Five comedians walk into a barbershop. Why secret shows are selling out worldwide.

Of all the options for a night out in Boston, an immigration lawyer’s office probably doesn’t rank high on many lists. Yet that’s where Hayley Licata and Renee Tracy found themselves last fall. The two recent college grads had such a blast that they’ve opted to repeat the experience. 

Tonight, they’ve arrived at a barbershop. This location was a secret – just as the law office had been. A man at the door checks that they’re on the guest list. Then he welcomes them to Don’t Tell Comedy.

Every weekend, in over 200 cities around the world, Don’t Tell Comedy hosts secret shows by stand-up comedians. Venues range from boxing gyms to boats. For one night only, this dimly lit salon in Somerville, Massachusetts, has been transformed into a pop-up comedy club. In one corner, a microphone stand basks in the flat halo of a spotlight. Forty folding chairs have been set up between work stations sporting arrays of electric razors. The audience is primed for cutting wit. 

“This is our girls’ night,” says Ms. Tracy. “It’s more of an event than just putting something on the TV. We like to get out and try new things, see new places. When else would I go to this barbershop?”

“I wanted to know if we’d be sitting in, like, the barber chairs,” says Ms. Licata.

Founded in 2017, Don’t Tell Comedy has had a success that reflects the remarkable boom of live comedy since the pandemic. In large part, the demand for stand-up has been fueled by filmed specials on streaming platforms and funny clips on TikTok and YouTube. But, paradoxically, it’s also a reaction to those media. Events such as Don’t Tell Comedy are inspiring people to get off their couches, because online entertainment is no substitute for participating in intimate, in-person events.

“It feels a little bit like magic,” says Brendan Eyre, the headliner among the five performers at the barbershop. “There’s something about the experience of being in the room. It’s generally you’re packed in kind of tight. You’re sharing an experience with strangers. You’re laughing at the same thing. They’re laughing at the same thing, which brings people together. You feel a sense of community.”

Comedy’s cultural influence has never been higher. The top 30 comedy tours of 2023 grossed over $513 million. This year’s grosses are expected to be even higher, according to Pollstar, the trade publication for live entertainment. The likes of Nate Bargatze and Kevin Hart play 19,000-seat arenas. Gabriel Iglesias can fill stadiums. In an era of siloed entertainment with fewer mainstream movies, TV shows, and albums, comedy appeals to wide swaths of people from disparate backgrounds. Jesse David Fox, a humor critic at Vulture, says that comedy is the art of taking serious things not seriously. Perfect for the times we’re in.

“It relieves tension. It eases conflict. It smooths the edges of people who think, ‘Oh, we’re opposed [to each other],’ and then they laugh together,” says Mr. Fox, author of “Comedy Book: How Comedy Conquered Culture.” “I do think life has felt heavy for a lot of people.”

In an era when many people can’t seem to watch television without constantly checking their phones, the audiences for both sets at the barbershop are fully unplugged for more than 70 minutes. Attendees may even become part of the show. For instance, one comedian cracked a joke about first-timers Gilbert Paredes and Kelly Emmons. 

“If you sit at the front, they might give you attention,” says Ms. Emmons. “But that’s part of the fun. If you wanted something that was one-way, you would stay at home and watch your TV.”

Mr. Paredes had never attended a live comedy show before. He’s now a convert. Ms. Emmons has previously attended larger shows by the likes of Jared Freid, Matteo Lane, and Mr. Hart. For her, part of the appeal of the inexpensive Don’t Tell Comedy event is discovering talents she hasn’t heard of before. The lineups are a secret prior to each show. (Very occasionally, big-name acts such as Jeff Garlin and Michael Che will drop by to road test new material.)

Tonight, audiences are especially enamored with comic Janet McNamara. She tells the audience about her audition for Season 9 of “American Idol.”

“You know how they have ‘bad people’? I was one of the bad people,” Ms. McNamara tells the room, which erupts with laughter. “I went on as, like, a goof to make my friends laugh. But then it didn’t occur to me that it would be on TV.”

Ms. McNamara, who mercifully didn’t sing during her set, performed at the first-ever Don’t Tell Comedy show. It was staged in a backyard in Los Angeles in 2017. She says fringe stand-up venues aren’t a novel concept – shows in laundromats predate Don’t Tell Comedy – but what the company does especially well is showcase fast-rising stars on its YouTube channel. Case in point: Susan Rice, a septuagenarian comic from Portland, Oregon. 

“Her set really just did well,” says Don’t Tell Comedy’s chief operating officer, Brett Kushner. “It’s over a million [viewers] now. She’s now taping her special down in LA from that momentum.” 

Even so, the company’s focus remains converting home viewers into live-show customers. It tends to draw a lot of first-timers, and its audiences are often younger than at traditional comedy clubs. For millennials and Generation Z, humor is one of the main ways they connect with others.

“[Their] relationship to comedy is like what music was to previous generations,” says Mr. Fox. “It is how they express themselves.”

When young friends Vincent Ho and Bee Hou emerge from the barbershop, they’re still laughing. Mr. Ho came across Don’t Tell Comedy via its YouTube channel. 

“If you’re able to go in person, actually being there ... it’s more fulfilling than just being at home,” he says.

Mr. Hou adds that even though social media is supposed to bring people together, there’s always an unbridgeable digital distance.

“People just need to experience life,” says Mr. Hou. “Go out!”