​My young granddaughters love to laugh. They cackle loudly when I chase them around the house and gleefully evade my attempts to snare them. We designate a “tickle word” each season (e.g., “beach” for the summer), and they boisterously repeat it when just out of my reach. When they stray too closely, they pay the penalty, beg for release, and immediately start the taunting anew. I have easily laughed more in the last seven years than in the 30 previous years before they came into my life.

​Stanford business professors Jennifer Aaker and Naomi Bagdonas declare that the average four-year-old laughs 300 times each day, while it takes 2½ months for a 40-year-old to chuckle these many times—and the prospects for a 60-something are even more dire. Their book, Humor, Seriously,delves into the weeds of what makes us laugh, how we make others laugh, and why it matters.

​The professors gathered plenty of proof that laughter isn’t just fun—it’s also good for us. For example, a 2007 study found that couples remember laughing together even more fondly than just having a good time. Laughter triggers feel-good chemicals in our brains, like endorphins and oxytocin, which boost our mood and help us bond with others. It also lowers stress, helps our bodies fight illness, and works a bit like an antidepressant. Plus, psychologists say it even makes us more creative, more resilient, and less afraid of life’s curveballs. Not a bad return on a well-timed punchline.

​Laughter begins in infancy and assists in developing muscles and upper body strength. It provides an avenue to connect with peers (whether accompanied by squeals or just smiles). But something happens over time. The authors posit a “humor cliff” that starts at age 23 and declines precipitously until 70.  Ouch! We become rather serious about our careers and social status, replacing levity with gravity.

​I can easily confirm their insight. My younger self would howl at the antics of the Three Stooges, laugh aloud at the pitiable saps on Candid Camera, and giggle at Peter Sellers’ portrayal of Inspector Clouseau. I instinctively laughed at a slip and fall and snickered at over-the-top jokes.

​Now misfortune raises more laments than chuckles. The culprit appears to be empathy.  Among the latest interpersonal skills to develop, empathy matures around the age of 30 and expands through the lifespan. Thus, the increased ability to feel with others tempers enjoying their calamities.

​My older self finds humor not in the misfortunes of others, but rather in the unplanned juxtapositions of the expected with the unexpected. A client tells me, “The point is mute,” and I can hardly suppress a smile. A man enters a not guilty plea to admiring a charming woman walking down the beach. I faultsomeone for her lack of concentration, and then walk into the next room and straightway forget my mission. These incongruities often strike me as hilarious.

The Far Side cartoons are funny because they demand resolution of an absurdity. A cow stands at the window and complains to her husband, “I’m just not contented.” Over the caption, “How entomologists die,” a human in a lab coat lies on his back with his legs and arms raised.

​I find most contrived comedies to be tedious, but the exception is political humor. Comedians who skewer politicians and their acolytes elicit my audible laughter since the concept of a political animal with a conscience defies credulity. I laugh as heartily at a Chuck Schumer complaint of being victimized as I do to a Mitch McConnell profession of integrity. 

E.B. White once quipped, “Humor can be dissected, as a frog can, but the thing dies in the process and the innards are discouraging to any but the pure scientific mind.” Still, our Stanford professors have bravely taken up the scalpel. Their studies suggest that we each have a distinct comedic fingerprint—what we joke about and how we deliver it varies widely. 

They map humor along two axes: one running from the friendly and uplifting (affiliative) to the more biting and confrontational (aggressive), and another from the boldly expressive to the quietly subtle. Think of one axis as ‘nice to naughty,’ and the other as ‘quiet to loud.’

Cross these lines and you get four types. The Magnet is outgoing and wholesome—think cheerleader energy without any controversy. The Stand-Up is expressive and a bit edgy, unafraid to stir the pot. The Sweetheart is soft-spoken and sincere, with humor so gentle it sometimes slips by unnoticed. And then there’s the Sniper, who specializes in sly, sarcastic zingers, delivered without undue concern for lines of propriety.

Aaker and Bagdonas offer a 37-item, online test at https://quiz.humorseriously.com/ to determine your style, so you know I was all in. I couldn’t find much science to back up the inventory, but hey, it beats a BuzzFeed quiz about which vegetable you are.

My results were all on the subtle end of the continuum. I’m a combination of Sweetheart and Sniper (strange bedfellows). The description clarifies: I’m dry, skeptical, and deadpan—with just enough sweetness to soften the bite. Yet, unlike most Snipers, I come alive in a crowd, prefer uplifting humor, and often joke about myself. Essentially, I am a smart-ass who welcomes an audience and takes a few precautions not to offend others.

​Reflecting on these results, I can hardly argue. I clearly enjoy the inside joke and reference to some obscurity that only the thoughtful might detect. If the nuance must be explained, it loses its appeal. I might say, “It’s an undisputed truth that smiling faces tell lies.” My listener may recognize the Motown hit and get it, or merely take the adage at face value. Sweetheart traits likely stem from decades as a psychologist—along withthat pesky, ever-tempering empathy.

​So, what’s the bottom line? Here’s your prescription for a healthier life: start laughing. Climb back up the humor cliff by determining your style and use it to put a big smile on your face. Quit holding back. Crawl around the floor with a preschooler, run with your exuberant dog, watch a politician attempt empathy, snarkily quote your mother-in-law—just chase those special moments that raise a giggle. Consider the enriching cocktail of endorphins, oxytocin, and dopamine the top-shelf chaser to your dirty martini. And no, I’m not joking!