Looking Fab at Fifty is packed with sharply observed gags, painfully specific anecdotes, and self-reflection.
Following a breakout year that saw him earn one of the best-reviewed shows of 2024 (as rated by British Comedy Guide) and a sell-out Soho Theatre run, comedian Will Owen returns for his second year to the Edinburgh Fringe with Looking Fab At Fifty - a brand new hour about connection, commitment issues, and why Bake Off is easier to love than people.
Looking Fab at Fifty is packed with sharply observed gags, painfully specific anecdotes, and the kind of blisteringly funny self-reflection that catches you off guard and feels almost too honest to laugh at - until you do, wholeheartedly. Owen's style blends whip-smart observation and slyly confessional storytelling, with a knack for turning his most embarrassing moments into perfectly crafted punchlines.
On stage, his comedy crackles with a restless, high-voltage zoomer energy - a high-wire act of sharp, spiky observations that land with a sting, but there's always a crack in the armour - a hint of the very real, sincere, slightly bashful side he can't quite suppress, no matter how hard he tries. It's a tension that makes his stand-up both biting and unexpectedly warm.
In this brand-new hour, Will dives into the messy, often hilarious journey of figuring out who we really are - and whether that's even worth the effort. As a teenager, coming out years before any of his friends and as the only gay man in his family, Will believed his queerness made him singular and interesting - a self-styled outsider with niche tastes and sharp opinions, convinced his lack of romantic connection was partly a mark of individuality and partly the result of being the only out gay man in his circle. Then he joined the adult world and met other gay people.
Suddenly, Will had to face a more unsettling truth: he wasn't so very unique at all. The traits he thought made him a one-off - the niche tastes, the sharp opinions, the self-consciously "different" quirks - turned out to be remarkably common.
And with his queer friends coming out and building real relationships, Will has been left questioning why he finds it so hard to connect to people, feeling like a gay Benjamin Button (which would of course mean he's looking GREAT at fifty if you ignore both his birth certificate and the logistics of the ageing process) - watching new life flourish while he keeps putting himself on the shelf.
Will's attempts at connection might be tragic if they weren't also very, very funny - a slow-motion car crash of missed signals, misplaced confidence, and well-timed distractions. From shunning his neighbour's unsolicited dick pic with a polite reminder about bin day, to maintaining a chaotic, semi-annual sexual round robin with the same handful of random men - the kind of relationship you convince yourself counts as meaningful if you squint at it from the right angle.
But then he realised - maybe the quest for uniqueness is just a long, slightly tragic audition for a part no one is casting. Maybe it's time to let go of the pressure to be truly original, embrace the calm predictability of a quiet, comfortable life at 26 - the kind that usually takes fifty years to settle into - and just enjoy being part of the chaotic, crowded, and quietly comforting human mess. And for Will, this self-acceptance comes at least in part, from being on stage.
So, he's not looking for pity. If anything, he's trying to give his audience the same solace he finds in performing - a shared experience and a moment of collective joy. Because maybe if Will can't be brave enough to risk rejection in real life, he can still connect with people by trying to be the next Rylan. And maybe that's enough for now.
Audiences are invited to join Will for a riotous hour of sharply observed gags, awkward confessions, and the kind of blisteringly funny self-reflection that catches you off guard - the perfect way to feel less alone, or at least to laugh about it.
Videos