Actress Greta Lee is making her way to the top, one weirdo at a time.

Lee realized this growing up in La Cañada Flintridge, a suburb of L.A., when she was pursuing a classical singing career. (“The Bach Festival, I won that,” she says.) It turned out to be a type of performance that was too lonely for her, though it did pave the way for musical theater, Lee’s entrée into the acting world. And even though she spent time putting on “weird” shows for her family—such as a female version of Forrest Gump and an adaptation of The Baby-Sitters Club—comedy didn’t seem like a viable path. “I’m an immigrant kid, it’s not like growing up being funny was encouraged by any means. My family’s incredibly funny and everyone has timing, everyone’s a brilliant storyteller, but it’s not something that’s ever acknowledged. You definitely don’t aspire to be a comedian. Like, what is that? Especially as a woman,” she says, leaning back and rubbing her belly. “One of the first things my mom saw me in that was a comedy, I had a pratfall, and she could not wrap her mind around why I would choose to fall. She was so embarrassed for me she was like, ‘Why did you fall? That was so unladylike.’ She would so much rather have me perform as a Disney princess somewhere, literally.”

Being ladylike isn’t something Lee concerns herself with. But being a “woman in comedy” comes up during our chat. When I admit I’m confused about whether differentiating the way we discuss female and male comedians simply lends relevance to the “women aren’t funny” garbage—does talking about it perpetuate it?—Lee agrees. “On the one hand, I do feel like we’re way past that point, like, ‘Oh, are women funny?’ Way past it. But surprisingly, it comes up all the time still, where we’re finding ourselves in these positions of defending [ourselves],” she says. “But it’s not a coincidence that so much of what I’ve done is because I’ve been collaborating with really excellent women.”

For Lee, the talk of marginalization goes a step further, since she’s Asian-American, an ethnicity that isn’t exactly leading in pop-culture prominence. When I mention that while prepping for our chat, I came across a really heartfelt blog post written by a female Korean comedian, praising Lee for being one of the most awesome, and only, role models available to her, Lee responds with her standard one-two punch of authenticity and sarcasm. “Well, that’s so nice, and so sad,” she says with a laugh. “I’m like, ‘You’re welcome!’” she adds, spreading her arms with a grandiose air. But all jokes aside, she’s not intentionally paving a way for others.

“I don’t come at it from like, ‘Oh, how Asian is this part?’ Like, it’s dope that I can play people who aren’t [in] stereotypical Asian professions, aside from the nail-salon technician, which I had a blast doing. But it’s never like, ‘YESSS, I’m not “Asian”!’” Of course, when I reflect I feel like, ‘Oh, collectively that’s a cool thing that these characters share.’ They didn’t have to be Asian, or it didn’t even come up, and that does seem noteworthy,” she says, drawing her knee up and placing her foot next to her. “It is significant to me. Just the experience of being a creative person in this field, I get really angry and really upset when I see blatant racism. But I end up not really politicizing my involvement in the moment.”

She has many of those moments now: In addition to Chance, Lee has recently wrapped several movies, including Gemini, in which she plays Zoë Kravitz’s girlfriend; indie drama Pottersville; and Fits and Starts, where she flexes her dramatic muscles opposite Wyatt Cynac. “I don’t know, maybe I’m much more optimistic than I even realize,” she says. “I feel really hopeful based on what I’ve gotten to do, and based on how things are feeling right now in terms of opportunity and the stories people want to hear. I’ve always felt like, people really authentically loving these weird characters... that’s great! I’m not sure what more I can ask for.” ❤