Ashley Padilla: ‘It’s Not Joke-Writing. It’s Like, How Do I Want It to Live and Breathe?’

“I’m very quiet, very introverted,” Ashley Padilla says. “But then when I’m on the show, I’m having so much fun, so I get loud.”Padilla, now 33 and in her third season at Saturday Night Live, is a rising star on the show and in the comedy world writ large. This past summer, she shot a film, The Catch, with Emma Stone and Chris Pine. The great critic Jason Zinoman, of the New York Times, recently called her “a hilarious new comic voice, someone likely to define the sensibility of the show for years to come.” Her signature is a kind of long, intensely awkward pause—awkwardness, in general, really.In real life, Padilla—who grew up in the Bay Area and then moved to Los Angeles, where she spent time at the Groundlings and Upright Citizens Brigade—is warm and composed. She seems almost immune to the moment she is currently having. In this conversation, we talk about her years in Los Angeles, working for Diane Keaton; about the current state of SNL; and about the relentless positivity she practically radiates. “People forget we are not here for long,” she says. “What the hell? I want to shake people sometimes. Get over it.”The following conversation is lightly edited and condensed from the latest episode of One More Question with Zach Baron. Watch above or on YouTube. Listen on Spotify or Apple Podcasts.GQ: I had this plan of how to start this interview, and then we met 10 minutes ago and I was like, “This plan sucks.”Ashley Padilla: You’re like, “She’s a fool.”No, I was like, “Zach, you have a bad plan.” We’re just going to do it anyway, even though I now know that this is a terrible question. On SNL, you play a lot of loud, awkward people. And I found myself wondering about the person I was going to meet today.You thought I was going to come in crazy? I mean, I’m not that loud. I’m pretty quiet, to a fault. I think people are like, “Oh, she’s strange,” because I’m not talking a whole lot. I’m very quiet, very introverted. But then when I’m on the show, I’m having so much fun, so I get loud.Is there a part of your soul that is represented by that sort of character? I’ve heard you say: “My form of comedy is like: ‘Laugh at me. I’m an idiot.’”I will say, I worked for Diane Keaton for a while and she always said “Idiot!,” and I loved it. And I think that a part of me has absorbed that way of self-deprecation, because it’s fun. It’s fun to be a fool because you’re not taking on the pressure of being perfect, which is impossible. So what if I just bailed on being perfect, and I was like, “Well, this is what you’re going to get—kind of an idiot.” I don’t think I’m stupid, but I think I’m funny.And that desire or impulse to, as you have also put it, “play dumb”—where do you think that comes from?I like being silly. I think it gives you a break from the world for a second to just have a good time and maybe relax and be like, “It’s not so deep. It’s not so important. It’s going to be okay.” And that’s why I like making fun of that.Would you say you feel comfortable in your own skin?Yeah.And yet you play these characters that feel like they would rip their skin off if they could.Yeah. I love that. I love doing that. I think that there’s so many layers to that emotion of feeling uncomfortable. There’s so much inner dialogue going on and a lot of acting. It takes a lot of... There’s depth to it that I enjoy.I think one way to talk about your comedy that I am almost certain that you don’t feel is: “She’s satirizing a certain white female obliviousness.” I’m almost positive you don’t think about it that way.I mean, I’ll take that. Whatever anyone wants.How do you think about it?The baseline of what I do is so stupid. It’s so dumb that I find it funny. I think it’s so funny to be so dumb. I find it hilarious. You know what I mean? No one’s asked me to be smart here, with the comedy. So I’m trying to be as silly as possible and light. I like being funny. It’s kind of like... I was thinking about this with this last show that you came to. Perhaps it wasn’t my best sketch I’ve ever done, but I had fun. And you know who liked it? My nephew, who’s seven years old. We were FaceTiming. He’s like, “Then you said—[Funny yelling noise].” And I was like, You are my audience, sir. Seven-year-old likes my stuff. I’ll take it.I have heard you say that you feel like women are not well written for, which is why you write your own stuff.I think it could be just some of the roles that I’m being offered or auditioning for. I’ll even get kind of an intro of like, “This is a good one.” I’m like, “Okay.” And then it’ll be like the girlfriend or something. I’m like, “Have we not met me? I’m the neighbor who’s acting crazy. I’m a goof.” Maybe there just aren’t many of those roles, but I just go, “I’m going to write for myself.”In preparing for this interview, I read a bunch of other interviews, and when you describe yourself in childhood, the word that comes up a lot is “annoying.”I annoyed people.That can’t be true.I don’t think it was anyone’s fault or anything. I think I was just loud, didn’t know what I wanted to do, so completely lacked focus. That creates an annoying person, unfortunately. I was loud and I think teachers were trying to teach and do class. I couldn’t sit and do the thing. Sadly, as a kid, I think it did take a toll, because I didn’t know comedy was an option. So of course you’re like, “I guess I suck in this world.” Now I’m like, “Oh, okay. I was a creative.” But there was no one saying, “Maybe you’re a creative,” until my mother did when I was 18.And did you believe her?I think I was like, I’ll try, because there’s nothing else for me on this planet if it’s not this. So if this doesn’t work out—jeez. We’re screwed.” I think it was desperation—like, All right, I’ll try something because I can’t do the school thing, so I’ll do this. At 18, I tried school for a week in college, dropped out, felt like a loser. We’re in a different time now. I think people are much more liberated not to go to college. I wasn’t on Instagram. I didn’t know this was an option. So I just saw other people going to college and I’m going, I suck. Oh my God.And that is bad inner dialogue, but it was the truth. I didn’t have an example. So I went and worked at Sephora and they were so wonderful and taught me makeup and all that stuff, but then I was unhappy there. So then I’m going, Ashley, you jerk. Why can’t you be happy? This is the life. Hey, you can pay for an apartment. How cool. You’re working your way up at this place. What is wrong with you that you can’t accept this? But there was just a voice in me that was like, I am not happy. I am sad. And my mom saw that, and how cool of her to go, like, “It could be this isn’t for you.”You moved to LA when you were 20. Did you move to do comedy?Yes and no. I went to a party there for New Year’s and I’m in this girl’s apartment going, “Your living room has no furniture. Can I come live here?” She’s like, “Sure, if you pay rent.” I’m like, “Okay. 300 bucks or something? Sure.” Quit my job. Or really, I said, “Could I go work at the Sephora [in Los Angeles]? Maybe you guys can transfer me.” There was a plan B there, in case this doesn’t work out. My mom’s like, “That’s where that comedy school I Googled is: UCB. Go do it.” And I’m just so lucky. Everything is a series of lucky breaks.At some point during that time, you were working for Diane Keaton. What was that like?She’s incredible. She is the coolest, was the coolest, taught me more than, for me, college ever could—just watching her be in the world, how she moves around the world.There is a moment, if I understand correctly, where you’re not super familiar with some of the films and she’s like, “Go watch Annie Hall. Go watch The Godfather.” When you come back to work the next day, did you review the films for her? What did you say?I do remember she was like, “What’d you think?” I think I said something so stupid because I was trying to be smart or something. I was like, “The second one, here’s what I thought about the second Godfather and stuff.” I don’t know that she retained anything I was saying. She’s probably like, “Okay, little girl.” Why was she listening to me? But she never made me feel like that at all. She was just very like, “What did you think? Oh, did you like that?” And I just remember thinking she was so charming in all of those.Though you’re like, “I think The Godfather Part II might be better than Part I.”I think I thought I was better than II, and I’ve heard that people think II is better than I. So I felt wrong about that.You were talking about this being a lucky time in your life, but if I understand correctly, you almost tap out. You almost leave Los Angeles, right?Almost quit. Probably a hundred times. Because it’s hard. Those moments are like, when you’re broke and you’re like, I’m doing fart bits on a stage somewhere in the middle of Hollywood. You okay, Ashley? You think this is going to work out? Okay. We’re going to keep going? Okay. But it’s that voice. It’s that thing in you, which I don’t know what that is, that’s going, like, I think I can do this. And then it’s the lucky moments. It’s the moment of walking down Melrose and literally saying to myself, I’m not happy. I’m not making it. I don’t have money. What am I doing? And then a car drives by where the girl rolls down the window and says, “I love you at the Groundlings! You’re going to be on TV!” In that moment, it’s bigger than you. You’re just like, “Thank you for that.” And I’m back to class going, Okay, thank you. I’m not doing this in a vacuum. I’m not doing this alone. There are people who are responding to what I’m doing in the crowd and people like this. There’s not a total delusion.What would you have done if you quit? Do you ever think about what that life would’ve been?Of course. I was fully going to tap out and was genuinely okay with it—because those other times you’re like, I don’t feel good, and then you go back to class. This last time was genuine. This last time I was going, I’ve done everything I could. It’s been great. What a great 10 years. I think I’m going to say goodbye. It was because I’d made a book with Diane and we had success with it and I liked it. And it showed me other parts of myself that I was really empowered by. I was like, I’m smart. I can design. I can write. See you! I’m not doing this anymore. And it’s funny because I want to take those elements now into the parts of my life in the future. I want to design and make books and write and make movies. I’m very visual and all those things maybe wouldn’t have been awoken in me had we not gone down the road of the book.At the end of this period, you get an audition at SNL. Do you remember what you did to get the job?Yes. We did one more show. I told my manager, Naomi Odenkirk, I said, “I think I’m going to call it quits at the Groundlings. I don’t feel like I’m contributing anymore. I don’t know what else to do. I’m kind of at my end—this is pretty much it, take it or leave it. This is kind of what I’m doing.” And she was like, “Let me put together a show where it’s all your best stuff.” And she did that with my friends, Alex Bonifer and Chris Kleckner. We did a show called Party of Three. And I don’t know how SNL heard about this, but they did. Someone over there heard about this show. My name made its way [to them] and I couldn’t believe it. And my manager said, “They want to come see Party of Three and then you’ll go showcase at UCB.” And I was like, “Whoa.” But also, other cool things were coming from this Party of Three show. It wasn’t just SNL. It was like, “This person wants to meet, and this production company wants to meet you.”There are people who are pointed like an arrow at SNL, who know all the lore and have studied all the texts. Was that you?That was not me, to be completely honest. I am such a fan of the show and a fan of all the people from the show, but it was never the only thing. Maybe I think I just didn’t know it was possible, because it’s a giant in our field of sketch comedy. So to only be shooting for that when everyone is, it just felt a little impossible maybe. So I think that’s why I wasn’t really focused on it. And then when I was told I was cast, I was so scared.Really? Why?Because I feared everyone thinking I was a monster on camera. I don’t know what it was. Being on TV, I felt like I wasn’t worthy or something. I don’t know. I felt a little like, This isn’t right. This is so crazy.How long did that feeling last for?A little bit. And then I started to kind of fall in love with myself a little bit on TV. I was like, Hey, I’m not so bad on there. I was like, I don’t look crazy. That face isn’t too bad. I started to really love myself and being like, Yeah, maybe I can do this. I’m not totally incapable. I don’t have to hide.After you get the job, you get to do this thing that people do in movies, which is move from one coast to the other in what—three, four, five days?I think it was four days. It was surreal. It’s so fast that you’re almost trying to keep up and logistically make it make sense. You’re like, Where am I going to live? So you can’t get too excited yet because you’re like, I have to pack. And nothing is more unfun than packing. Nothing’s less glamorous than being like, What do I take? But it coincided with the book in a way that was another frightening sign from the universe. My book with Diane came out the day I was testing for a second time at the show. And I ran over because I was supposed to go and look at the book with Diane out in stores on the day it came out, go to a Barnes & Noble, go do all this stuff, go to Book Soup in LA. And there I was in New York and I ran over to Fifth Avenue, Barnes & Noble. And there in the window—I have photos of it. It feels insane to even remember it, but it was just a giant blow-up. I could cry. It’s a crazy blow-up [of the] cover that I made. I’m so sorry. [Padilla tears up.] That’s so crazy. I’m not expecting that. I’m so sorry. I just couldn’t believe it. I made this thing and it was so hard to make this book with her. And there it was. And I’m standing there about to audition for SNL. And this book was so hard to do because I’ve never made a book before and I never felt like I could do anything like that. And it tested me in many ways because I couldn’t believe she believed in me. And I designed this thing. I put the font, I did her shot, I gave her options. I just obsessed over this thing and there I was releasing it. And it was blown up in a way—I got to show you the picture, blown up gigantic in the window on Fifth Avenue.Do you want to take a moment?Oh no. Who cares? It’s funny how it’s more emotional than getting the show. And it’s so beautiful, being on the show. I’m the luckiest person in the world. But something about making a book, for a girl who failed high school—I mean really fudged it up. It was bad. I was bad at school. And there I am, a published — my name’s in that thing. So I was so proud and just like, Holy shit. And it was like saying goodbye to that phase of my life, standing in the window and they had this mannequin holding my book. And I went in and I bought a couple and went back and was like, Okay, now let’s do your set where you fart. Okay.What’s it like to be new at SNL?It’s incredible. I mean, it’s so much fun. I’m shocked at what we’re all capable of in a week’s time. I’m having a ball, but what we’re doing is pretty remarkable.I think someone else’s answer might be, “It’s intimidating” or “It’s competitive.” You felt none of that?No. Sketch is such a collaborative medium. Our job is to work together. So I don’t know how people would do it alone. Standup is intimidating. That’s where I would be like, Oh my God, that’s intimidating, because you’re solo out there. But sketch, it’s like I have the best of the best around me. I’m with Kenan Thompson. I’m with Mikey Day. I’m with Sarah Sherman. Every department is amazing at their job. How can we fail? It’s really not up to me. We’re all kicking ass every week. We are doing it as a team. I’m in such good hands that I don’t see how I could fail.Your first season was the 50th anniversary of the show. Now you’ve been on it for a few years. In retrospect, what was the sort of most surreal or atypical part of that first season?Yeah, that was intimidating. It was also very different because it’s not how the show is. Heidi Gardner had leaned over to me. She’s like, "This is not normal that Dana Carvey’s at the table." You know what I mean? Yeah. That Maya Rudolph [is here], that so many alums are coming back and doing cameos. So it did feel a little more intimidating than a usual season. So then when I did the next season for myself, that was like, Okay, now we can kind of have a little fun because there’s not this pressure to be nostalgic and honor so many years of… You’re like, I don’t want to intrude on that with my agenda or my bits or whatever. I don’t need to be doing that.You were kind enough to invite me to a recent taping of Saturday Night Live, and I was talking to a friend there about the end of Stephen Colbert’s show, and the question of whether it still made sense for late night shows to exist in general. And then I found myself wondering about SNL. Does it still feel to you like it still makes sense, as a format, in 2026?I don’t know. I guess I don’t really think about it too often. I’m having too much fun. I can’t imagine a world without it, because it’s been around my whole life. And I think it does such a good job of commenting on everything that I think it’s important every week, you know what I mean? To tune in and know that it’s going to be about the times and we’re going to talk about what’s going on and Weekend Update and the cold opens. I think it’s kind of comforting. I also love live. I don’t know about you, but for me, it’s like when the Emmys are on—I love tuning in and something’s happening live. It makes me feel cozy when the Super Bowl’s on or something. It’s like we’re all watching something together. It excites me. So I’d hate to lose that.When you guys make this thing on Saturday night, do you still feel like the audience is there? You’re still connecting with a group of people who are hungry and waiting for this thing?I like to think so. I mean, I’m such a live performer. I’m so in the moment when I’m there that I’m feeding off the crowd in the room. So I’m less going, like, “How many people are watching?” I’m focused on what is happening right there. So in that moment, it’s like: The place is packed. These tickets are hard to get. People are waiting out there for this show. It’s like they want it there. So I don’t know. I’m not sure the viewership or what’s going on with all that, but it seems like something people want.You’re an interesting interview subject in the sense of—“You bawled your eyes out.”Not the first person to cry on this show! But I was saying about you, you’re an interesting interview subject in the sense of there’s not a ton out there about you beyond the work, which is actually somewhat atypical in this day and age. Is that a conscious choice? Is that deliberate on your part?I don’t really understand the impulse. It doesn’t feel like we used to do that. It feels like a very new school thing to do, to share every... I don’t know. I’m just not interested in it.I’ve heard you describe yourself as “scary boring.” You don’t seem scary boring to me.You’d be shocked. It would scare you.What’s an example of scary boring?Okay. Last night, eating salmon, doing laundry, pajamas, a beanie, cleaning my house. You know what I mean? I think there’s this understanding or impression that if you’re on TV, you must have some sort of, like, “Wow, they must just be doing something [all the time].” I am so deeply boring and I enjoy it.I heard you tell Amy Poehler that you got arrested when you were a teenager. That’s not boring.That girl’s gone. She’s gone. She went somewhere. She’s gone. That girl’s gone. She’s in jail. That girl’s in jail. That girl never came out. She’s gone.The other thing I think I have observed but don’t know for sure, and it’s even been apparent in this conversation is there’s just a kind of a relentless positivity about you that I think is—There’s no other option. What is the other option? To be in hell? For what?Yes. Most of us live in hell all the time.Who wants that? For why? Do we want to have fun? People forget we are not here for long. What the hell? I want to shake people sometimes. Get over it. Stop being mad at the car that cut you off or—I don’t know. It doesn’t mean life’s not hard. Trust me. But I’d like to wake up and go, “God, this coffee’s delicious. Dang, my pajamas are…” You know what I mean? I have relentless gratitude, which is natural.I was going to say, does that come easily? Because that is one of those things that sounds good when someone says it, but it’s hard to actually live it.It’s a choice that you make, right? I just did it the other day. I always want to do well on the show, and if something doesn’t go so hot or something, I do tend to go, “Oh, dang it. Have I messed up?” And then I found myself moping about it a little bit yesterday. And then I was like, Hey, stop. Who cares? Let it go. Are we done? Okay. Go do your laundry. Stop. Because you’re choosing to sit in shit. I have to police myself a little bit, like, Oh my God, I love my life. I’m so lucky. We’re going to be fine. Do a better one next week. Get over it. Sorry. It’s our own shit. It’s our own stuff, right? I’m always doing it. I’m always kicking my own ass, and then having to really stop and go, What’s the issue here? Why are you being mean to yourself? What’s going on? Oh, you want juice? Are you hungry? Do you need water? Sometimes it’s really simple. Oh, you’re tired. Do you need a nap? Do you want some food? It’s okay, but it’s getting yourself off that negative train of thought.When people are good at this stuff, I always wonder, were they always good at it? Did they discover it in some moment? What’s the answer for you?I think I just slowly saw the effects of just being honest and how no one’s actually going to be upset if you say, “I can’t do that today. I’m sorry. I’m not able to be the thing we all thought today,” or whatever. And just kind of releasing that pressure of being perfect. Because it’s not going to work out. You’re not going to do the thing you thought or whatever. And then adjusting. Your sketch might bomb. It will. Okay, moving on. And not tying it to your self-worth does not mean you are bad. You can make mistakes. And also probably, believe it or not, no one’s thinking about you. No one cares.Funny setup for my next question. You are, to use a terrible cliché, having a moment. You can kind of feel when culture discovers somebody, and that feels like what is happening with you right now. What is your experience of that?I am just like, “Really?” I swear to God, every time someone’s like, “That was good.” I’m like, “Really?” I just am happy to be there, so I’m just doing the best I can. What do I say to myself? Just do your best. No more, no less. That’s it. You know what I mean? I’m never trying to be more than anything I think I can be. And perhaps it’s just working because... I don’t know. I don’t know.There was this great article by critic Jason Zinoman in the New York Times about your comedy. He coined something he called the “Padilla Pause.” He wrote: “What really distinguishes her is finely honed timing, specifically a virtuosic deployment of the pregnant pause.” Do you recognize your work in that?I love that because it’s about the work. I love the work. I love it when people do it well because there’s a reason. I want to work hard and I want to get better at what I’m doing all the time. I don’t even think I’m there with sketch. I’d like to get better at it and try to hone it even more and find different ways and different angles at the medium that I’ve been doing for over a decade now. I just love it. So it’s nice to know that the work is being recognized.I don’t want you to ruin a magic trick, but I’m curious. What is the art to that pause?It’s funny. I feel like I actually missed the mark on it the past couple shows because I’ve been so busy in the summer and now I’m back and I’m hearing the audience again because I’m not doing shows live in the summer. So this is my first time being back and being in front of a crowd and being like, Oh, right, I got to slow down a little bit. So I’m finding it again and that tune of it and just like, Oh, yeah, we can chill. You can relax. You don’t got to get loud. Let’s chill.What do these things look like on the page? Are they funny?Either I’ve heard Melissa McCarthy talk about this or I’ve heard people talk about Melissa McCarthy at the Groundlings, and I related to it so much, which is like she used to have sketches where on the page you’re like, “What the hell?” If you turned it in, it would be like, “No.” But then you see her perform it and it’s extended and [it’s] something totally different. Just like: “I like it.” Had I submitted that to you, you’re like, “I don’t get it. You’re just going to say you like it, over and over?” But it’s the levels of how you’re saying it. It’s so performance-based. And I’m like that with all my writing: How do I want to perform this piece? The two are so linked. It’s not joke-writing on my end. It’s more like, how do I want it to live and breathe?There are people who come to SNL and it’s kind of a way station to somewhere else. I don’t say that in a derogatory way, but they’re there two years, three years, whatever, on their journey elsewhere. And then there are people who are like, “This is my home and I’m here forever.” Do you have a sense yet of which category you might fall into?I really don’t know. I have no idea. I feel like I’m still figuring it out and being a part of the team and just wanting to be there. Yes, I was there at the 50th, but I feel like I didn’t get to actually start putting my stuff out until last year. And rightfully so. It took a second. And so I feel like I’m just getting started and I want to have some fun and who knows how long that’ll be for or how long it’ll have me.Are you actually nervous about that?I’m not cocky. I don’t think I can’t be replaced. We’re always moving and you got to keep going. It’s a machine and you got to keep going and participate and contribute.