Ronny Chieng: A Man For All Seasons

Client: Ronny Chieng – Talent

Ronny Chieng is a lot of things, to a lot of people.

He’s a Johor boy. He’s a New Yorker. He’s Hasan Minhaj’s nemesis—and his friend. He’s a law graduate who didn't tell his parents he got hired on The Daily Show.

But wherever he is in the world, and whatever he’s doing, he’s drawn to other comedians.“There's a lot of camaraderie with stand-up comics because I think we all get it instantly. We don’t ask each other stupid questions. We also commiserate a lot together,” he says.

“I've realised that my tribe is comics more than any other demographic of people. More than any race or religion, or any other nationality.”

I quip, semi-seriously, that this is beautiful. “Well, sometimes,” he says. “Sometimes it’s not. We’re all kind of psychopaths.”

You’ll know Chieng best as a stand-up comedian, a late-night TV host, and an actor. He’s also a perpetual immigrant, having lived in Malaysia, Singapore, Australia and America.

I ask if every place wants to claim him as their own, but he laughs. “Johor Bahru is so like, ‘We don't care’. In a good way. ‘Order your char kway teow and keep it moving.’”

As a kid, Chieng crossed the causeway daily from Johor into Singapore to go to school and back. He woke up at dawn to take the bus most days. If there was a jam, he’d literally walk along the causeway from one country into another.

Later, he moved to Melbourne to study Law—an experience he chronicled loosely in his first sitcom, Ronny Chieng: International Student, which aired in 2017. Melbourne is also where he met his wife, Hannah Pham, who is Vietnamese-Australian.

Now, New York is their home. Chieng moved to the US just over ten years ago.

“It’s not for everyone, but there are a lot of us who live this almost post-national lifestyle. We've seen so many places. I've seen the pros and cons of every place. Nowhere is perfect. Knowing that helps, right?” he says.

In his comedy, I’m struck by how deftly Chieng draws on his disparate life experiences. His 2024 Netflix special, Love To Hate It, tackles American discontent about taxes in one moment, and Chinese baby boomers the next.

All comedians mine their lives for material, of course. But Chieng is specific in a way that feels unique to him. He switches contexts with ease, casting a withering—yet simultaneously devoted—eye at the cultures he comes from. And he goes deep. Not just: “Hey, this is stupid”. But, “Hey, here’s why this is stupid.”

In the same special, he pokes fun at Americans who are confused by the very idea of a Malaysian person who looks and speaks Chinese.

 “I think part of maturing is knowing when you don't have to care about what other people think,” he says. “I don't need to explain Malaysia to Americans.”

“I feel like these spheres of civilization are almost their own planets. America is its own planet. Malaysia, its own planet. Singapore, its own planet. Hong Kong, its own planet. Asia is its own solar system.”

“It’s like interstellar travel,” he says. “Knowing these different planets is such a superpower. They cannot defeat you.”

Chieng’s core memory of growing up in Johor Bahru is hanging out at his grandmother’s house. He recounts the classic childhood experiences of his generation. Going to the cinema to watch Robocop 3 and Jurassic Park. Buying snacks from the roti man who pedalled around the neighbourhood. Marry Brown fried chicken. Shopping malls. Fancy dim sum, sometimes. (His family’s go-to spot was Beijing Lou, also known as Pekin Restaurant).

His family would also periodically visit Sitiawan, his dad’s hometown. “That was truly balik kampung,” he says. His father’s family are farmers, growing banana, rubber and palm trees.

“It's actually incredible how famous Sitiawan is. This small village produced a lot of people. I asked my dad about that once, and he just said, Sitiawan made you tough. So you either did something with your life or you became a gangster. That's why you meet a lot of people from Sitiawan who’ve accomplished a lot.”

 “I think part of maturing is knowing when you don't have to care about what other people think. I don't need to explain Malaysia to Americans.”

In Love To Hate It, Chieng proudly refutes certain immigrant stereotypes. For example: being cheap isn’t an immigrant thing, he insists. It’s genetic.

But if there’s an immigrant “trait” that he does identify in himself, it’s optimism.  

“I think, in general, immigrants tend to see opportunity when they move. And there's this optimistic energy that they bring with them, and it doesn't always work out. But that positive outlook, honestly, can take you so far.”

“That's what New York City felt like to me. When I first came here, it was like, ‘This is amazing. This is a dream come true. This is a city where everything's happening.’ And I talk to my friends who are here, or they're from New York, and they're like, ‘What are you talking about? This place is terrible.’”

It was always Chieng’s dream to come to America to be a comedian. Specifically to New York, where all his comedy heroes got their start.

He still performs relentlessly, doing comedy sets around the city on weeks when he’s not hosting The Daily Show. He’s also spent the past year touring his co-headline show with Hasan Minhaj: Hasan Hates Ronny / Ronny Hates Hasan. In May, the duo will bring the show to Netflix Is A Joke in Los Angeles.

Then there are his acting projects. Since getting his feature film break with Crazy Rich Asians in 2018, he’s been booked and busy.

In 2024, he starred in Hulu’s Interior Chinatown with Jimmy O. Yang. This year, he appears in The Miniature Wife, a new comedy drama with Matthew Macfadyen and Elizabeth Banks. He’ll also be joining the voice cast of King of the Hill.

Last year, he acted in The Tiger, a short film for Gucci, in which he shared scenes with Demi Moore. Does he ever look around and think that he’s made it? Or is he simply thinking about the next thing?

“Yeah, it's always just the next thing. I mean, it is cool to act with people I watched as a kid. Suddenly you're in the same room as them, and you're doing a scene with them.”

“But the big secret of show business is being able to put the work first. Making sure you're delivering on your thing, and not taking selfies or TikToks or getting distracted, you know? I always feel like the best way to impress people is to do the job.”

It seems that plenty of people are impressed. In the US, a string of places have inaugurated a ‘Ronny Chieng Day’, celebrating his comic achievements. There’s now a day dedicated to Ronny in Oahu, Hawaii, as well as Queens in New York, the city of Austin in Texas, and the entire state of California.

So what are the perks of having an official day in your name? “I think I’m supposed to get free parking on those days,” he says. “But I haven’t even verified this.”

He is also now the voice of the New York City subway, reading out PSAs in his trademark style: dry and kind of annoyed. The role might seem niche, but it speaks to how deeply he’s been embraced as a New Yorker. 

The story of immigration is ingrained in the identity of the city. On the Statue of Liberty, there’s an inscribed poem, ‘The New Colossus’, with the oft-quoted line: “Give me your tired, your poor, / Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”

But when I talk to Chieng, the United States is seeing nationwide protests amid collective grief. A few weeks before our interview, United States Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officers killed two people in Minneapolis. There are reports of hundreds of children, as young as five, being detained. Protestors have come out in force, with a growing movement to protect their own communities from ICE.

I ask Chieng how he squares this landscape of fear and the widespread targeting of immigrants with his own personal success.

“I don't. I don't know how to balance it out,” he says, honestly.

“I always wanted to come to America to do stand-up comedy, ever since I was a kid. This was the place to do it. This is where all the movies I love were made. I didn't come to America because I love ICE. I came to America because I love Jurassic Park.”

He’s touched on this in his stand-up work. In his 2022 Netflix special Speakeasy, he recalls how his mother begged him not to return to the US during the pandemic, asking why he would go back. His retort: despite everything, “this is still the country where you can tell dick jokes for $12.”

On a more serious note, he says, “All I can do is speak up about what I feel is right, which I think I do. If I want to live here, I have to speak up about what's right, what I believe in. And I want to live here because I love the self-expression here. I love doing stand-up comedy. It’s all I ever wanted to do.”

Then he cracks another deadpan line: “So I almost feel like if I don't do stand-up comedy, I'm kind of letting ICE win.”

Last year marked 10 years since Chieng started at The Daily Show. He’s now one of the regular co-hosts, on a rotating schedule.

“I think it's the best job in comedy,” he says.

On the weeks when he’s hosting, it’s a sprint to produce the show. Chieng gathers with the writers at 9am. They watch the news together and figure out the day’s show. “We write the thing, then we rehearse it at 2.30pm. Then after rehearsal, there's a rewrite until 6pm. Then we tape, and then the show goes on that night.”

“I was very, very lucky,” he says, reflecting on his career on late-night TV. “I feel like I got on the last train for legacy media.”

He sees himself as an old school entertainer: after all, he talks to people through a television screen, hosting a show that was established in 1996. Then, he creates live shows and sells tickets to them. That’s basically the oldest form of show business. 

But he acknowledges that he’s in a fortunate position. His job at The Daily Show, along with his deal with Netflix (to date, he’s created three specials and a docu-comedy for the streamer), has given him the freedom to be picky about his projects. Meanwhile, there are millions of aspiring comedians out there in the trenches of Instagram Reels and TikTok.

Chieng is adamant that social media is ruining us, as a species. “The unfortunate thing is that we've only run this experiment with algorithms on humans recently, right? So, we're all victims of it. It’s like ‘fetal alcohol syndrome’. We didn’t know that this would cause so much damage.”

“I was very, very lucky. I feel like I got on the last train for legacy media.”

Lately, he’s been trying to stay off his phone and read more books: a habit he acknowledges is hard to pick up again for most of us, but is crucial. “I can feel my brain healing when I read.”

Does he feel his job is safe from AI? “Every day that goes by, I'm actually feeling more and more safe about it,” he says, confidently. “Because people are craving human interaction more than ever. With other humans around them, and humans performing on stage.”

“Also, when I use AI, I just find that it's really stupid. OK, it’s decent at summarising research, but I know for a fact that a lot of it is wrong. Because I asked it about me. And it was straight up wrong.”

Chieng laments that AI is making people dumber. Still, he’s found an upside. “It's actually helping me personally. Because if you're above-average intelligent, your competition gets a lot easier. Half the population is just going to get dumber.”

I point out that this isn’t so great for the human race, and we debate this briefly. “Dumb people being in charge is bad,” he acknowledges. “But that has been the case even before AI.”

“Being able to sing, being able to act, being able to draw, is actually more valuable than ever. Seeing a human sing in front of you—AI can't do that.”

Chieng is notoriously foul-mouthed in his comedy, and often takes an abrasive stance. After all, both his latest comedy special and his show with Hasan Minhaj include the word “hate” in the title.

“I feel like the best comedy comes from saying what you believe. So just say it,” he says. “I think it's funny to be a little edgy with it. Be a little bit of a troll with it. I think good comedy is edgy.”

In Speakeasy, Chieng has a whole bit about being unafraid of being cancelled. “Cancel me,” he entreats the audience. “I haven’t seen my mom in two years. Cancel me so I can see my mom.”

I ask him if he’s ever had any resistance from his family about his material. The answer is no.

“My mom’s only note was ‘Can you swear less and wear more suits?’ And I said, ‘I can do one of those things.’”

That feedback aside: “My family never told me what to say. Maybe they know I won’t listen to them, maybe they understand what I’m trying to do. But kudos to my mom. She’s never discouraged me.”

Needless to state, Chieng still swears. But he also wears a lot of suits. It’s only partly because of his mom’s request. It’s also a result of living in New York, and having access to people who can style him. These include his good friend Phillip Lim, the celebrated designer.

“Also, to be honest, it's become an act of resistance,” he says. “Because everything's become so fucking sloppy that dressing up now is like a punk rock thing to do. Actually looking like you're putting effort in, it's like the most countercultural thing you can do.”

“My mom’s only note was ‘Can you swear less and wear more suits?’ And I said, ‘I can do one of those things.’”

He works with Phillip Lim to make bespoke suits around New York City and Chinatown, at tailor shops such as The Tailory, The Armoury and F.E. Castleberry. He also likes to support local tailors when he’s back in Southeast Asia.

Chieng’s approach to style falls in line with everything we’ve talked about so far. The intentionality he brings to small decisions. A healthy suspicion of populism and tech-driven hype. An old-fashioned sense of what’s valuable.  

For someone with so much on his plate, he seems to be extremely good at filtering out the noise. On Instagram, he sometimes shares quotes from the monk Thich Nhat Hanh, including this one: “The now is a remarkable, fascinating and beautiful place—the foundation of all time and space.”

Then there’s his martial arts training, which he describes as “very meditative”. Chieng started Wing Chun as a student, and got into Brazilian jiu-jitsu about seven years ago.

For Wing Chun, his longtime Sifu was David Peterson, who recently moved to Malaysia. “He’s a great teacher and a lovely guy,” says Chieng. Peterson was a student of the late Sifu Wong Shun Leung—the grandmaster credited with training Bruce Lee.

For Chieng, the value of his martial arts training lies in being present. It’s also about refining the technique. “It’s very iterative. You’re doing a motion over and over again, and it doesn’t work, and you have to keep figuring out why. So in a sense, it’s like comedy.”

“It also teaches you there’s a deep mastery that’s not obvious to the naked eye. It doesn’t look like anything, but if you touch someone with deep mastery, you can feel it. It feels different.”

Chieng draws a comparison to people who are really good at their jobs, in any sphere. “It doesn’t look like they’re doing anything. But you don’t know the level of their mastery. Deep mastery is not obvious.”

With all his ongoing projects, Chieng has his eye on the prize. But the prize is not any particular accolade. It’s the process of getting better at his job.

“I'm truly very grateful that I can focus on getting better. Writing the next joke, writing the next screenplay, devoting myself to an acting role. I can really focus on it.”  

How does he contend with all the open tabs in his head? “I'm lucky to have hired great publicists, great reps, great producers. My wife is also an executive producer with me, which helps.”

“Also, despite all the stuff I’m doing, I feel like I really love everything I'm doing, so it doesn't feel like a strain,” he says.

Chieng says he recently asked the actor Daniel Wu for advice on turning 40. “And he said, ‘Firstly, look after your health. Secondly, your 40s are for doing as much as you can, career-wise.’”

So we’ll be seeing much more of Chieng in the near future. More writing, more acting, more stand-up.

Although, if he succeeds to the level that he wants to, then it might look like he’s doing nothing at all. To the naked eye, it won’t be obvious.  

https://esquire.my/features/ronny-chieng-march-2026-cover-story/