I think it’s morally better to do exuberant jumping and dancing and sweating at a ‘sober rave’ for its own sake, rather than self-improvement
Morning Gloryville is a sober rave that starts at 6.30am. This is a thing now. You go clubbing in trainers before work, get high on the endorphins, then go to the office. It sounds contrived, a bid to cool-ify an aerobics class. I expected fitness-freaks arriving alone, doing star jumps for an hour before heading to the office at 8 in Lycra with branded water bottles and rucksacks full of work clothes.
But I was wrong. I turn up at 6.30am to what looks just like an actual rave: a half-hour queue, bouncers checking bags on the door. There are lots of women in neon vests covered in glitter, hallooing each other with “YOU LOOK BEAUTIFUL”. Two men are drumming. It is rare to be solo, and I feel just as old and shy as if I’d turned up alone at a regular club. But it’s not an alienating crowd, unless you find everyone’s outrageous beauty off-putting.
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