From children’s TV to lockdown skits, who is the real Jimmy Rees?

Perhaps nobody is as stunned by Jimmy Rees’ career transformation as the man himself.

Rees’ first win was going from university dropout to becoming the beloved Jimmy Giggle on ABC Kids’ Giggle and Hoot. Then, after 10 years entertaining children by wearing pyjamas and hanging out with owl puppets, he successfully transitioned into adult’s comedy in under two years.

Jimmy Rees tucks into his plate of fish and chips at The Rocks Mornington.Credit: Joe Armao

Recently, Rees’ manager changed the 35-year-old’s Instagram description from “public figure” to “comedian”, but Rees continues to struggle with accepting this: he never did open mic nights or stand-up – he couldn’t as a children’s entertainer – he hasn’t performed at a comedy festival and he knows only a few other famous comics.

“I do feel a bit of imposter syndrome still,” Rees says. “It still feels a bit funny saying ‘I’m a comedian’.”

“I’ve had a completely different career path. To me comedians are this” – Rees gesticulates – “and I’m not that.”

He continues: “Every comedian I meet knows every other comedian because they’ve all been on the circuit together.

“I’ve done none of that, yet I had a sell-out show that was going through the whole year.”

For our lunch Rees picked The Rocks Mornington, a spot near his home that he’s been to many times for meals, functions or, in his younger days, free pints from mates who worked there.

As he orders oysters, he notes that he came just a couple of weeks ago with family. “They’re super fresh. They probably just come from over there,” he jokes, motioning to the glittering bay beside us.

Rees orders fish and chips (“delicious”, he says later), and we get some scallops and a beetroot salad to share.

Oysters with a side of lemon and house-made sriracha. Credit: Joe Armao

In his videos, Rees can be something of an Energiser bunny, but in person he comes off as relaxed, with sentences punctuated by a friendly laugh.

Rees and his wife Tori grew up in Mount Eliza and after a decade in Sydney, they moved back with their three young sons once Giggle and Hoot ended in late 2019 to be closer to family – “it was the best thing we ever did”, he says.

They now live just around the corner from Rees’ childhood home.

Rees got his first taste for entertaining in high school, where he became involved in drama productions and mainly played silly characters.

“I’ve had a completely different career path ... To me comedians are this – and I’m not that.”

“I was just confident being the clown. No else had the confidence to,” he says.

But upon finishing school, he says he struggled to find his place in the world. He started a Bachelor of Arts degree but dropped out because he was frustrated by the lack of performing and film studio experience.

He remembers being obsessed with the comedic talk show Rove, which started in 1999.

“I just wanted to be an idiot like [Rove McManus] was doing with his friends on TV. I never really admitted it to anyone.”

Fish and chips: the day’s catch cooked in an apple cider batter and served with chips, pickled slaw and tartare sauce. Credit: Joe Armao

This is where Rees proves himself to be one of those naturally gifted, annoyingly successful people: not only did he not finish his studies, he also only went for one audition before landing the Giggle and Hoot role.

He credits his wife, Tori, who he met and started dating when he was 21 while they were both working at the Mount Eliza pub. He says she gave him “the kick up the butt” he needed to pursue a career in TV.

“I sent away one DVD video, went to an audition and got a callback,” he says.

“Here’s me, my first audition process, and I’m assuming there’s 100 other people [I’m up against]. But I was the last person. It all happened within a couple of weeks.”

He and Tori, who was 19 at the time and studying teaching, packed up their lives in 2009 after just nine months of dating and moved to Sydney.

Rees made a name for himself as the host of popular ABC children’s program Giggle and Hoot.Credit: Edwina Pickles

Giggle and Hoot, he says, was wonderfully ridiculous. It allowed him to embrace his whacky side and hone his knack for poking fun at shared human experiences, which he has carried into his comedy.

“I was a 20- and 30-something dressed in pyjamas, talking to puppet owls, singing stupid songs and playing with cardboard props. The environment is so funny and I could make the crew laugh,” he says.

When the show was cancelled in 2019, Rees says he felt a mixture of shock – it had been his life for so long – and vigour: he was ready for his next chapter. Throughout his stint as Jimmy Giggle, he was privately writing down ideas for comedy skits.

He’d grown a large online following of mostly young mums (some of whom joined the cheekily named Facebook group “I Could Teach Jimmy Giggle a Thing or Two”).

Rees decided his next career move would be to create comedy videos for social media, build his online audience and secure sponsorships, something he couldn’t do at the ABC. His plans were accelerated when COVID-19 hit in 2020 and his Giggle and Hoot farewell tour was scrapped.

House-made spinach conchigliette with peas, asparagus, leek and fresh ricotta.Credit: Joe Armao

“It was basically income for me, then it all went to nothing and that’s when I was like ‘ah, crap’. We’ve got three kids, we’ve just moved back, we’ve taken on a bigger mortgage. So I just had to go for it online,” he says.

Rees says he treated his new venture like a full-time job, filming and editing videos from 9am to 4pm every day at home in lockdown. He started with parent-related comedy, riffing off funny things kids do or how life changes after starting a family.

His big break came unexpectedly, from an entirely different topic, a couple of months into the pandemic.

“One day I was like, ‘I’m sitting here every single day of my life at the moment with my wife glued to the TV, watching Daniel f---ing Andrews with his purple banner just telling us what to do … It’s like a drama. This is stupid’.”

Determined to bring some light to a gloomy situation, Rees did his own spoof of the coronavirus update Victorians knew all too well.

“It got shared around Victoria almost more than the real one,” he recalls.

“It became very apparent that people wanted and needed that humour, so I kept doing it.”

“We’ve got three kids, we’ve just moved back, we’ve taken on a bigger mortgage. So I just had to go for it online.”

From there, Rees started his “Meanwhile In Australia” series, which mocked the country’s interstate bickering and contrasting, peculiar rules, and later, he created the “Ladies of Brighton” characters inspired by the vaccine rollout, joking about over-50s insisting on waiting for the Pfizer jab to conceal their age. His comedy, he explains, is light humour, not nasty.

“There were just genuinely funny things going on,” he says.

He now counts 2.5 million followers – mostly aged 25-45 – across Facebook, TikTok and Instagram. And the demographic has shifted from being almost entirely female to being one-fifth male.

As we sit at lunch, a woman next to us leans over to have a chat and ask for a photo. Her teenage son, she says, used to watch him on ABC Kids and she’s thrilled to be meeting Rees in person.

This kind of interaction has become very normal for Rees. With fans now of all ages, he says he finds himself stopped constantly – at school drop-off, at cafes, at sporting events.

“I didn’t realise just how famous I was until lockdown ended, and I still don’t picture myself as famous or anything. I think part of me still thinks I’m an ABC children’s presenter. But my wife will say: you get stopped in the street every single day, multiple times a day.

“A lot of people come up to me and thank me because there was so much shit going on [in lockdown] that they feel like they owe me a hug for giving them something to laugh at.”

As for his income, he says he’s making more than he was in his Jimmy Giggle days.

“Yeah … like, a bit more,” he laughs shyly. “It’s pretty crazy.”

His 2022 Australian tour started off with 12 scheduled shows and, due to demand, was extended to 39.

He released a book late last year, named The Guy Who Decides, which brings his skits to written form.

The title is a nod to a popular series he started when Rees noticed how bizarre supermarket packaging can be: why are raspberries the only berry with a pillow? Why don’t beetroot tins get a ring-pull opener like the other cans?

Jimmy Rees on his Meanwhile in Australia 2022 tour.Credit: Binge

“As soon as I started thinking of those things, I was laughing at myself – it’s really funny.”

Rees’ success has allowed him to rent out a warehouse in Mornington where he stores sets, cameras, lights and props as his work continues to evolve past COVID-19 humour.

One of his latest hit series is “POV”, (an acronym for point-of-view), in which Rees plays a supermarket checkout worker scanning the typical characteristics of anybody from Gen Zs to office employees, gamers and Millennial parents.

“I didn’t realise just how famous I was until lockdown ended ... I think part of me still thinks I’m an ABC children’s presenter.”

He also hired a friend, David, to work with him four days a week. They know each other well: David was the third of the four Hoots on Giggle and Hoot.

In 2023, he’ll star in Taskmaster on Channel 10, a show adapted from Britain in which comic Tom Gleeson sets wild tasks to five competing comedians.

Rees says “it feels great, it’s amazing” to be among the cast of comedians, but he’s still adjusting to the title, and while he wants to write a new show, he is undecided whether he’ll appear at this year’s major comedy festivals.

The bill for lunch at The Rocks Mornington.Credit: Sophie Aubrey

“My management has never managed a comedian ... It’s all new for us and I guess we’re doing it our way,” he says.

And that includes the way he tours. Given Rees is known mainly through the prism of the characters he portrays, I ask him who the real Jimmy is.

“I’m a pretty massive family man,” he says. To the point that rather than smashing out a tour within a three-month period like others might, he did his over about eight months, to ensure he would have adequate time to fly home and be with his wife and children.

“I was never away for more than a few days at a time. I don’t like going away,” he says.

“I’ve got a young family and it’s pretty chaotic at home so part of me feels sorry for my wife when she’s by herself, but also I miss the damn things!”

At the end of our meal, Rees again shows how eager he is to please others. We realise we have barely touched the salad we ordered. He’s full from his fish and chips, but he grabs his fork.

“I feel bad,” he says. “I’ll have some.”

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