First lady Melania Trump’s documentary outperformed box office expectations during its opening weekend, bringing in about $7 million domestically.

Audience members were largely white (75%), women (70%), and 55 or over (72%). Dallas, Orlando, Tampa, Phoenix, Houston, Atlanta and West Palm Beach were among the top markets over the weekend, according to data from Amazon MGM Studios.

Amazon acquired the rights to the movie in early 2025 for $40 million. The company ran a flashy rollout for the film, spending $35 million on marketing, leading to questions about whether such a hefty price tag included earning President Trump’s favor — or trying to. Melania is one of the most expensive documentary films ever made, with the first lady herself taking on the role of an executive producer.

Critics have panned the movie, which premiered at the Kennedy Center last week with protesters dressed as Marie Antoinette outside. TikTokers encouraged viewers to instead watch Becoming, Michelle Obama’s 2020 Netflix documentary, which broke the service’s top 10 most popular movies in the U.S. over the weekend.

Documentaries rarely receive wide theatrical releases, but Melania opened on more than 1,500 screens throughout the U.S. this weekend. Ahead of the film’s global release on Friday, many on social media shared photos of their local theaters in which nearly every seat for Melania showings remained available for purchase. Analysts were predicting ticket sales in the $5 million range — making the $7 million box office good news for Amazon.

For a sense of scale: The top-grossing film this weekend was the survival horror thriller Send Help, which brought in $20 million. Following close behind was Iron Lung, also a horror film, at nearly $18 million.

But, writes David A. Gross in his industry newsletter FranchiseRe, “This is an excellent opening for a political documentary, at more than double the average for the genre … These are small movies, and this is a big start for a documentary.”

Gross told NPR via email that the film’s audience “matches with the Trump fan base. The weekend audience gave the film a glowing A CinemaScore,” which polls moviegoers. “They see Melania as an accomplished role model — someone they look up to.”

“As good as this opening is for a documentary,” says Gross in his newsletter, “for any other film, with $75 million in costs and limited foreign potential, it would be a problem.”

Amazon is undeterred. Kevin Wilson, Amazon MGM Studios’ head of domestic theatrical distribution, said in a statement that the box office numbers exceeded expectations — and that a docuseries would be on the way.

“This momentum is an important first step in what we see as a long-tail lifecycle for both the film and the forthcoming docu-series, extending well beyond the theatrical window and into what we believe will be a significant run for both on our service.”

A notoriously private person, the first lady has gained a reputation as a mysterious figure who closely controls her public image. Melania follows the first lady during the 20 days leading up to President Trump’s inauguration in January 2025, including preparation for a candle-lit inaugural dinner at which the camera breezes by Jeff Bezos multiple times. Cameras also follow the design process for her inauguration outfits, and her grieving process after her mother Amalija Knavs’ death.

At the New York Stock Exchange last week, the first lady hailed the documentary as “a window into an important period for America.”

Editor’s note: Amazon is among NPR’s recent financial supporters and pays to distribute some NPR content.

I’m getting a brain massage — and it’s sublime.

I’m lying on a heated massage bed, cocooned in a soft, weighted blanket, as Kayla Faraji caresses my cheeks with billowy, pink goose feathers. She slides them down the sides of my neck and around my bare shoulders, sending chills up my spine.

“Now I’m scratching, scratching your chest,” Faraji whispers into my ear, especially breathy. “These are golden nails.” She drags long, prickly iron nail tips up my arms and along my collarbone, filling my ears with a raspy scraping sound.

It’s all part of an hour-long ASMR session at Faraji’s new Kas Wellness in Costa Mesa.

“It’s deeply relaxing and restorative — and there’s such a need for that right now,” Faraji says of our session. “I feel like ASMR is the future of wellness, the new massage.”

Kayla Faraji does “tracing” on reporter Deborah Vankin’s arms with bamboo chopsticks.

(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)

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ASMR, or autonomous sensory meridian response, is the pleasurable tingling feeling brought on by gentle auditory, visual or tactile stimuli — think the sound of cellophane wrap crinkling, oil droplets sizzling, fingernails rhythmically tapping a desktop or a hairbrush swooshing through thick, wavy locks. The feeling is sometimes called a “head orgasm” because, for those who respond to it, ASMR can not only calm the central nervous system, but may bring on a sense of euphoria, giddiness or acute alertness.

Only about 20% of the population, however, experience “the tingles,” as the sensation is often referred to. But for those who are ASMR-sensitive, studies show there are health benefits: It may temporarily alleviate stress, sleeplessness, low mood and chronic pain as well as aid focus. People who experience ASMR also show lowered heart rate and blood pressure because it activates the parasympathetic nervous system for relaxation.

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Over the last decade, ASMR has exploded in popularity — the term was coined in 2010 by cybersecurity analyst Jennifer Allen and in 2025 “ASMR” was a top search term on YouTube. But until recently, the ASMR community has primarily coalesced online. ASMR enthusiasts — a.k.a. “Tingleheads” — typically have watched videos online of a practitioner whispering while combing a client’s hair, for example, or dipping rose petals into paraffin wax and, after they harden, tapping the edges on a hard surface to trigger a sense of relaxation or bliss.

Faraji, in addition to opening Kas Wellness, also posts ASMR videos on TikTok, where she has more than 300,000 followers. One of her videos — in which she chews gum while dripping warm massage oil onto the back of a client’s neck — has garnered more than 26 million views.

But ASMR‘s online dominance is changing as more and more brick-and-mortar ASMR studios pop up around the country.

“There’s been a lack of real-world opportunities for people to intentionally have their ASMR triggered by an expert,” says physiologist Craig Richard, author of 2018’s “Brain Tingles.” “It’s only starting to happen in the real world where you can go and explore it through an intentional ASMR practitioner, like you can walk in and get a massage.”

Kas Wellness has opened in Costa Mesa, one of two in-person ASMR studios in the L.A. area.

(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)

As the founder of ASMR University, which compiles and shares research findings around ASMR, Richard keeps an updated list of in-person ASMR studios internationally — and they’re still rare, he says. “As of January, there are 16 businesses that stimulate ASMR in person in the U.S., four in Canada, 11 in Europe and one in South Africa,” he says.

In addition to Kas Wellness, the L.A. area also has Soft Touch ASMR Spa in Pasadena, which caters to women and nonbinary clients. But little else.

ASMR practitioner Kayla Faraji.

(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)

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Faraji says she conceived Kas Wellness as a full-scale “luxury ASMR boutique” with spa vibes. The space is a mash-up of textures: Rows of warm, flickering candles illuminate a cool, polished concrete floor; velvet curtains ripple by plush and furry throw rugs. There’s a candy dish in the lobby, which is awash in hues of cream and white, offering visitors gummies infused with passion fruit and the calming herb ashwagandha.

Kas Wellness offers one signature ASMR service — or “sensory journey” — for one hour, 90 minutes or 100 minutes. Clients may upgrade to a “four hand session,” in which two practitioners work on them simultaneously. As in a massage, guests undress “to the level of their comfort,” Faraji says (I did from the waist up) and slip beneath crisp white sheets on a treatment bed in a private room. Practitioners — there are four at Kas Wellness — then stimulate the head, face, chest, arms, hands and back using “tingle tools,” as they’re sometimes called, or “triggers.” One is a so-called “sparkle brush,” filled with tiny beads that rattle as the brush sweeps through hair; another is a soft “sensory brush” that provides a form of white noise when swooshing over skin; jade stone combs feel cool to the touch and give off a hollow scratching sound.

Tools used for an ASMR session include pink goose feathers, skeleton hands, bamboo chopsticks, metal golden nails, green jade combs, sensory brushes and a pink sparkle brush.

(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)

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Faraji likes to use her own nails as a sensory trigger.

“The human connection is such a part of this,” she says. “We try to spend time incorporating real touch as much as possible.”

That said, the ASMR experience is distinctly different than a massage, Faraji explains.

“Fundamentally, the concept of a massage is manipulating your tissue and muscles through pressure,” she says. “ASMR is the complete opposite — we use light sensory touch to relieve stress. We’re not kneading or applying pressure or manipulating your joints. It’s surface touch. We have so many nerves in our body and they’re all firing — it takes your body out of fight or flight.”

For an additional $20, guests can don robes and enjoy the lounge area before their treatment. It features hanging macrame chairs, a tabletop mindfulness garden and refreshments such as sparkling water, hot tea and Japanese whiskey. There’s also a meditation corner, where visitors can scribble what they want to let go of in their life on pieces of water soluble paper, before dropping them into a dish of floating candles and watching their troubles dissolve. Then they’re encouraged to light a candle and meditate on positive intentions they want to bring into their lives.

Kayla Faraji caresses Deborah Vankin’s head with green jade combs, which make a hollow “click-clacking” sound.

(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)

Kas Wellness also offers custom sound baths for up to eight guests at a time. Faraji leads the sound bath experience and, by request, ASMR practitioners will gently brush clients’ hair or scritch-scratch their arms while they listen to her play the singing bowls.

Kas Wellness may be rooted in ASMR, but the overall effect feels more robust: part high-end massage studio, part spa, part sound bath destination and part meditation center.

Reporter Deborah Vankin lights a floating meditation candle after her ASMR session.

(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)

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“It’s about the mind-body-soul connection and ASMR is just the anchoring modality,” Faraji says of her new boutique. “It’s equally important to have the gratitude breathwork at the end [of a session] for mindfulness. Because if your mind isn’t well, your body will never feel calm.”

After my treatment, I lingered in the lounge, where everything felt especially pronounced: my bare feet on the cool cement floor, my toes sinking into the plush rug, even the scent of my hot peppermint tea. I’m not sure if I’d felt the tingles, per say, but I was relaxed for the rest of the day.

“ASMR is such a universal thing,” Faraji says. “When we’re younger, physical touch is such a big part of our creativity — girls will sit and braid each other’s hair and there was that rhyming game, where you tickle each other’s backs [like] spiders crawling up your back. But as we get older, we have less access to soft nurturing touch, especially if you’re single. I think that’s why ASMR resonates with so many people. It’s just comforting.”

Joann Moschella has been biking the steep streets of San Francisco since the late 1980s.

“The insanity of the hills, not to mention the relentless westerly winds that bring the fog, are not the real danger, though they are a challenge,” Moschella said. “Everyone who rides a bike in a big city knows that the real danger is other cars.”

About eight years ago, Moschella was reminded of this risk. She was biking the mile-long commute from her workplace to a station of the local subway system, known as BART. When she was a block away, a car cut into the bike lane. Moschella veered to the right.

“[I] was about to congratulate myself on avoiding a collision, but the car clipped my rear tire,” Moschella recalled. “I went down so quickly I was still gripping the handlebars when my helmet hit the ground, then my face met the pavement and a big gash opened above one eye.”

Luckily, Moschella didn’t lose consciousness, and she was able to move herself and her bike to the sidewalk. Her glasses had fallen off during the collision, and she started to look for them.

Just then, a young man approached her. He was wearing a furry lavender bunny suit and riding an electric unicycle.

“Are you OK? Can I help you?” she recalled the young man asking.

“Stunned by the impact, I thought to myself, ‘Wow, when you die in San Francisco, you’re greeted by a spirit animal,’” Moschella said.

After realizing the man in the bunny suit was in fact real, Moschella asked if he could help find her glasses.

“We turned, and there they were in the middle of the intersection. He made a high-pitch sound of triumph and moved to retrieve them, but as he did so, a big truck ran them over and they exploded into a dozen pieces,” Moschella said.

The young man gathered the pieces of the broken glasses and returned them to Moschella. He then asked if she required an ambulance.

“I’m a physician, and I had already checked myself out,” Moschella said. “No broken bones. Head wounds can bleed abundantly, but I could tell it was not a dangerous cut. I just wanted to get home.”

She asked if he could help her get to BART, and he agreed. Together, they walked and limped to the station, and he sent her on her way.

“The delight of the young man in the bunny suit coming to my rescue affirmed everything I love about San Francisco: the kindness, the spontaneous spirit of community and the freedom to dress like a lavender bunny in broad daylight,” Moschella said.

My Unsung Hero is also a podcast — new episodes are released every Tuesday. To share the story of your unsung hero with the Hidden Brain team, record a voice memo on your phone and send it to myunsunghero@hiddenbrain.org.