Please Don’t Kill The Vibe: Dancing and the Future of American Nightlife

A night out on the town is no longer synonymous with dancing. The vibrant, electrifying dance scenes that defined the college parties of our parents’ generation are artifacts of the past. For decades, dance was central to American youth culture, yet today, it has faded from the mainstream social landscape. Young people go out far less than previous generations, and when they do, they are more likely to stand still, maybe sway a little bit, engage in drinking games, or scroll on their phones—anything but lose themselves in the music. Thousands of American nightclubs close their doors every year, easily outpacing new openings. Whether at discos, nightclubs, or at college parties, movement was once a collective expression of joy, rebellion, and social connection. What killed dancing, and how can we save it?

Your parents were right: phones are a problem. But maybe not for the reasons they cite. The most visible kind of dance in the mainstream today is on TikTok. With it, dance has shifted from an organic expression to a carefully curated product. Short-form video platforms prioritize neatly packaged, replicable trends designed to be recorded and performed for a consumer audience, rather than simply done for the sake of joy. Dance is to be seen rather than felt.

What’s even more striking is that dance circles at parties and clubs, when they do appear, induce anxiety among onlookers. Knowing that any moment one could be recorded and posted online produces a sense of self-surveillance, which leads to rigid, inhibited social behavior. The fear of looking “awkward” or “cringe” discourages spontaneous, experimental moves and often prevents any dance at all. This is a stark contrast to past eras where dance floors offered a sense of anonymity and freedom. Author and writer Melissa Kirsch of the New York Times recounts the “exhilarating opportunity” to “turn off our brains and let loose, to express ourselves physically” during impromptu dance gatherings outside her suburban subway station in the early ‘90s. Heather Havrilesky, also of the Times, writes that in the past, men would confidently dance and “didn’t whine or steadfastly refuse to try.”

Today, however, the ever-present gaze of the camera has made young people hyper-aware of their physical presence, turning dance into a game of calculated self-presentation for a consumable image. At parties, dancing becomes labor for the attention economy—curating one’s online presence, capturing the “perfect” moment, or performing rote, perfunctory motions dictated by drinking games.

Dance has also suffered under a culture that demands productivity even from our leisure time. Especially on a competitive campus like this, “efficient” uses of downtime are socially encouraged—even relaxation is planned around optimization. Precise self-care routines, structured gym schedules, and scheduled mindfulness app reminders turn rest into a goal-oriented task. Leisure activities are increasingly done as means to certain ends: exercising to hit fitness goals, shopping to meet fashion trends, or even reading to stay “competitive” in academic or professional spheres.

These same pressures that encourage us to maximize leisure time also make it harder to truly relax. In surveys, one of the most cited reasons Gen Z prefers a night in rather than going out with friends is simply being “too tired, too often.” Although there are many reasons for our exhaustion, productivity culture is the primary culprit. Being “on” all the time means being constantly aware of responsibilities and expectations, even in physical spaces meant for unwinding. Phones, in many ways, permit this state of perpetual engagement—checking emails late at night, responding to texts immediately, constantly tracking spending habits or productivity metrics, and staying updated on the latest online discourse. The result? Even when we technically have free time, we don’t feel free enough to let go: we either fill our time with “efficient” leisure or engage in passive forms of leisure—scrolling, binge-watching, or staying home entirely.

When productivity is excessively glorified, exhaustion is pervasive and going out and dancing is increasingly less appealing. Informal dance, particularly in unstructured environments like parties and clubs, feels out of place when so many aspects of leisure are shaped by metrics of improvement, efficiency, and external validation.

If phones, productivity culture, and “generational” exhaustion have all contributed to the death of dance in mainstream American nightlife culture, how can we bring it back?

First, we need to reclaim dance as a kind of non-market, non-commercialized energy expenditure, something that serves no economic function yet is fulfilling precisely for that reason. French theorist Georges Bataille spoke of dépense—excessive, non-productive expenditure—as essential to a vibrant, unalienated life. Dance offers a perfect model for this: a joyful, communal act done for its own sake, outside the logic of monetization and optimization. Informal, messy, communal dance is one way of resisting the logic that leisure must be perfected, documented, or consumed, and, instead, a way of embracing a kind of anti-market logic necessary for true rest from working life.

A practical solution is creating phone-free spaces—or at least actively disincentivizing screen use in social environments. Clubs and parties should adopt policies prohibiting photos and videos, discouraging phone use, and thereby facilitating a freedom to dance. DJs like Tinzo and Jojo—who I have had the pleasure of seeing live—have created phone-free spaces to great popular success, demonstrating that when the screens are removed, dance floors become more immersive, energetic, and freeing.

The risks of going out must be confronted before dance can be fully revived. In a similar manner, reducing the emotional labor of going out—such as the pressure to perform certain gendered norms or only display certain kinds of emotions like joy, confidence, or flirtatiousness—is crucial for the survival of dance.

A broader rethinking of mainstream American nightlife culture is necessary for a new emergence of dance culture. Nightlife venues—often the archetypal dance-friendly environments—should be made safer, more affordable, and more inclusive. We should create a variety of nightlife spaces—not just nightclubs—that are queer- and trans-friendly, disabled-friendly, sober-friendly, and driven by inclusivity. We should also rethink nightlife as something open to various age groups, not just 21+ clubgoers. Moreover, nightlife venues should broaden their appeal and longevity by combining traditional aspects of club culture like drinking and drug use, with other forms of social engagement, such as art, performance, politics, and community-building. Ultimately, by increasing the number of self-regulating, tolerant, diverse spaces—free from the constraints of commercial interests—people will be more fulfilled and energized when going out and more likely to dance because of it.

With all this said, dance is not completely dead—perhaps it is just dying. It thrives in certain subcultures, extracurricular dance clubs, and underground party scenes. Community-driven dance scenes, social dance classes, and even spontaneous dance parties in college dorms or public spaces keep the spirit of dance alive. But by and large, dance has been pushed aside, commodified, or abandoned.

It would be a mistake to think we can revive dance simply by attending more parties or clubs. Instead, we need to shift the way we think about nightlife, leisure, joy, and social connection. We need to carve out spaces for dance that aren’t mediated by screens, productivity culture, or economic incentives. We need to encourage spontaneous, unapologetic, and, yes, terrible dancing. Let’s not kill the vibe.

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Ted Bergman is a sophomore in the College studying Anthropology and Political Economy, and is an Executive Editor at the INDY.