Alice Coster: Why Gen Z won’t dance like there’s nobody watching

Clubgoers say social media has made Australia’s dancefloors “kinda tragic” as Gen Z steps aside, afraid to be caught on camera expressing themselves spontaneously.

Melbourne has lost her shuffle.

It’s a murder of the dancefloor. But no one can blame it on the boogie, because they aren’t boogying anymore.

So when did everyone stop dancing?

The main factor comes down to dancing like nobody’s watching, because now everyone is watching.

With iPhones and cameras out, the cringe culture is rampant among the Gen Z’s.

Clubgoers are blaming social media and everybody filming on the dancefloor to document every moment to their friends on Snapchat or TikTok as to why people have lost the freedom to lose yourself. Or to quote the mortal words of Madonna: Express yourself.

A recent radio call around of club-goers throughout Australia had people saying the dancefloor had become “kinda tragic”.

“People have forgotten how to dance,” said one.

“You are so scared of making the wrong step or someone seeing what you are doing or filming what you are doing and thinking that it is cringe.

“They’re not free with it anymore because they see all this stuff on social media and they can’t really emulate it.”

If everyone puts their phone down, they can be in the moment on the dancefloor.

Clubs in Berlin, Ibiza and London are now starting to put stickers on the front and back of camera phones with a no photos policy aiming at fostering a more spontaneous and immersive experience with freedom of expression.

Melbourne DJ Joey Lightbulb says he loves this idea for Down Under: “Everyone so desperately wants to be in the moment these days; if we all agree to put our phones away while we’re on the dancefloor then everyone will have a better boogie.”

As an OG shuffler from back in Melbourne’s underground rave scene in the late 90s, sneaking out to a party at a Footscray warehouse to dance all night and long into the morning, it feels more cringe to think kids have lost this rite of passage.

Everything and everyone was welcome in Melbourne’s early rave days. Picture: Getty Images

Dancing was life. Wearing homemade badly sewn booties over your kicks, a Little Miss Sunshine crop top and frosted glitter eye makeup, the besties and I would set the alarm for midnight with the main aim of hitting the d-floor for as long as possible. It was an escape from school, from eating disorders, from parents and from conformity. There were no macho males and aggressors, or predators like at some of the nightclubs (which we legally couldn’t get into) or worse at the school parties in the park. It was a community. We were all black sheep from some flock or another. And we were there to dance.

The Spice Girls were lame and mainstream. We would instead carve up the dance floor, glow sticks in hand to keep up with German electronic DJ Sven Vath playing six hours straight at Shed 14 Dock’s party until the break of dawn.

The rave scene was alive and well in the ’90s in Australia and Europe.

The party scene was alive. It all happened organically. But it wouldn’t have been if there were iPhones at every laser light, or, God forbid, in chill-out rooms.

There was a vulnerability to just dance. It didn’t matter how you looked. Some would be making crazed box movements with their hands to the techno beats, others kicking wildly into the air, some shuffling from side to side manically. Everything and everyone was welcome, just no bad vibes. It was pumping.

I remember practising what became later known around the world as “the Melbourne shuffle” – our rave culture scene would become globally renowned along with other throbbing party cities like Berlin, London and New York – stepping side to side holding on to the counter in my best friend’s kitchen.

But it’s not all lost says Joey Lightbulb, with his dancefloors jam packed and sold out including next month’s gig, Winter of Disco Content at The Nightcat in Brunswick.

“I’ve noticed a shift back the other way recently,” he says.

“I think cringe culture is receding and the next wave of kids will frown upon those always pulling their phone out on the dance floor. I think I’m lucky at my gigs that most people come to throw ass.”

So to again groove into a line from the icons, this time Bowie: “Let’s dance!”