On a roof at One Times Square, a sober morning rave blends yoga, DJs, and kombucha with a promise that feels almost radical in the city that never stops: connection without alcohol.
NEW YORK — Glitter clings to cheeks as dancers move in circles. clasp hands with strangers. and hug like they’ve known each other for years. A woman with rhinestones pressed around her eyes offers rose water in a spray. Bright red leggings—left untouched since sophomore year of college—catch the glow of the giant screens above.
It’s 6 a.m., and the Times Square ball hangs overhead.
I came because my ticket said, “No bottle service. No VIP. Just world-class music. sunlight cutting through and a dance floor made for actual dancing.” It also told guests to dress in oranges and reds to celebrate the Year of the Fire Horse. Still, the timing feels unreal. If this is what “disjointed dream” looks like, it’s because I’m not fully awake. And this party isn’t supposed to look like the raves I’ve known—Berlin, Brooklyn, anywhere else at night.
Instead, when I arrive at the roof of One Times Square, a staff member catches me off guard by asking for a hug. “Welcome to Daybreaker!” someone else calls out as I’m ushered into an elevator. We rise past 25 floors until the city is just waking up beneath us.
Famous for bright nights, Times Square turns into mats and breathwork
This roof has hosted famous faces like Lady Gaga, Bill and Hillary Clinton, and Muhammad Ali lowering the ceremonial ball in Times Square. But on the morning of May 15, orange yoga mats cover the space.
“It takes a lot of courage to be a human being today,” yoga facilitator Karine Plantadit says as she leads guests through breathwork and a chaturanga sequence ending in downward dog.
I follow instructions to put my right leg up and extend my arms toward those next to me. “Hold onto somebody, New Yorkers, it’s OK to touch!” Plantadit tells the group.
The dance floor begins to take over afterward. Guests file in for the morning party, and the crowd surprises me. I expected mostly Gen Z. Instead, millennials and Gen Xers trickle in alongside younger attendees, with some guests bringing children. More than 300 people fill the roof and blend together as the DJs play “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. He has attended more than 20 Daybreaker events across the country—and has brought his mom, brother, and grandma.
Ahmadizadeh and I take shots, too. Not alcohol: kombucha. We choose ginger and turmeric immunity ones. with other tiny bottles offering matcha and drinks promising energy through ginseng instead of caffeine. Nearby, coolers are stocked with electrolyte drinks, nonalcoholic cocktail alternatives, and canned cold brew.
The wider shift: wellness and nightlife start sharing the same floor
What’s happening on this roof is part of a larger shift in the U.S. nightlife economy—less alcohol at the center and more offline experiences built around wellness routines.
Data from Eventbrite shows morning raves have grown 20%. Coffee clubbing is up 478%, and sauna and ice bath events are up 256%.
In New York, Joyface hosts a matinee disco geared toward millennials and older. Variants of cold plunge parties are popping up in San Francisco and Savannah, Georgia. Florida has a silent disco. Coffee parties run 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.”.
Daybreaker, which helped pioneer what’s now called “day life,” launched early. Its first event took place on December 10, 2013, at a venue in Union Square in Manhattan. Snow was falling. Agrawal said she worried no one would show up. A crowd did arrive, cold and ready to dance at 6 a.m.
From there, the movement spread to events in 66 cities, along with a playbook other groups used as inspiration.
On a Zoom earlier that week, Agrawal described the experience as part physical ritual, part human contact. During our conversation, she alternated between sipping bone broth and drinking from a 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 said, gesturing with her hands. Her nails were painted in different shades of blue, yellow, and pink.
At the event, I feel that energy on the dance floor—but it takes time for me to let go. The biggest struggle is simple: I’m worried I’ll look silly dancing in a group of strangers on a weekday morning.
When I see Agrawal later—on Friday—she reassures me that my hesitation is normal.
Then, as the music keeps coming, I look around and notice people aren’t staring. I borrow earbuds available on site, lower my gaze, and let the sound pull me into the rhythm.
A child blows bubbles. A huge drum gets brought out. At some point, Agrawal’s micro golden doodle, Nanü, rubs against my ankle.
And the city keeps rolling toward morning.
By 9 a.m., questions turn into comfort
Loneliness is part of what hangs behind these events, even when the party is busy being joyful.
The former U.S. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy has spoken extensively about loneliness. Even before the COVID-19 pandemic, roughly half of adults reported experiencing loneliness. In spring 2023, Murthy declared America’s loneliness epidemic a public health crisis. Studies have also shown connections and friendships benefit health and longevity.
Pat Brown, a woman in her 70s wearing a colorful orange wig, says Daybreaker gives her energy. She describes how, when her partner died during the pandemic, dancing became a 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.”
Agrawal has spent years thinking about that kind of need. She is 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 she worries for my generation—saying Gen Z has forgotten how to be uncomfortable and that awkwardness is a feature. not a flaw. of making friendships.
She thinks dancing can be the route back.
“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.”
By 9 a.m., my self-consciousness is gone. “BAILE INoLVIDABLE” blasts from the speakers. I can’t tell if I feel more connected or just more awake. But as I watch taxis slide by below, I decide there’s comfort in starting the day surrounded by strangers.
For today, we all chose to be together.
Daybreaker Times Square sober raves wellness nightlife kombucha loneliness Eventbrite data Gen Z sleep and longevity Joyface coffee clubbing