Return of the Jester: Clowning Against Fascism

We walked into a clown workshop expecting laughs, balloon-dogs, and silly photos.

We walked out having been transformed, our clown spirit revealing to us a beautiful lesson about life and emotion.

The event was called "Clowning Against Fascism," hosted by Denton Clowns and taught by Tepani — aka Stephanie Bell — a performer, activist, and self-proclaimed "Clown Mother" from the DFW clown scene. It took place at the Bearded Monk, a bar that's become a hub for Denton's weird, wonderful alternative scenes.

What Is a Clown Mother?

Our most obvious question was our first one: What is a clown mother? And how do you even earn a title like that?

"I chose the title of clown mother. You see, when you take clown classes, you learn that clowns hatch from eggs. Before you find your clown self, you're surrounded by a 'shell' of shame and preconceived notions of what clowning is supposed to be. As students progress through my class they begin to break that shell — until finally, one day they hatch, and their clown identity is born. In a sense, I'm like a mother, helping people find that inner-clown inside them. It's very similar to the concept of a drag mother, and it sticks because it's true. I help clowns hatch from their eggs."

Tepani's students call themselves her clown children. She nurtures them, challenges them, and gives them permission to break away from society's mold. It's a title she earned through years of teaching, performing, and holding space for people to discover their most authentic selves.

"Notoriously, clown teachers are some of the meanest people in theater. They're the meanest people I've ever met in my life. It comes from the European clowning tradition — a method rooted in shame. The idea is to make the performer feel so broken that they eventually crack open, revealing their inner clown."

Tepani wanted to change that.

"My teaching philosophy: How can I get people to break from their egg as a hatching, not by forcefully breaking them open?" she asks. "Where the performer feels safe enough to open, not break open?"

Her method is deceptively simple. She makes her students stand on stage, in front of their peers, and just be themselves for a full minute. If she doesn't think they're being authentic enough, she makes them do it again.

When they're done, the audience tells them what they saw, what they felt, and what they projected onto them.

"A lot of the time, the audience members cry," she says. "Not because they're sad — but because they're seeing that person for the first time. They're allowing themselves to feel a human connection we don't get to see in our every-day lives."

That's what clowning is really about, she explains. Not making people laugh — but helping them feel something real.

And finding your inner clown, she explains, is more than just comedy — it's a serious, spiritual act.

We didn't expect to learn that from a clown. But that's the thing about Tepani — she teaches you that the funniest moments come from the most honest ones.

The Philosophy: Clowning Against Fascism

At the event, Tepani taught us that clowning against fascism is about breaking free from societal expectations, rebelling by committing radical acts of kindness and silliness. By being silly, we break the molds of conformity that fascism requires. When we find our inner clown, we find ways to connect with our authentic emotions — and Fascism crumbles under that honesty.

One of Tepani's clown instructors once told her: "Stop smiling all the time. When all you do is smile, it makes you look like an asshole."

"A lot of times we have this idea that clowns are supposed to be funny and silly and happy-go-lucky," she says. "But authenticity means feeling a full spectrum of emotions."

Half of Tepani's family is dead. Both of her parents. Her older sister. She was surrounded by chronic illness as a child, so grief and sadness were a big part of her life.

When she discovered clown, she discovered something unexpected: she was allowed to feel those emotions alongside joy.

"I can laugh and cry and be authentic and full with my emotions," she says. "One doesn't negate the other. It's about breaking out of black and white thinking and remembering that we can still smile when we're sad, laugh when we're grieving, and cry even during happy moments. Our emotions are fluid. We shouldn't trap ourselves by performing an emotion just because we're taught there's only one way to feel."

During the class she asked us all: "How can clowning against fascism show up in our everyday lives?"

The answers came quickly. It looks like saying hi to your neighbors. Telling jokes. Writing on the protest wall. Making zines. Showing up to Pride and No Kings protests with smiles on your faces and an attitude of confident celebration for your community — washing away the fear and authority that fascism wants us to feel. It's not about not feeling angry. We should be angry. But fascism thrives in an environment where we're only allowed to feel anger.

Clowning against Fascism is about allowing yourself to feel joy and pride alongside your anger — allowing yourself the humanity to experience a spectrum of emotions. In authenticity we can build community, resilience, and an attitude of perseverance that pushes us towards something greater.

The Games Begin

After the talk, Tepani had another surprise. She invited us outside to play.

The group was a mix of professional clowns and "unhatched" newcomers. Half of them were already clowns. Half of us were just curious. The energy shifted as we stepped outside — something between nervous anticipation and childlike excitement.

The first game involved introducing ourselves — but quickly diverged into an abstraction of names, then laughter. Somehow, the session started with everyone having their own name, and ended with everyone being named "Beezy."

It was silly. Absurd. And exactly the spiritual medicine we didn't know we needed.

Then Tepani brought out a colorful parachute — the kind you haven't touched since elementary school. It was a joyful, unexpected sight, and the group immediately perked up.

I watched the colorful parachute billow in the air, and something shifted. My inner child awoke, and it was obvious the same awakening was happening to many others. The laughter was contagious. Grown adults — professionals, strangers, shy people — all running under a parachute like kids on a playground.

One participant told me later: "I forgot how much fun this was. It just never crossed my mind you could still do this as an adult. Why are we not getting groups together to do this more often?"

We took turns running underneath, emerging more silly than we were before. The parachute rippled and waved, and for a moment, the weight of the world lifted off all of us.

The final stage of our clown transformation? Hypnotism.

Tepani told the audience she would put them to sleep — and they did. Everyone flopped to the floor, curled up directly on the pavement. When they awoke, she said, they would be their true clown selves — ready to fight fascism with a jester's spirit.

She led them through a gentle, playful trance. Eyes closed. Breathing slow. The parking lot went quiet. And when they opened their eyes, something had shifted.

One participant told me later: "I didn't think all these games would work. But when I opened my eyes, I really did feel different. Like I'd been given permission to let go and just have some fun."

Debuting our Clowns

And while we thought we were done, we were so wrong. Remember Tepani's favorite exercise to hatch clowns?

Once we were inside, Tepani had each of us introduce ourselves, in clown, to the audience. Nobody was left out — even strangers sitting at the bar, not even attending the event, were roped into showing off their clown selves.

And what joy it was!

Professional clowns put on amazing acts — practiced, polished, full of heart. Amateur clowns performed their first shows — nervous, wobbly, yet utterly delightful in their commitment to try something new. Each clown was so true, so different, that you truly believed Tepani's hypnotism had worked.

One participant, who had never performed before, told me: "I never would have thought I'd be able to do something like this. I didn't expect the event to involve this level of participation! I was terrified. But when I saw that everyone else was being vulnerable, I felt like it was safe for me to share that too."

That's the magic of clowning. When we learn to be authentic ourselves, we invite others to feel safe being authentic alongside us. It builds community, connection, and authenticity — the very thing fascism aims to destroy.

What We Learned

We walked into the Bearded Monk expecting laughs. We walked out having discovered something about ourselves. (And a newfound respect for the serious art of clowning!)

Clowning isn't about running away from who we are. It's about getting closer to it. It's about breaking the molds of conformity, embracing the full spectrum of our emotions, and finding joy in the absurdity of life.

Tepani puts it best: "If you're afraid of clowns, you're afraid of yourself — Clowns are the most human humans. "

Find Your Inner Clown

If you want to experience the depth and humanity of modern clowning (I really mean it when I say you should.) Clown Mother Tepani offers clown classes, welcome to hatched and unhatched clowns alike. And if you're not ready to 'don the nose quite yet, come be transformed by witnessing clown in a show. Tepani will be performing 'Good Grief' — a one woman clown act — at the Cultural Bath House in Dallas, July 10th from 8-9 PM.

📸 Follow Tepani on Instagram: @ClownMotherTepani
🎪 Tickets to 'Good Grief': July 10th - $20
🤡 Clown classes: Follow @MisfitCircusTX for Class Information!

The Denton clown scene is growing — and it's full of brave performers doing deep, meaningful work. Go see a show. Meet the Denton Clowns. Take a class. You might just discover something about yourself.