There's something liberating about how comedian Frankie McNair describes herself as a big, dumb idiot.
That may sound far-fetched or uneducated conclusion, but what McNair describes as being a big, dumb idiot is essentially just stop caring what everyone thinks and just doing something because you want to.
"Being dumb is just being an unapologetic gremlin and just like not being pretty or not trying to make yourself smart or better, just kind of doing stuff because it's funny," she says.
"For me, at least, the first time I saw people be big dumb idiots was Aunty Donna which is a group of three guys in a sketch troupe and they were the first people that I had seen who were like this is what we do. And I was like 'Oh my god, I didn't know that you could do this'.
"I think it's always been hard to do what you love and ... there is still a point to someone just doing something that they love. I don't think we get to see that a lot and I think that in itself is a point."
Essentially that's what McNair will bring to the Canberra Comedy Festival next month.
Big Dumb Idiot will be a return to the capital for the Canberran, who found herself living and working in Melbourne in the last eight months. And as the name suggests, the show will feature McNair embracing her true calling as a big dumb idiot through a series of sketches (and wigs).
"I just got in touch with a bunch of my friends from Canberra who I had jokes with and asked if they wanted to do that joke on stage," McNair says.
"I just then wrote it into a script so it's like very much just sketches that don't have any big meaning, it's just because it was funny. It's more like a performer side of me that isn't me trying to be a stand-up comedian.
"It's just me enjoying writing. It's the weirdest version of me but it's probably the one that I get the most excited about."
This style of comedy just works for McNair. She has a way of taking something mundane and turning into something funny. In a recent article she wrote for BMA magazine, for example, she wrote about cows and whether or not yelling out "cow" while driving passed them is the equivalent of a catcall.
An unusual train of thought, sure, but also a funny retelling of what can happen when your mind is left to wonder on a long solo drive.
"Honestly the article came about because ... I was procrastinating for like two weeks and I wasn't doing anything because I've been finding it so hard to write recently," McNair says.
"Then the deadline day came and I was like 'Oh, no'. I was originally going to write a list of things that I did to procrastinate and one of them was called 10 ways to find out if she's into you or if she's a moo-cow.
"Then I just started writing about cows. I have no rhyme or reason for it, I just thought it was funny and that's what my brain did."
It's not unheard of for McNair's mind to go on these tangents - something which has proved to be useful in the world of comedy. And, she says, it's always been this way.
One time in primary school, for example, she turned the child song On Top of Spaghetti into a thriller trailer about a meatball who was going back to save his wife Spaghetti, who had been taken hostage by Salt and Pepper.
"This is nothing to do with the show but this is why I wanted to do this show," McNair says.
"Growing up, I wasn't smart, I really struggled in school. I was basically told to be quiet because I would ask someone 'Hey, this tie is purple but is it purple to you as well?' And they were like 'That's f---ing weird'.
"For me, comedy was something I really enjoyed and it gave me value and I've never had value before, in terms of when you're smart at school that's your value - you're going to be of use to the world. If you're not, it's kind of like 'oh well, best of luck to you'."
But, as McNair discovered, having value can have its drawbacks. She started to view comedy as something she needed to be the best at because she saw it as giving her value.
"I stopped doing it because I was having fun. I started doing it to become a commodity and be the best," she says.
"So Big Dumb Idiot is about stopping to do things and embrace the fact that you're a big, dumb idiot. Ask those questions about the tie and talk about cows feeling objectified and stop trying to do things that aren't you.
"But I, at no point, say that in the show. It's just me on stage wearing wigs."
In fact, it's a message that you might not hear McNair say anywhere - including on the epicentre of thought sharing, the internet.
While other comedians are filming shows and sharing them on various platforms, McNair is the opposite of the Netflix comedy special. She'll use Facebook and Instagram to promote shows and give the odd behind the scenes look at her life and process, but her jokes are kept to the stage.
Partly, this is because she's a self-confessed drama nerd who likes to form a connection with the audience. But it also comes back, once again, to the value she places on her performances.
"I hate the thought of it being online," she says.
"I'm probably shooting myself in [the] foot a bit because I'm not reaching as many people as I could but I think it changes how you perform if it is going to be online.
"It can potentially change your value of your performance and become less about 'I really enjoyed that' and more about 'It's only got five views, this sucks'.
"There are plenty of amazing comedians who don't have a big online presence and plenty of terrible comedians who do."
The Canberra Comedy Festival runs from March 16-22. Frankie McNair will perform Big Dumb Idiot at Canberra Theatre Centre on March 20. Tickets from canberratheatrecentre.com.au.