Morningloryville has become a global phenomenon
Hosting events in eleven countries, their concept is ‘an immersive morning dance party’, their 'raves' start at 6.30am and end four hours later, after hundreds of people have shaken off their bed heads with a couple of hours of pre-work dancing.
Job titles within the company include ‘Head of Making Friends’ and the people who come to their parties are covered in glitter and flit between wearing Hareem pants or spandex.
I decided to bite the bullet and see what 200 people could possibly want to do in an empty nightclub at nine in the morning.
They’re All About Retro Smash Hits
These ravers are not here for serious, eyes down melodies. They want hits, and they want them now. ATB, The B-52’s, Crystal Waters; serve up hands in the air bangers and Morningloryville's be-glittered dancefloor thrives. Duke Dumont and Gorgon City seemed to fair less well on the dancefloor.
Everyone Is Invited
People in suits. People on their own. Babies wearing headphones the size of their faces. Morningloryville thrives on the fact that it's a free-for-all, and everyone who walks into the club is greeted with the type of smile rarely seen in the early hours of anyone’s working day.
Never Be Too Sure Of What You See On The Dancefloor
I caught one guy handing a suspicious sealed bag to another, who after showing enormous thanks slid over to the other side of the dancefloor. Thinking I’d happened on a dodgy transaction, I followed the guy only to watch him take two earplugs out of the bag and clamber onto the speaker to dance. Apparently baggies don't always = bad behaviour.
Whatever these guys are doing, it’s clearly working because everyone is HOT.
Never have I seen so many ripped abs at 8:45 in the morning. No lies. Some serious man and woman candy up in that place. Perhaps it was the glitter, or the amount of gratuitous flesh on show, but I think I fell in love half of the room.
There's No Such Thing As A Wallflower
As I edged around the sides of the dancefloor I became acutely aware that wearing black jeans in a room full of spandex was making me stand out like someone who had snuck into a room full of people with way too much energy. My sheepishness was clearly very apparent as a tiny lady with dreadlocks appeared, making a heart out of her hands and whispering “I Love You” into my face. My drab dress no longer mattered as I floated into the crowd, lured in by the power of the dance.
