed with Solomon because he’s wise. That’s all you need. Part of the attraction, as a child, was this feeling where I was not like my peers, because I thought about things in a deep way. I was basically a pick-me, but for God.

JH: In actuality, church is just the biggest bit there is.

AE: But it’s the moments of community: I loved gathering with people. I loved praying and singing with people and coming up with church plays. We had a lot of young people at our church and they gave us a lot of freedom; we would sing and come up with sermons for Sunday night service. It was stuff that was so small, but it felt very empowering.

JH: Are you still as community-minded now?

AE: People are so interested in how I’ve created a network of, like, funny girls, and also men. But I just work with people. I try to be decent to them. If we’re lucky enough to foster a friendship, then I work hard to foster that. If not, I just try to show up as well as I can. It’s not that hard! But you meet people who are like, Thanks for being nice to the crew. You said thank you to the crew. And I’m like, Yeah, because they’re human beings.

JH: I genuinely think that’s the church thing! It’s the embodiment of the Golden Rule. What did you preach about in church? If you don’t remember, I will make you do a praise dance for me right now.

AE: I do remember that I would sing this Fred Hammond song, ‘You Are the Living Word.’ And I would do it as a duet with my not-boyfriend at the time. And we would, like, sing into each other’s eyes. And everybody was like, This is so beautiful. And I was like, I think I’m having sex.