Chelsea Alexandra
I remember the first time I felt anxiety. I was nine years old, standing in a grocery store line with my dad, surrounded by glossy tabloids. People, Us Weekly, and Teen Beat stacked there like a harmless distraction that you could browse before putting them back and checking out. My eyes darted to a copy of The National Enquirer, an absurd tabloid filled with sensationalized stories and conspiracy theories about Elvis sightings. In big bold letters, the front cover read: “The World is Ending, Judgment Day is Upon Us!” From that moment on, I was anxiously counting down the days until it was supposed to happen. I obsessed over the end of the world. My chest would tighten, and the future felt overwhelming, and there was nothing I could do to stop societal collapse. Spoiler alert, it never did.
What I felt that day felt only unique to me, something that no one in the history of existence had understood. As you get older, you learn that most things aren’t unique, and there is someone else who has experienced the same feeling. In 2025, an estimated 42.5 million U.S. adults are living with an anxiety disorder, making it the most common mental health condition in the country.
Anxiety Club is a documentary from Wendy Lobel that brings together a group of comedians to explore what it means to live with anxiety. Featuring Joe List, Marc Maron, Aparna Nancherla, Mark Normand, Baron Vaughn, and Eva Victor, the film blends stand-up performances with candid, behind-the-scenes conversations about fear, coping, therapy, medication, and the everyday realities of anxiety.
What Anxiety Club does especially well is refuse to romanticize anxiety while still treating it with care. It allows comedians to do what they do best: translate pain into humor without undercutting the seriousness of what’s being said. Instead of isolating one experience, it allows the stories of each individual a moment. Each comedian shares their own perspective and how it shapes not only their comedy but their relationships and sense of self. It’s group therapy as we watch each comedian unpack their anxiety, so crowds not only laugh but maybe even feel seen in their own experience.
At the heart of the film is comedian Tiffany Jenkins, known for creating anxiety-centered content on the internet. She has gone viral multiple times with her content’s relatability. In her videos, she plays every voice in her head, turning internal chaos into humor that people can relate to. The film uses her story to ground its broader exploration of anxiety in something intimate and lived-in. A key part of her arc centers on exposure therapy with her therapist, Natalie, where Jenkins is gradually guided to confront the situations her anxiety has taught her to avoid. We watch her attempt small, terrifying acts: leaving her children alone downstairs, imagining worst-case scenarios out loud, loosening the grip of her hyper-vigilance.
When you have dealt with anxiety for so long, it no longer feels intrusive. You are numb to the chaos in your mind. It blends into how we think and becomes normal. It can disguise itself as anything. It can present itself as productivity, pushing you to over-prepare, overthink, and overcorrect. The exhaustion that follows feels justified. You have earned that tiredness at the end of the day. You tell yourself you’re just being responsible, even as you stretch yourself too thin trying to stay ahead of everything. In relationships, it can look like love. You check in constantly, not because something is wrong, but because something could be. That constant vigilance feels like care, even when it’s driven by fear. This is what makes anxiety so difficult to untangle. When it’s always been there, it starts to feel like part of who you are.
One of the film’s most lasting moments comes when Jenkins’ therapist says, “Don’t confuse anxiety with love.” It’s a simple line, but it lands deeply. It doesn’t just shift Jenkins’ perspective, it resonates with anyone who has ever felt like their intensity came from a place of caring, or who has been told they can be “too much” and their love can feel too big.
Lobel strikes the right balance, which is hard to find when taking on any mental health conversation. She explores anxiety in a way that feels grounded and personal. It doesn’t feel overly clinical even when hearing from medical professionals. Importantly, Anxiety Club doesn’t suggest there’s a single solution. It presents a range of approaches, from therapy to medication to personal coping strategies.
Anxiety Club builds a sense of connection that feels immediate and genuine. You don’t have to be a performer to see yourself in these stories. It’s their shared experiences, the fears, the coping mechanisms, the small victories, that create a bridge between the comedians and the audience.
