In Hong Kong, He Juggles a Career in Advertising With Stand-up Comedy

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Garron Chiu, 37, an American-born Hongkonger who works in advertising and stand-up comedy. His words have been edited for length and clarity.

I used to run from my Asian identity. As a Westernized Chinese guy growing up between cultures, I thought the Asian part of me was less “cool” — especially through the lens of Western media.

But now, I run to it. I’ve learned that the contradiction of being Cantonese-speaking, Hong Kong-raised, and also very American is where the best comedy lives.

I was born in Los Angeles to Chinese parents. In Pasadena, we were one of two Asian families on the block. When I was 4, my family moved to Hong Kong. All of a sudden, I was in a city where everyone looked like me — but the cultural clash didn’t go away.

Hong Kong is a remix city. The movies, the music, the food: Everything borrows from somewhere else and spins into something new.

Growing up, my house was full of cultural crossovers. My parents loved traditional Cantonese pop music and ’70s disco — ABBA, Earth, Wind & Fire, the Bee Gees. That mashup of influences shaped not just my sense of humor, but my entire worldview.

College in the US prepped me for stand-up

After high school, I left Hong Kong and returned to the US to study at Boston University, where I earned a Bachelor of Science degree. BU was a cultural collision in the best way: Some classmates had never left their home state, while others were more worldly than I was. Learning to connect across that spectrum prepared me for stand-up more than any textbook ever could.

Comedy is all about finding common ground.

Though I grew up watching David Letterman and Chris Rock and devouring Christopher Titus specials, I never thought I could try stand-up comedy. That changed when my college roommate, who went on to be a Comedy Central producer, pushed me: “You know how to write jokes. Why not get on stage?” It was like a light switch flipped.

My plan had been to stay in LA, but when a marketing job fell through, I moved back to Hong Kong.

Comedy isn’t just my side gig, it’s a second career

In 2012, walking through Hong Kong’s Lan Kwai Fong, I spotted a bar advertising Open Mic Night. I went downstairs, watched people try out material, and thought: I could do this.

A week later, I got on stage and haven’t stopped since.

I’m on stage three or four times a week and have headlined shows across Asia and around the world. At this point, the hours I put in go way beyond “hobby” territory.

I hold a comedy residency at Soho House Hong Kong and have opened on tour for some of the best in the business, including Jim Gaffigan, Hannibal Buress, Neal Brennan, Russell Howard, and Roy Wood Jr.

Still, I don’t do it full-time. At least not yet. Comedy might cover the occasional rent bill or grocery run, but it’s not enough to live on in Hong Kong — one of the world’s most expensive cities.

By day, I work as a strategy director at an advertising firm. And while the jobs seem worlds apart, they share a lot. Both require a sharp read on human behavior, unspoken truths, and cultural nuance. Sometimes I’ll spin a client concept into a joke; other times, a bit that works on stage will spark a campaign idea.

Comedy also makes me a better leader. In Hong Kong, where people tend to be reserved, being confident and expressive stands out. Clients and coworkers come to shows and walk away seeing me as fun and approachable.

Balancing both careers isn’t easy. I don’t sleep enough, and I overwork. But comedy is my purest creative outlet. Unlike advertising, it’s entirely self-driven: no layers of approval, no committees. The outcome depends entirely on your own effort. And that’s incredibly fulfilling.

Hong Kong has its own rhythm

People often assume America is the greatest place on earth — until you live somewhere like Hong Kong and realize how much faster things move, how efficient life can be, and how good public transport is.

At the same time, Hong Kong can be brutal. It’s expensive, intense, and sometimes isolating. But that’s what makes comedy essential. Laughter cuts through the chaos. Over time, my material has evolved, just like my identity.

Outwardly, I come across as American in how I speak, perform, even the volume. My wife jokes that when we travel, no one mistakes me for a Chinese tourist; I’m unmistakably the American in the room.

But internally, I’ve grown more Hongkonger over time. Still, identity today isn’t just tied to geography. With social media, travel, and cultural exchange, it feels more like a mindset than a passport.

On stage, my rule is simple: Everything serves the laugh. If I can laugh once and make someone else laugh once in a day, that day’s a win.

Do you have a story about moving to Asia that you want to share? Get in touch with the editor: akarplus@businessinsider.com.