OK Zoomers, it’s time to lose the cringe. Let’s dance

We all need to dance, at all stages and ages of life. But particularly in our 20s.

A Sydney University Study published last year found having a groove is not just physically good for you but also reduces anxiety, distress and depression while improving motivation. It’s also spiritual. I am not a person of faith but the times I’ve felt transcendence have been on the dance floor at Mardi Gras, Sleaze Ball, warehouse parties or Big Day Outs. I still have a chat group “meet you under the mirror ball” with friends forever connected through nights of musical worship where we danced until dawn. A certain strobe light at Vivid can take me back to that communal bliss. The Faithless song God Is a DJ is a cultural anthem that celebrates a dance floor’s connection to a transformative power. As Maxi Jazz rapped, “This is my church. This is where I heal my hurt”.

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Far from being faithless, this Buddhist from Brixton understood that the dance floor was a place where “young lives take shape”, where they can be “content in the hum”. He told me he relished the power that dance had to raise consciousness. And when he stood on stage, spread his arms out wide and sang to the heavenly heaving mass, he was a high priest of house.

Dance grounds you; it pulls you into your body, but it also allows your brain to let go and lose your body to the beat. Dance is healing. It’s a mutual high and a communal hug. It’s a blessing with a dose of devilishly sexy delight. It’s where drums match heartbeats and bodies move together, apart. And in that universal devotion to dance there’s a synchronicity of hearts and minds. A dance floor can be a place of love, compassion, kindness, respect. And it’s a rite-of-passage for a young generation to feel that connection.

While Generation Z avoid the dance floor, people of my age are returning. Ministry of Sound is a nightclub and record label based in London reviving its original anthems in day parties. Last year it hosted DJs and laser lights over three nights at Sydney’s coolest heritage venue – the remodelled White Bay Power Station. Thousands danced on the tar-blackened concrete floors where we had danced at illegal raves in the ’90s. Back in their church of beats, bellied and balding Generation X-ers regained their communal connection in comfortable shoes.

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Due to a (dance floor) injury, I have not danced for years. But my physio has just cleared me for action. In fact, he has prescribed it. I’m feeling the nerves of the young – contained, constricted and cringed. Perhaps I’ll begin with “No L” – a dance floor in darkness, liberated from the judgment of others.

I’d like to suggest these as a gateway dance drug for the generation who don’t dance enough.

So come on kids, you can’t afford housing, your future is uncertain and old, rich, angry men are ruining your world. Take to the dance floor and let it all lift for a few hours. I wish you communal joy and the therapy of the throng.

Warm up on TikTok where everybody dances. There’s talk there about “cringe mountain”. The idea that everyone who is cool started as cringe. Every good dancer started as bad. Nudge nonchalance away, climb cringe mountain, throw the phone away and dance like nobody’s watching.

Sarah Macdonald is a writer and broadcaster.

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