Gen Z Are Quitting the Gym for Fear of Being Recorded

Picture this: You walk into the gym, water bottle in hand, playlist queued up, ready to focus on your workout. But as you approach the squat rack, a phone camera glints in the mirror. Is it filming you? Suddenly, you’re adjusting your shirt, double-checking your form—not for injury prevention, but in case you end up on someone else’s TikTok.

For a growing number of Gen Z gym-goers, this isn’t a hypothetical. It’s why they’re quitting altogether.

The gym, once a space for self-improvement and mental clarity, is rapidly becoming a stage—where ring lights, viral potential, and unsolicited commentary have replaced privacy and progress. A recent survey found that 4 in 5 Gen Z individuals feel anxious while working out. Nearly one in five have already stopped going because they’re afraid of being recorded without consent.

What’s driving this shift? It’s more than just insecurity. It’s a cultural collision between fitness, surveillance, and social media performance—and it’s reshaping how a generation engages with movement.

Gym Culture in the Age of the Smartphone

Not long ago, gyms were havens of relative anonymity—places where sweat, effort, and focus were kept personal, not public. But the rise of smartphone culture has turned that sanctuary into a space of constant visibility. The modern gym now doubles as a content studio, where ring lights, tripods, and discreet phone cameras have become as common as dumbbells and resistance bands.

Social media platforms like TikTok and Instagram have helped cultivate a culture where workouts are not only shared but scrutinized. It’s no longer unusual to see someone filming their set, adjusting lighting for the perfect angle, or editing clips to match trending audio. And while content creation isn’t inherently problematic, the ripple effects are hard to ignore—especially when filming extends beyond consent.

According to a survey by Levity, 10% of gym-goers admit to secretly recording others during workouts. What was once a place for personal growth has, for many, become a place of hyper-awareness and social pressure. Every lift or lunge might be observed, judged, or—worse—posted online without permission.

This shift is especially unsettling for younger generations, who’ve grown up under the lens of digital surveillance. For Gen Z, the distinction between being seen and being watched is increasingly blurred. And the gym, a space meant for internal focus, now demands external performance. The pressure to “look good” mid-workout, to wear flattering gear, or to avoid mistakes that might be meme-ified online is changing not only how people exercise, but whether they show up at all.

“Gymxiety” Is Real: The Mental Toll of Being Watched

Gymxiety—a blend of “gym” and “anxiety”—is more than a buzzword. It captures a mounting psychological burden that’s pushing many, particularly Gen Z, to reconsider their relationship with fitness spaces. At its core, gymxiety isn’t about vanity or stage fright. It’s about the erosion of safety, privacy, and self-focus in an environment that was once meant to nurture them.

The data is striking. A Levity survey of 1,000 gym-goers found that 80% of Gen Z report feeling anxious or uncomfortable while working out. Women are even more affected—85% say the gym makes them feel uneasy, a stark reminder that for many, the discomfort isn’t imagined. It’s lived, and it’s chronic.

That anxiety is fueled by more than just the fear of a stray glance. It’s the looming possibility of being filmed without consent, judged for imperfect form, or even turned into the subject of a viral “gym fail” video. With 37% of gym-goers reporting that fitness content on TikTok or Instagram has discouraged them from going to the gym, the message is clear: the camera isn’t just capturing—it’s deterring.

This mental strain isn’t simply about awkwardness; it’s about vigilance. Many gym-goers are now hyper-aware of their surroundings in ways that sap the mental clarity workouts are supposed to bring. Half say they’ve changed how they dress at the gym to avoid attention, and some skip workouts entirely if they don’t feel “presentable” enough for a potential audience.

This emotional labor adds up. Gen Z, in particular, is navigating an exhausting balancing act between fitness goals and social self-preservation. The threat of ridicule—real or perceived—means every workout becomes a risk assessment. And when the gym feels more like a public audition than a personal escape, the mental toll can be enough to make someone walk away.

Why Women Bear the Brunt

While gymxiety affects people across age and gender, women disproportionately shoulder its harshest realities. For many women, the gym isn’t just intimidating—it’s unsafe. The fear of being watched is compounded by the very real threat of harassment, objectification, and even physical encroachment. It’s not only about looking “camera-ready”—it’s about navigating unwanted attention while trying to reclaim personal agency.

The numbers paint a troubling picture. According to Levity, nearly one in four women (23%) report being harassed or inappropriately approached at the gym, nearly double the rate of their male counterparts (12%). In an earlier 2021 Run Repeat survey, 56% of women said they had experienced harassment while working out. These aren’t isolated incidents—they’re part of a pattern that undermines the core purpose of fitness spaces: self-improvement.

Social media has amplified this discomfort. Hashtags like #GymCreep and #GymWeirdo, which have amassed tens of millions of views, highlight everyday encounters where women are stared at, followed, or filmed without consent. While these videos can raise awareness, they also walk a precarious line—sometimes sparking criticism when footage is taken out of context or shaming becomes the goal rather than safety.

Fitness influencer Natalee Barnett, who has spoken candidly about her own experiences with harassment, notes that the gym is supposed to be a form of therapy—especially for people dealing with mental health challenges. “You go there to focus and put your head down,” she says. “For a lot of people, it’s therapy. But harassment throws you off.” Barnett now advocates for women-only gyms, not as exclusionary spaces, but as necessary sanctuaries of safety and support. “It’s all about bringing women together in a safer environment,” she says.

This gendered impact also influences behavior in subtle but significant ways. Women are more likely to adjust their clothing to deflect attention, avoid certain machines if they feel too exposed, or modify their routines to stay in open or well-monitored areas. And while some may downplay these adaptations as minor inconveniences, the cumulative effect is profound: when the act of working out requires a safety strategy, empowerment is replaced by vigilance.

Ultimately, the gym is supposed to be a space for strength. But for many women, it’s become a space where they must constantly guard their boundaries—physical, emotional, and digital. Until safety becomes a standard and not a privilege, the gendered reality of gymxiety will continue to push women out of spaces they have every right to occupy.

How Gym-Goers Are Adapting—or Leaving

As gym anxiety escalates, many people—particularly from younger generations—are no longer willing to endure discomfort just to stay fit. Instead, they’re changing how they engage with fitness, reshaping routines and redefining what a “safe” workout environment looks like.

For some, adaptation means altering their appearance. According to Levity’s survey, 1 in 2 gym-goers have changed how they dress specifically to avoid attention or judgment. Others are choosing less crowded hours, strategically positioning themselves away from mirrors and cameras, or skipping exercises that might draw glances. These are not fashion or convenience choices—they’re acts of self-preservation.

But for others, adaptation is no longer enough. Nearly 1 in 3 gym-goers (32%) have considered quitting or switching gyms because of uncomfortable experiences like harassment, social pressure, or fear of being filmed. Among Gen Z, 19% have already quit or skipped workouts due to these fears. And it’s not just women—though they are affected at higher rates, men and non-binary individuals also report anxiety about being filmed, judged, or posted online without consent.

In response, some are seeking out gyms with strict no-filming policies, or turning to women-only spaces that prioritize safety over aesthetics. Boutique fitness studios and small group classes are also gaining popularity, offering more controlled environments where community and consent are part of the culture, not an afterthought.

Others are taking their workouts home. The rise of virtual fitness programs, home gyms, and outdoor training sessions reflects a growing desire for privacy, autonomy, and control. For many, the appeal is simple: fewer eyes, less anxiety.

Still, not everyone has the resources or space to create alternatives. And that’s where the larger systemic challenge lies—when the onus is on individuals to adapt or retreat, the burden of change is misplaced. The widespread nature of gymxiety suggests a need for deeper, structural shifts in gym culture and policy, not just coping strategies.

Creating Safer Fitness Spaces

The rise of gymxiety is not just a personal problem—it’s a cultural and institutional one. When nearly one in five people avoid the gym out of fear, and many more feel compelled to dress differently, alter their behavior, or abandon fitness altogether, it signals a crisis that goes beyond discomfort. It calls for change.

First and foremost, gyms must take accountability. Clear, enforced policies around filming, harassment, and member conduct are essential. While some gym chains, like PureGym and Nuffield Health, publicly state zero-tolerance approaches to misconduct, enforcement often lags behind intention. A slap on the wrist is not enough when someone’s sense of safety is at stake. Membership revocation, bans, and even law enforcement involvement should be part of a transparent escalation process.

Design matters, too. Gyms can create designated no-film zones or explicitly label camera-free areas to give members peace of mind. Layout changes—like spacing machines to minimize unwanted proximity or placing security staff in key areas—can also help. In addition, better signage about member rights and reporting procedures can empower individuals to speak up without fear of being ignored.

Social media culture also needs recalibration. While platforms like TikTok have helped spotlight harassment through trends like #GymCreep, they’ve also contributed to a surveillance atmosphere that makes everyone feel like they’re being judged. As communication expert Dr. Leilani Carver notes, “posting a one-sided TikTok” can blur the lines between accountability and shaming. The goal should be awareness and education—not public takedowns that may lack context.

Community responsibility plays a key role. Gym-goers—especially men—can help shift the culture by speaking up when they witness inappropriate behavior and by checking in with empathy rather than assumption. As fitness influencer Natalee Barnett puts it, “Men should call out other men, just like they would in non-gym situations.” Creating a respectful atmosphere isn’t just a staff responsibility—it’s a communal one.

Finally, for individuals navigating gymxiety, the solution may lie in reclaiming autonomy. Whether it’s choosing a gym with values that align with your own, wearing what makes you feel powerful, or working with a personal trainer to build confidence, your fitness journey doesn’t have to be dictated by fear.

Time to Reset the Gym Culture

The gym should be one of the few places where people can focus inward—on their health, growth, and resilience. But for too many, particularly Gen Z and women, that focus has been fractured by an unwelcome audience. When a workout becomes a performance, and every movement feels subject to scrutiny or exposure, the true value of fitness is lost.

Gym anxiety is not a niche concern or fleeting trend—it’s a signal that something foundational is broken. The answer isn’t to tell people to toughen up or tune out. It’s to build environments that make showing up feel safe again.

Whether that means enforcing no-filming zones, holding harassers accountable, or cultivating communities rooted in empathy rather than aesthetics, the shift must be collective. Fitness culture doesn’t need more ring lights or viral videos—it needs respect. And that begins when we start treating everyone’s body, space, and journey as something worth protecting, not performing.

As individuals, gym-goers can speak up, set boundaries, and seek out environments that align with their values. But real change requires more than individual action—it calls for a cultural reset. Because no one should have to choose between strength and safety. And the gym should never be a place you fear being seen.