At 6 am on Saturday, September 12, I poured a Dolly Parton-inspired cup of ambition and headed into the three-hour Brisbane Festival DAYBREAKER event at South Bank’s Festival Village. I was curious to find out what happens to a party when alcohol is removed, and strangers are asked to connect, dance and manufacture collective joy in broad daylight.

Who else would attend a 6am wellness rave? Well, 50 far more ambitious people than me gathered in the marquee as the first droplets of rain fell. Grey clouds did nothing to dampen sunny dispositions as they all smiled and stretched.

I still had no idea what I’d signed up for. The only information I had before arriving was: “Global alcohol-free morning dance and wellness phenomenon DAYBREAKER combines high-energy DJ sets, yoga, movement and unexpected moments of play for a community experience that starts the day fully alive. Coffee over cocktails, connection over convention: whether you arrive with your crew or step in solo, DAYBREAKER is an invitation to dance, sweat and be present at daybreak.”

For me, the best things about a night out with friends are getting ready together, the uninhibited dancing, followed by a greasy breakfast. On Saturday, stepping solo, I achieved some dancing before breakfast, but also avoided the things I hate about clubbing, which include (but are not limited to) hangovers, creepy guys and ruining my sleep schedule.

I did the XXXX brewery tour recently and heard about slowing beer production. Drinking culture is changing. Not-for-profit organisations like Hello Sunday Morning and sober October-style challenges, along with the rise of no-carb and zero alcohol options, indicate a growing contemporary appetite for wellness. But can human “connection” be manufactured through an organised event? Can it echo the genuine spontaneity and abandon associated with a night out?

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On my arrival at South Bank, the sun had barely risen. It was raining and 14C. First up was yoga. I wasn’t the only person contorting my body on sodden grass, shoes sinking in the dirt. There had been no advice about bringing your own yoga mat. Wet Lycra stuck to my skin. Cold food and drink and fruit were available, but I was freezing.

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When it came to the dancing, I didn’t know if the anti-alcohol sentiment would encourage alternative Gen Z participants, or some in smudged mascara seeking a daylight finish to their Friday night. Or those reliving their clubbing days.

None of these characters were present. My fellow DAYBREAKERs I would describe as “active” people. They were individuals in pursuit of sunlight, who smelt of morning with coffee-warmed fingertips. They were smiling, full of life and movement. The cold didn’t bother them. Water droplets slipped right off their skin.

This demographic was mostly in their 40s and 50s, predominantly women, but men were represented, with a few kids dancing around. They seemed unselfconscious about their bodies, accepting their shape and the ways it moved, enjoying every uncoordinated extension of their limbs. This crowd embraced the chance to dance with friends. Someone in a wheelchair had crazy moves. The rain kept us together, unified in the shared frazzle of our hair, erratic heartbeats and the desire to be closer to other warm bodies.

The idea of sober socialisation is not exclusive to Brisbane. More than 66 other cities in the world have experienced DAYBREAKER. It is a global phenomenon, with upcoming events in Chicago and Las Vegas. The all-female team has been working for 12 years to establish this multigenerational event that everyone can enjoy as their most authentic selves.

However, it seemed to me that the event activities were broadly pitched to the group rather than the individual. As a mid-20 attendee, the pace and the commentary felt a little forced, as if it was not intended for me or others my age. A line-up of local DJs or musicians could have made it more enticing.

As the morning developed, I didn’t see new connections being formed. Some of the men seemed keen to meet someone organically, away from Apps and late nights, but most people were content in their own circles. There was no alcohol to embolden conversation or dance moves, and nothing to help people forget failed attempts either.

Tickets cost $70, which is steep, especially for young people. The commentators repeated exhortation to “stick out your booty” made me cringe. Nobody did this with as much enthusiasm as a dog I spotted, whose entire butt waggled in time to the bass. I didn’t think the dog could enjoy it more until a trumpeter came out. The dog’s grey muzzle smiled, his ears moving every which way, and his tongue lolled as if he could taste the funky brass tunes.

Umbrellas were abandoned. By 9am, the dancers succeeded in cajoling the sun, persuading it to move past the gloom and welcoming it into their inner circle. Festival Village was then bathed in gold, and every raindrop glistened, making the entire city sparkle.

In these last moments, I sat down to enjoy grey clouds breaking open. I made friends with Ruby, who was operating the nearby coffee stand, as the smell of freshly ground coffee filled the air. The sun warmed my shoulders, and my Lycra finally started to dry.

My cup of ambition had delivered me an experience well outside my comfort zone. While it was refreshing and well-intentioned, I’m not sure I’ll do it again – for a while anyway.

brisbanefestival.com.au

This article was written as part of  The Critical Writing Program, run in partnership with Queensland Writers Centre and InReview Queensland, supported by the Queensland Government through Arts Queensland, part of the Department of Education.