NEW YORK – Glitter clings to people’s cheeks as they dance in circles, clasp hands with strangers and hug like they’ve known each other for years. Someone with rhinestones pressed around her eyes asks if I want a spray of Mario Badescu rose water.
I’m wearing bright red leggings I haven’t touched since sophomore year of college. An eBay ad flashes across the giant screens above us. Then, I look up and see the glowing Times Square ball hanging overhead.
If this sounds like a disjointed dream, that’s because I’m still half asleep. It’s 6 a.m., I’m at a sober morning rave on the roof of One Times Square, and the city is just waking up.
My ticket proclaimed, “No bottle service. No VIP. Just world-class music, sunlight cutting through and a dance floor made for actual dancing” and encouraged me to dress in my best oranges and reds (hence the leggings) to celebrate the Year of the Fire Horse.
Upon my arrival, a staff member catches me off guard when he asks me for a hug. “Welcome to Daybreaker!” someone else exclaims, ushering me into the elevator, where we sail past 25 floors on our way to the roof.
I’m not a morning person. Usually, if I am awake this early it’s to catch a flight − or because I’ve yet to go to bed for the night. But even my tired eyes can immediately tell this party looks nothing like the raves I’ve been to in Berlin, Brooklyn or anywhere else.
At a sober morning rave, I found yoga, DJs and kombucha shots
This roof has hosted famous faces like Lady Gaga, Bill and Hillary Clinton and Muhammad Ali to lower the ceremonial ball in Times Square, but the morning of May 15, it’s lined with orange mats for a yoga session.
“It takes a lot of courage to be a human being today,” says yoga facilitator Karine Plantadit as she leads us through breathwork and a chaturanga sequence ending in downward dog.
I feel like I’m part of the Rockettes’ kick line as I follow instructions to place my right leg up into the air and extend my arms to touch those next to me.
“Hold onto somebody, New Yorkers, it’s OK to touch!” instructs Plantadit.
After yoga, the morning really begins when guests begin filing in for the dance party.
I came to the event expecting to find mainly a Gen Z crowd, and am surprised to see a mix of millennials and Gen Xers trickle in, some of whom even brought their children. But the crowd of more than 300 people blends into one as we dance to “Ice Ice Baby” and “Pump Up the Jam.”
“I don’t really go out at night, so this is kind of my way to let loose,” says 34-year-old Daniel Ahmadizadeh, who has attended more than 20 Daybreaker events across the country. He’s since brought his mom, brother and grandma to events.
He and I take shots − of kombucha, of course.
We choose ginger and turmeric immunity ones, though there are also tiny bottles of matcha and others that promise energy through ginseng, instead of caffeine. Nearby, coolers are packed with electrolyte drinks, nonalcoholic cocktail alternatives and canned cold brew.
Night life is giving way to day life
This union of wellness and rave culture is part of a bigger shift toward intentional socializing as more Americans de-center alcohol and seek out offline events. According to data from Eventbrite, morning raves have grown 20%. Coffee clubbing, and sauna and ice bath events, which are also part of this soft clubbing movement, are up 478% and 256%, respectively.
In New York, popular dance club Joyface hosts a matinee disco geared toward millennials and older. There are variants of cold plunge parties in San Francisco and Savannah, Georgia; a silent disco in Florida; and coffee parties in Toronto and Miami.
“People aren’t going out at night anymore because sleep and longevity practices are sort of all the rage for Gen Z today, and certainly also for millennials like me as well. I want to be in bed by 10 p.m.,” says Radha Agrawal, Daybreaker’s CEO and co-founder. “I wanted to marry the world of nightlife and wellness together and create a baby.”
In many ways, Daybreaker helped pioneer the day life movement. Its first event took place December 10, 2013, at a venue in Union Square in Manhattan. It was snowing, and Agrawal worried no one would come. But a crowd showed up, cold and ready to dance at 6 a.m. The movement exploded from there, leading to events in 66 cities and a playbook that other groups have used as inspiration.
Earlier that week, Agrawal gave me the rundown on a Zoom call. As we spoke, she alternated between sipping bone broth in one hand and drinking from a separate mug of turmeric, ginger and lemon-honey tea.
“When you’re at an event, there’s a contact high that you get from being with other people,” Agrawal explained, gesturing with her hands, each nail painted in a different shade of blue, yellow and pink.
At the early morning event, I can see what she means. The energy on the dance floor is palpable, but still, it takes a while for me to catch on. I’m worried about looking silly, dancing in a group of strangers on a weekday morning.
When I see Agrawal on Friday, she assures me that my hesitation is normal.
But when I look around, I’m encouraged to see no one is paying much attention to me. So I borrow a pair of earbuds that are available on site, put my head down and let my body feel the music.
A child blows bubbles. Someone brings out a huge drum. At some point, Agrawal’s micro golden doodle Nanü rubs against my ankle.
Can dancing cure loneliness?
Loneliness is something the former U.S. Surgeon General, Vivek Murthy, has spoken extensively about. Even before the COVID-19 pandemic, roughly half of adults reported experiencing loneliness, but Murthy in the spring of 2023 declared America’s loneliness epidemic a public health crisis.
Plus, studies have shown connections and friendships are good for our health and longevity.
Pat Brown, a woman in her 70s sporting a colorful orange wig, says Daybreaker brings her energy. She says that when her partner died during the pandemic, dancing became a source of refuge.
“I can be lonely. I can feel alone, depressed,” Brown says. “You come into this crowd and my heart is just bursting with joy.”
Social connection is an issue Agrawal has spent years thinking about. She’s the co-founder of an anti-loneliness startup, the Belong Center, and the author of “BELONG: Find your people, create your community & live a more connected life.”
She tells me that she’s worried for my generation. That we’ve forgotten how to be uncomfortable, and that Gen Z needs to recognize that awkwardness is a feature, not a flaw, of making friendships.
She thinks dancing could be the way in.
“If Gen Zers hang out with millennials and hang out with Gen Xers and hang out with boomers, there’s a sense of ‘I’m a part of something bigger than my own myopic struggles,’” Agrawal says. “If we do that, we can braid our communities back together.”
Agrawal might be right.
By 9 a.m., my self-consciousness has disappeared as “BAILE INoLVIDABLE” blasts through the speakers.
I’m not sure if I feel more more connected or just more awake. But as I look down at passing taxi cabs, I decide there’s a comfort in starting the day surrounded by strangers. At least for today, we all chose to be together.
Rachel Hale’s role covering Youth Mental Health at USA TODAY is supported by a partnership with Pivotal and Journalism Funding Partners. Funders do not provide editorial input.
Reach her at [email protected] and @rachelleighhale on X.
