The Comedian Who Refused to Be Cheap: Ehsan Mirzad’s Quest for Meaning Through Laughter

There’s something disarming about a person who can make you laugh while also making you think—and Ehsan Mirzad has made that his mission. In the latest episode of Z-Talk, the special segment of Cozy Corner with Hossein Nasiri, we sat down with one of the most culturally impactful Persian content creators of the last five years. What began as a humorous voice note during university evolved into a genre-defining presence across Persian social media. But behind the screen, behind the signature sarcastic tone and bold critiques, stands a man deeply concerned with ethics, responsibility, and the weight of visibility in today’s digital chaos.

The Birth of a Genre: Reaction with Purpose

Ehsan’s entry into content creation wasn’t intentional. Like many creative stories, it began almost by accident. In university, he was the class clown—the guy everyone expected to crack a joke. But a chance encounter at a student theater club, followed by informal stand-up acts at school events, sparked a dormant love for performance. His comedic voice first reached audiences anonymously through weekly voice notes on a Telegram channel. Under the pseudonym “Ehsaanch,” he delivered funny takes on campus life. His identity remained a mystery—until a sarcastic critique of a 126-million toman Digikala watch changed everything.

That viral video launched him into public consciousness, but not fame. “There was no credit, no tag, no trace it was mine,” he says. Strangers shared it under someone else’s name. For a year and a half, Ehsan vanished from content creation. The fame was accidental, and he wasn’t ready for its fallout.

But he returned—with a face, a name, and a mission.

Ehsan didn’t just return to content creation; he reshaped it. His commentary on absurd internet content, overpriced consumer goods, and social media posturing birthed a new genre: Persian reaction videos grounded not in ridicule, but in wit. And unlike others, Ehsan set firm boundaries: no personal insults, no sexual innuendos, no vulgarity.

“It’s easy to make people laugh by being dirty,” he says. “It’s harder to make them laugh without cheap tricks.”

Ethics Before Algorithms

In a landscape increasingly saturated with shock content and viral stunts, Ehsan chose a different route. He knew what the algorithms rewarded—provocative language, extreme behavior, controversy—but he opted for restraint. Not because he’s afraid to cross lines, but because he believes in drawing better ones.

“Cheap content is the color of urine,” he says with a laugh, describing material that sacrifices value for virality. For him, true success lies in being able to look in the mirror and know that his laughter came with integrity.

He holds a mirror to society not to mock it, but to reflect it—flaws, absurdities, and all. His humor is rooted in reality. When he makes fun of a bizarre online listing or reacts to an overpriced item, he’s speaking not from a pedestal, but from beside you. He isn’t detached; he’s deeply embedded in the very culture he critiques.

The Double-Edged Sword of Fame

Success brought with it credibility, independence, and recognition. But it also came with loneliness, emotional burnout, and distance from his family.

“My father didn’t understand this world. For him, work meant sweat, physical labor,” Ehsan shares. It took years—and brand deals and public recognition—for his family to start accepting that their son had, indeed, chosen a valid career path. But that validation came at a cost: he moved away, physically and emotionally, creating a life that no longer fit the mold his family had envisioned for him.

His story mirrors that of many creators: once seen as entertainers, never quite taken seriously, forever explaining the “realness” behind the screen. “People just want you to be funny all the time,” he reflects. “They don’t see the person behind the character.”

Yet, Ehsan doesn’t complain. He accepts this as part of the job. “You can’t walk into a carpentry shop and not expect splinters,” he says, smiling.

Laughter as Legacy

One of the most powerful insights Ehsan shares is that, for him, comedy isn’t just a tool—it’s a form of emotional transaction.

He compares his experience to being on stage, bowing to an applauding audience—not for the applause, but for the time and attention they gave him. “Time is the most valuable thing a person can give,” he says. “When someone laughs at your content, they’ve chosen to give you a moment of their life.”

It’s in these moments—those pure, unexpected eruptions of laughter—that Ehsan finds meaning. They’re his currency, his reward, and his responsibility.

He speaks of laughter as a blessing: “I got married thanks to laughter. Bought a car. Paid for my father’s surgery. That’s the power of joy—it brings blessings.”

Building Something That Lasts

The most poignant moments in our conversation come when we talk about legacy. What happens after the views drop? When the algorithm changes? When fame fades?

Ehsan is all too aware of the trap many creators fall into: chasing numbers instead of values. He has seen friends spiral into anxiety because their last video didn’t perform well. He’s watched young influencers rise to a million followers overnight, only to burn out just as fast.

But Ehsan plays the long game. He knows that algorithms are fickle, but ethics endure. That’s why he’s experimenting—especially on YouTube—with content that may not go viral but will go deep. One of his most meaningful projects is highlighting inventions by young Iranians—often overlooked talent crafting brilliance in obscurity. The series doesn’t get many views, but it lights up the faces of kids who’ve never had a platform.

“I know it’s not the kind of content that gets shared,” he admits. “But it’s the kind of content that leaves a mark.”

Maturity and the Cost of Change

Ehsan is now confronting a critical juncture: how to evolve without losing what made him loved in the first place. After four years in the same content style, he’s gradually shifting. His newer videos feature longer monologues, deeper insights, and more narrative storytelling. It’s risky. Audiences are often resistant to change—especially on Instagram, where people expect a specific formula.

But Ehsan knows that if he doesn’t grow, he’ll stagnate. Worse, he’ll become a parody of himself.

His insight is sharp: “Being the first to do something doesn’t matter if others are doing it better now. So what makes me different?”

The answer lies in craftsmanship. Unlike many imitators, Ehsan edits meticulously. He never uses full videos from others, avoiding copyright issues and lazy content theft. He doesn’t just comment—he constructs. And now, he wants to move from reacting to creating.

Content Creation as Cultural Commentary

The conversation eventually zooms out into society at large. What role do content creators play in shaping cultural norms? Ehsan doesn’t mince words.

“We normalize what we show. If people see outrageous behavior getting attention, they’ll repeat it,” he says. “But if creators raise the bar, audiences will rise with them.”

It’s a powerful belief—that content can evolve society, not just reflect it.

But he also acknowledges that most creators don’t think this way. Many see their role as temporary: make money, cash out, disappear. Few think about what impact they’re having on a 12-year-old viewer mimicking their catchphrases in school.

This responsibility, he says, is one we must embrace consciously. “Every time I post something, I think—what will the kid who watches this take away from it?”

Fame, Branding, and the Illusion of Influence

One of the most illuminating parts of the interview comes when we explore the ease with which someone can now call themselves a “content creator.”

“There’s no training, no qualifications. Just make a page, post a few videos, and suddenly you’re a ‘blogger,’” Ehsan laughs. “But real branding comes when you distinguish yourself—not just by views, but by values.”

He reflects on competitors who now mimic his format—many of whom have more followers. But for him, the difference lies in originality, not popularity. “I started this genre,” he says. “But being first doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is what you add to it now.”

The Harder Path—and the Right One

As we near the end of our conversation, one truth becomes clear: Ehsan knows he could earn more if he crossed ethical lines. He could swear more, go darker, be cruder—and the views would skyrocket. But he chooses not to.

“That’s the harder path,” he says. “But it’s the one I’ve chosen.”

And perhaps that’s the most powerful takeaway from this episode. Ehsan Mirzad isn’t just a funny guy who found a niche. He’s a quiet revolutionary—using comedy not to numb, but to awaken. Not to exploit absurdity, but to challenge it. Not to climb over others for attention, but to elevate them instead.

He may never have the loudest voice in the room, but he will always have one of the most thoughtful.

Final Words: A Mission Beyond Laughter

Ehsan’s story is not just about fame, content, or comedy. It’s about values in a world that often forgets them. About laughter that comes with weight. About responsibility that deepens with every new follower.

When asked what he dreams of now, he doesn’t speak of numbers or reach. Instead, he talks about seeing the dreams of his wife and best friend come true. His own dreams, he says, “ended a long time ago.”

But if the impact he’s making is any indication—he’s only just getting started.

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About Z-Talk:

Z-Talk is a conversation-driven subset of Cozy Corner with Hossein Nasiri, focused on content creators, influencers, and new media thinkers from the Gen Z and Alpha generations. Each episode explores not just the guest’s rise to digital visibility, but their values, philosophy, fears, and visions for the future.