I thought I would miss my chance at breakfast raving because I was always busy when the monthly events were happening - or, more realistically, because I forget about things really fast and never planned ahead enough to actually look into buying tickets.
When I was researching this article, though, I discovered that the one Dublin breakfast rave remaining before I leave the country was scheduled for July 1. My last day of work was June 30. My time had come.
I bought tickets and, at 7:00 yesterday morning, it was rave time.
First, I had to figure out what exactly one wears to a breakfast rave or, for that matter, any rave. My personal style basically consists of owning this t-shirt in 20 colors and wearing it every day with some kind of jeans or, like, a skirt if I'm forced. Rave wear is not so much my thing.
I bought a pair of harem pants one time - at Forever 21, because I'm a poser - so I settled on those and a tank top that I mostly use to sleep in when it's hot outside, confirming my status as a Fashion Girl. My roommate conveniently owns a neon yellow workout tank top (disclaimer: this does not mean that either of us works out) and a matching sweatband (?), so we ended up a surprisingly rave-y pair.
I had a great time.
My roommate and I always end up looking like weirdos when we go out, because we dance really shamelessly and non-sexually and people don't know what to do about it. We were excited by this rave premise, then, because basically the whole point is to dance really shamelessly. As it turns out, people will still stare at you when you pony for three straight minutes to the beat of techno music, even if you are at a rave and literally surrounded by things to stare at.
I danced very energetically for the first thirty minutes or so on the pure adrenaline of being at a breakfast rave. Then I remembered that I'm comically out of shape and retired to a corner where I could pant and sweat profusely in peace.
From my sweat corner, I did some people-watching and spotted a lot of rather interesting things.
Most importantly, there was the tribe of otherworldly hoop women who I blatantly stared at the entire morning. Dreads, sarongs, harem pants, lotus tattoos...basically everything you'd expect in a person who'd show up to a rave at 6:30 in the morning. They were fascinating. I could not look away.
Similar to the hoop women was the gang of employees running the event, who ran around the whole time encouraging people to dance and generally acting like overzealous camp counselors, with more hugging. I was hugged by no fewer than five rave employees when I entered the club. Weirdly, I didn't even mind, because I was so freakin' excited about being at a breakfast rave.
Me.
One thing I still minded as much as I ever do was children. An appalling number of people brought small children to this thing. (By "appalling number," I mean roughly three.) In theory, this is a cute addition to the "all are welcome, our rave runs on pure love and harmony" vibe, but in practice, the kids kept running through the crowd and only narrowly avoiding decapitation by errant hula hoops. The whole thing made me nervous. We all know kids won't be allowed if I ever have a wedding. I can now say that they also won't be allowed in the equally likely event that I host a rave.
Overall, I'm not gonna lie: this thing was every bit as awesome as I thought it would be in my head. It was a great excuse to drag myself out of bed early in the morning, and it really did end up energizing me enough to have a really productive day. I would absolutely go to a breakfast rave again if I end up in a city that has them. And if someone invented a fitness class that just consisted of pre-dawn rave dancing in sketchy clubs, I would probably actually "join a gym."
So, cat cafe, breakfast rave...what trendy nonsense should I wholeheartedly buy into next? Give me your ideas. Just don't even think about suggesting kale.
