In a newly painted studio space above a tattoo parlor in Allentown, the kind, talented Eric Bernat instructed two of my classmates to perform a scene about a father who had just discovered his son’s drug addiction. In the scene, the father tried and failed to console his son, who grew more distant as the conversation spiraled.
For five minutes, I watched a challenging, raw and entirely dramatic performance unfold, completely unscripted. The class was silent when the scene finished.
And then Eric said, “Perfect. Now, replace ‘drugs’ with ‘Cats,’ the musical, the movie.”
At that point, I had been studying improv comedy for about four months. Watching my classmates perform the scene that followed — about a father who had just discovered his son’s addiction to the infamously awful movie adaptation of “Cats” — was so effortlessly funny that I began to understand what makes improv so special.
I started taking improv classes in 2025 to find out how to be funny. What I actually found turned out to be worth a lot more. Right here in Pittsburgh, there is a beautiful, welcoming and alive improv comedy community that has transformed the way I live.
And yes, I’m completely serious.
How do adults make friends anyway?
When I graduated from the University of Pittsburgh with a highly relevant and extremely lucrative undergraduate degree in writing and gender studies, I surprised everyone by getting a job as a writer. But despite this boon, I, like many adults I knew, became consumed by working life and beyond capable of leaving the house after 8 p.m.
In lieu of a social life, my favorite escape from reality came from the independent comedy streaming service, Dropout TV, which provides a home for talented improv comedians trained in places with big, established comedy scenes — Los Angeles, New York, Chicago. There, improv giants (the Upright Citizens Brigade, for example) made stars out of funny people. Growing up in Pittsburgh, I thought about what it would be like to one day get out to one of these theaters and find success in comedy.
Of course, it would never happen. Pittsburgh, as far as I knew, didn’t make famous improvisers.
So, what funny business is in Pittsburgh?
In June 2025, I heard that the Upright Citizen’s Brigade (or UCB, for short) was setting up a training center in Pittsburgh.
That’s right. The comedy school that trained the likes of Kate McKinnon and Aubrey Plaza was coming to the ’burgh.
My first reaction was that this would singularly and exclusively make my personal dream come true. As it turns out, I was incorrect because unbeknownst to me at the time, this news was reverberating around an already thriving improv comedy scene in the city.
I enrolled in the very first Improv 101 class offered at UCB Pittsburgh (jokingly but also seriously called UCBurgh). Like most 101 classes, this placed me in the good company of a handful of excited beginners, but unlike most 101 classes, also a whole bunch of talented, experienced and established improvisers hailing from Pittsburgh’s existing independent improv schools.
No pressure.
My first ever improv class was taught by the hilarious Alex Conti, who trained at UCB New York and performs in the popular Pittsburgh-based improv team Barbara, a Mother and the spectacular improv duo Fondue for Two.
As a person who had only ever watched improv, actually doing it was a completely different feeling. I was awkward and exhilarated; embarrassed and over-eager. To be completely honest, I went home feeling unsure if I should go back the following week. But I did go back because for the first time in a long time, I began to feel like I was part of something.
Is improv, like, a lifestyle?
As the weeks went by, I surprised myself by making friends! Improving! Improvising!
Most of these first classes were based less in the challenge of how to be funny, and more in the challenge of how to live: Listening, reacting honestly, being open to new ideas, being willing to let go of your own. There were times for jokes, of course, but the biggest lessons from those first improv classes were about how to be in the present moment, simply engaged in conversation with another person.
Each of my improv teachers trained at a UCB school in a more classically comedic city. Learning from them, it’s clear that the magic in the Pittsburgh improv scene is about far more than becoming a famous comedian.
Speaking with my talented, funny mentor who passed on the so-called “big leagues” for the Steel City, the effortlessly funny Raina Deerwater (find her in Barbara, a Mother and Fondue for Two) informed me that improvising in Pittsburgh has never been (and probably never will be) about vying for a television spot. It’s about doing something that you love — with people you love — to help you combat the horrors of the modern world.
Also for people to laugh and say that you’re funny. That’s important, too.
Wait … can improv save the world?
Outside of improv, I work in communications, which in 2026, can feel starkly opposed to my moonlight shifts as an amateur comedian. As I came to know a community so focused on human connection, my work became more entrenched in the technology that keeps us apart. Since I’ve started working, I’ve done so in the shadow of generative AI, which can feel omnipresent, especially with Pittsburgh’s recent branding as an AI hub.
For the first time since ChatGPT launched to the public, and infringed on the professional and creative future of humans everywhere, I didn’t feel so hopeless. Because at least one night a week, I weaved my way through downtown Pittsburgh, and up to the crest of Mount Oliver, to meet up with a group of adults happy to be experiencing life offline with just the power of our imagination.
It was a revelation.
One of the more eccentric aspects of improv is the idea of “group mind.” A common way to establish group mind is for adults to stand in a circle very seriously making funny noises at each other. We do this to get on the same page so that it’s possible to do something extraordinary — like creating a cohesive comedic performance in front of an audience from a single suggestion with absolutely no plan.
Because, of course, it’s common for people who take improv classes to dream of getting on stage — myself included. So while I was joyfully making new friends and silently wondering if improv comedy was the secret to world peace, I was invited to join a one-night-only team to perform in the opening set of UCBurgh’s first original improv show, put on by many of the talented teachers and students who make up the Pittsburgh improv scene.
Again. No pressure.
Fake it ’til you make it
On an unseasonably warm night in April, I arrived at a crowded Bottlerocket Social Hall, an Allentown bar that feels like stepping into 1970s Pittsburgh — and not just because of the decor (though that really helps). Inside Bottlerocket, people gathered for the chance to watch something live and real and messy. Something that wouldn’t be documented for the world to see, but that exists only in the moment of its creation for the people inside that room.
Something I was personally about to make up on the spot.
This was my first big show, not to mention the theater’s first big show. I was abundantly nervous. Meeting my team in the basement green room, I felt my fears bubbling up to the surface. Hadn’t I only started improv classes, like nine months ago? Maybe someone made a mistake; maybe I wasn’t ready.
With less than an hour until showtime, my nerves would have to wait. We warmed up with a classic game of Zip, Zap, Zop (yes, really), and together, we ascended into a sweaty, packed room to perform for an audience who may or may not have ever seen a live comedy show.
And on stage, my team and I created something organic, ephemeral and, of course, very funny.
Since my very first improv class, I’d gone from being a person who watched passively while other people lived their dreams, to a person capable of standing in front of a room full of strangers to build something together, in real time, while not knowing where we’d end up. I have no idea if I’ll ever be lucky enough, or talented enough to find success in improv comedy, whatever that even means. It’s yet to be seen how much more independent comedy will grow in Pittsburgh, and if we’ll ever, collectively, make it to the big leagues.
But I’ve learned that’s not really the point.
To be supported by real people, focused on the present moment, open to whatever comes next, that’s the best way to do improv. And as far as I’ve found, it’s a pretty good way to live.
Rachel Bachy is an improviser, professional writer and graduate student of public and international affairs. They can be reached at www.rachelbachy.com.
Interested in exploring the Pittsburgh improv community?
- Take an improv class at UCBurgh.
- Attend a UCBurgh Improv Jam — open to everyone, every month.
- Catch a locally produced show at Arcade Comedy Theater.
- See even more independent comedy at the Glitterbox Theater.
- Learn improv, stand-up, sketch, and more at Arcade Academy.
- Explore the “Foundations of Fun” and more at Steel City Improv.
- Follow your favorite local improvisers on Instagram to see when they’re performing.
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