Anne Hathaway dancing in a supermarket parking lot at dawn is an image that stuck. It was bright. It was staged. It felt like a classic MGM musical, and yet, it was one of the most honest depictions of mental health ever put on a streaming service. If you've seen the Modern Love Anne Hathaway ep, you know exactly which one I mean. Officially titled "Take Me as I Am, Whoever I Am," it’s technically the third episode of the first season of the Amazon Prime anthology series.
It’s based on a real essay. Terri Chenery wrote it for the New York Times column back in 2008.
Hathaway plays Lexi. She’s a high-achieving entertainment lawyer with a secret that runs her life. She has bipolar disorder. Not the "quirky" kind of TV bipolar where someone just talks fast and buys too many shoes. It’s the kind that leaves you unable to get out of bed for days while your phone vibrates with missed calls from a job you’re about to lose.
The Brilliance of the Musical Format
Director John Carney, the guy behind Once and Sing Street, did something risky here. He used the visual language of a musical to represent Lexi’s mania. When she’s "up," the world is saturated. The colors of her coats—that iconic pink faux fur—pop against the screen. Strangers dance in sync. Life feels like a choreographed dream.
It’s beautiful. It’s also terrifying.
Because we know the crash is coming. The Modern Love Anne Hathaway ep works because it doesn't just tell you she's feeling good; it makes you feel the seductive, dangerous momentum of a manic episode. You want her to stay in that supermarket parking lot forever. You want her to get the guy (Jeff, played by Gary Carr). But the transition from the bright, sunny morning to the gray, stagnant darkness of her apartment is jarring. It’s supposed to be.
Most TV shows struggle with internal states. They rely on voiceovers. Carney and Hathaway relied on production design and lighting. When Lexi hits the depressive wall, the camera stays tight. The room shrinks. The music stops. It’s a physical weight.
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Why Lexi’s Story Resonated with the Bipolar Community
There is a specific scene where Lexi is trying to get ready for a date. She’s in the bathroom. She’s trying to "put on her face," but she can’t. Her hands won’t move the way she wants them to. She ends up on the floor.
People who live with Bipolar II, specifically, often point to this episode as a turning point in representation. Bipolar II involves "hypomania"—a less severe version of the "highs"—followed by deep, soul-crushing depressions. Lexi’s cycle is fast. It’s brutal.
Honestly, Hathaway’s performance is probably some of her best work. She didn't win an Emmy for it, which is sort of a crime, but the impact was massive. She managed to capture the "masking" that so many people with mental illness do. The scene where she forces a smile at her boss while her eyes are screaming? That’s real. That’s what it looks like to try and survive in a corporate world that expects 100% consistency 100% of the time.
The Reality of the New York Times Essay
The actual essay by Terri Chenery is even more raw than the show. In the original text, Chenery talks about how she spent years curated a "double life." She was a successful lawyer. She was also someone who would disappear for weeks.
In the Modern Love Anne Hathaway ep, the climax isn't a grand romantic gesture. It’s a conversation. Lexi finally tells a former colleague, Sarah (played by Quincy Tyler Bernstine), the truth.
"I have bipolar disorder."
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The relief on Hathaway’s face when she says those words is more powerful than any of the musical numbers. It highlights a fundamental truth about modern love: you can't truly be loved if you aren't truly seen. Lexi was terrified that if people saw the "real" her—the one who couldn't get out of bed—they would leave. And some did. But the act of telling the truth was the first step toward a different kind of life.
Key Takeaways from the Episode’s Portrayal
- The "Coming Out" Parallel: The episode treats the disclosure of mental illness similarly to coming out, emphasizing the fear of rejection.
- The Impact on Career: It doesn't shy away from the fact that Lexi loses jobs. This isn't a "happily ever after" where her boss just understands. There are consequences.
- Friendship as Love: The most important relationship in the episode isn't the romantic interest, Jeff. It's the friendship with Sarah. It suggests that "Modern Love" isn't just about dating; it's about the people who hold you up when you can't stand.
The Fashion of Lexi: More Than Just Clothes
We have to talk about the outfits. The costume design in the Modern Love Anne Hathaway ep was a character in itself. That yellow sweater. The sequins. The pink coat.
When she’s manic, she dresses like a superhero. It’s her armor. It’s a signal to the world that says, "Look how okay I am!" When the depression hits, she’s in a gray hoodie. The contrast is a visual shorthand for the loss of self. If you're looking for the exact pink coat, it was a custom piece, but it sparked a thousand dupes on Pinterest for a reason. It represented the peak of her vibrancy.
Addressing the "Magic Realism" Criticism
Some critics felt the musical numbers trivialized the illness. They argued that mental health shouldn't be "glossy."
I disagree.
The gloss is the point. Mania is glossy to the person experiencing it—at first. It feels like you’ve cracked the code of the universe. By making it look like a Hollywood production, the show helps the audience understand why someone might go off their meds or why they might chase that high. It’s not a mistake; it’s an intentional creative choice to put us in Lexi’s shoes.
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What You Should Do After Watching
If the Modern Love Anne Hathaway ep moved you, don't just let it be a 30-minute piece of "content." There are actual ways to engage with the themes it brought up.
Read the original essay. It’s available in the New York Times archives. Seeing the differences between Chenery’s real words and the TV adaptation provides a lot of perspective on how Hollywood "polishes" trauma.
Check in on your "strong" friends. Lexi was the person everyone thought had it together. She was the "top of her class" type. If you have a friend who is suddenly hyper-energetic and then disappears for two weeks, don't just assume they’re busy. Send a low-pressure text.
Understand the spectrum. Bipolar disorder isn't a one-size-fits-all diagnosis. There’s Bipolar I, Bipolar II, and Cyclothymic disorder. Lexi’s experience is one version of a very complex condition. If this episode was your first real exposure to it, take ten minutes to look up the actual clinical definitions on a site like the Mayo Clinic or NAMI.
Watch the rest of the series, but don't expect the same vibe. Modern Love is an anthology. Some episodes are rom-coms. Some are quiet dramas. This specific episode is unique because of its stylistic swings. If you want more Anne Hathaway, she’s great, but don't go into episode four expecting another musical.
The legacy of this episode isn't just the "supermarket dance." It's the fact that it started a massive conversation about how we hide our "unlovable" parts from the people we want to love us the most. It’s a reminder that the most romantic thing you can do for someone is let them see you on your worst day and not look away.
Basically, it's okay to not be the girl in the pink fur coat all the time. Honestly, nobody can sustain that. And that’s the whole point.