UM alumni and comedian Gianmarco Soresi built a career on crowd work even though he hates talking to strangers. Now, he has more than 1 million strangers following him on Instagram and watching his viral sets.
The 37‑year‑old comedian, who graduated from the University of Miami in 2011 with a Bachelor of Fine Arts in musical theater, now tours internationally and performs for audiences from Hong Kong to Fort Lauderdale.
“I really thought I was going to be on Broadway. That was the whole dream,” he said.
Soresi didn’t arrive at UM planning to become a comedian. He came in convinced he would end up on Broadway, only to realize by senior year that his singing voice wasn’t going to carry him there.
He shifted toward acting, then toward writing, as he slowly realized the future he imagined might not be the one waiting for him.
By the time he graduated, he had become a quieter, more self‑doubting version of the freshman who once believed he’d be the next Daniel Day‑Lewis.
“I wasn’t confident. I wasn’t quick. I wasn’t the guy anyone thought would do comedy,” he said.
The instinct to listen closely, react instantly and squeeze meaning out of every detail eventually became the backbone of his crowd work.
Soresi credits several UM professors for pushing him in the right direction, especially those who taught him how to write.
“I kind of look at my stand‑up from a scriptwriting perspective, and that came from a great teacher named Bruce Miller,” Soresi said.
His playwriting and script analysis classes — including one taught by Miller, aka Professor Emeritus, a longtime UM professor of theatre arts known for directing, playwriting and teaching acting — shaped the way he builds jokes today.
Miller, now retired, said he “of course” remembers Soresi and was surprised that script‑analysis classes, not the two years of acting training he taught him, were what stuck with him most.
The class taught Soresi to break down structure and analyze why something works, a skill he still relies on every time he sits down to create new material.
His classmates also helped shape him, whether they challenged him, annoyed him or simply tolerated him.
Even the conservatory’s strangest exercises like lip‑sync drills, clowning sessions and the infamous “gun exercise” forced Soresi out of his comfort zone in ways he didn’t appreciate until much later.
However, Miller clarified that he was not the one who ran this “gun exercise” Soresi mentioned, and that it was another professor in the same program who was also named Bruce.
“That exercise consisted of holding the class hostage when one person brought out a realistic looking prop gun to intimidate the others,” Miller said, adding that he “did not approve of [it] and today [it] would have triggered much complaint and protest, and maybe worse.”
Soresi also joked that if UM ever wanted to hire him, he’d be “ready for that gig,” a line delivered with equal parts affection and disbelief.
Since graduating, his career has been shaped by constant travel. International tours have taken him to Asia, Europe and Australia, where he has learned how differently jokes land depending on the country.
Not every crowd‑work moment has been pleasant. His worst gig — a bachelor‑party performance for a man entering his second marriage — still haunts him.
“It was one of those shows where you’re like, ‘Oh, this is going to be bad,’ and then it’s even worse than you imagined,” Soresi said
The groom didn’t want him there, didn’t want jokes about his weight and didn’t want jokes about his life. Soresi spent 30 minutes performing for someone who clearly wanted him to disappear.
The experience now serves as his baseline for discomfort. Nothing on tour ever feels that bad by comparison.
His most wholesome moment came on the opposite end of the spectrum. During a show, he struck up a conversation with a furry in the audience. The interaction was so unexpectedly sweet that it eventually led to him headlining a furry festival.
“I thought it was a joke at first, but they were dead serious,” Soresi said.
Soresi still talks about it fondly, mostly because it proved that trust and tone can turn even the strangest situations into something meaningful.
“If you treat people with respect, even the weirdest moments can turn into something great,” Soresi said.
Through all of this, he remains clear about what he wants audiences to take away from his performances. Laughter comes first, but he also hopes people leave with a sense of skepticism and curiosity.
His comedy, he says, is rooted in the idea that “everyone’s full of sh—t,” including himself. Humor becomes a way to examine that truth without slipping into cynicism.
From a musical theater major who doubted his voice to a comedian who built a career on conversations he never wanted to have, Gianmarco Soresi’s path has been shaped by contradictions, risks and the unexpected benefits of his UM education.
His journey wasn’t the one he planned, but it became one defined by reinvention and a confidence built slowly, sometimes painfully and always with a sense of humor.