If Dave Attell ever retires, as he has periodically hinted for years, what will become of club comedy?

Comics will still work clubs, of course. But in an era when the savvy career move is to diversify into podcasts and video while playing a variety of rooms, Attell, 54, is the rare elite stand-up who advertises himself, with a mixture of pride and self-deprecation, as simply a club comic. More important: No one alive makes a better argument for the aesthetic of New York club comedy, with its tussling crowd work, quick setups and ruthless punch lines that go for the gut.

For 32 years, he has performed nearly every night of the week, making him a longer-running fixture in this city than “The Phantom of the Opera,” and one that has aged better, although you might not know it at first glance.

On a cold weeknight this month at the Comedy Cellar, where he often appears on the late show, he walked onstage looking rumpled, sporting a baggy winter coat and a headwear situation that resembled a Russian nesting doll: After removing a hoodie that covered his customary black baseball cap, which he took off to reveal yet another hat, he began his set with a knowing quip: “I look like I just came here to get warm.”