MUNICH — It all feels like regular partying: the bass is pounding, the dance floor is packed, but then the bartender suddenly shouts, “Cappuccino with oat milk?” and that’s when I remember where I am. It’s 6:00 a.m., and I’m standing with around 300 people in a basement club near Sendlinger Tor in Munich, sipping freshly squeezed orange juice and moving to the sound of house music.
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Once a month, people gather at the Legal Club to dance before heading to work, surrounded by dim red lighting, a wooden grid ceiling, and a vintage 1970s DJ booth. The aim: to kick-start the day on the right foot. Sober partying, collective dancing, all leading to a calmer, more productive workday.
Morning raves like this have been a thing in the U.S. for a while, and now they’re catching on in Europe. They started in Utrecht, popped up in Hamburg and Cologne, and now have made it to Munich, the city of BMW, Allianz, and Siemens.
The goal: a more alert and productive day
It seems like a good fit: work hard first, then take a plunge in the Isar. That kind of work/life balance has always worked well here. Former President Roman Herzog once summed it up as “lederhosen and laptop.” So could early-morning partying really be fun and still help me feel sharper and more focused?
So I get a ticket, and a few days later my alarm blares at five in the morning. Yikes. Still, I’m excited. If you’ve got to suffer through waking up early, might as well do it in the company of others.
No dress code, no booze, no bouncer.
But just an hour later at the party, there’s no sign of anyone suffering: wide grins everywhere. No dress code, no booze, no bouncer. No one looking tired either. There’s a guy in a black hoodie shadowboxing his way to the bathroom. I feel totally at ease. Nothing sketchy going on here, no dark corners, just cozy nooks and a well-lit foyer with a juice bar. And honestly, my sleepiness is already long gone.
Could this be the answer to that age-old question of how to get out of bed more easily? There are plenty of theories already: ice baths, sunrise yoga, bulletproof coffee (i.e., with butter, coconut oil, and MCTs for that turbocharged buzz). But could this be the one that sticks?
Dancing instead of jogging
On the crowded dance floor, I meet three women in their early thirties, wearing jeans and blouses, each holding a coffee in one hand and a croissant in the other. I ask how they plan to make it through the day, gesturing to the tired circles under their eyes. “We work in cosmetics,” one says, “we just wipe them off.” The attitude is clear: you’re often tired at work anyway, so why not have a little fun first? Just wipe them off. Work should fit around life, not the other way around. And for that, people are happy to pay ten euros to get in.
Better to dance than head out on your hundredth morning jog.
Most of the people I talk to here are young, either students or professionals in well-paying fields, juggling meetings and flexible schedules. I meet law students (“The music could be louder, but apart from that, this is cool”), an IT project manager, several consultants, a guy from the energy sector, and a woman from healthcare taking some time off. No one seems fazed by the early start — most would be up anyway, heading to the gym. This, they say, is simply a better way to kick off the day. “Better to dance than head out on your hundredth morning jog,” is something I hear more than once.
Not the last, but the first item on the agenda
I think about the older lady I saw on the bus this morning, who was struggling to keep her eyes open. Would she enjoy being at a party like this? Would it make her day easier? “A lot has to go wrong to ruin a day that starts like this,” says one partygoer, sipping his Pink Morning Smash — non-alcoholic gin, dragon fruit juice, lime, rosemary, €11.50 —. And I get what he means.
On the dance floor, I feel like I’ve already achieved something. I’m awake, dressed, and out the door before sunrise. At this party, everyone’s ready: showered, hair done, all set for the day. They have to be. This isn’t the final stop of the night, it’s the first item on the agenda. No one’s stumbling to the kebab place afterward.
They’re heading to the office or campus — clients and exams are awaiting. The mountain of belongings checked at the coat stand shows just how much the day still has in store: overstuffed backpacks, clear plastic book bags, even a woman wheeling her suitcase past me, coming straight from the airport
Seventh on the to-do list
But is this really how it should be? Isn’t going out supposed to be more than the seventh tick on a checklist? I don’t just want the satisfaction of being done with something — I want the joy of life itself. At parties that end at dawn, I might be kissing someone in the corner. Instead, I’m sitting here among backpacks and umbrellas.
My heart isn’t racing because Cher just came on, it’s racing because I’m drinking espresso. I’m not letting myself get swept up in the moment, wondering what might happen next. I already know exactly what’s coming: work.
Almost euphoric, I ride home, sit at my desk, open my laptop, and get to work.
Most people head out around 8:00 a.m., and by 9:00 the event wraps up. I climb the stairs back into the light and feel the “shared dopamine rush” the organizers had promised. Almost euphoric, I ride home, sit at my desk, open my laptop, and get to work.
I feel like I’m typing faster than usual, more on the ball. I even manage to answer a few emails. But then my momentum slips. The deeper tasks — research, taxes, interviews, writing — aren’t going so well. I’m too excited. I just want to keep dancing.
No early bird, just a worm
Around 2 p.m., I take a break, sit down in a beer garden, sip a non-alcoholic wheat beer, and chat with my girlfriend about the usual things: novels, cramped regional trains, our next holiday. And then it happens. She doesn’t notice at first, since I’m wearing sunglasses and mumbling responses. But after a while, it’s obvious: I’ve fallen asleep — standing up, in broad daylight.
Now, after lunch, all I want to do is nap.
I can’t remember the last time that happened on a workday. I don’t know how long I was out for — probably not that long — but when I wake up, I feel like a failure. Like I’ve lost my spot in the early bird club, the day’s gone, the productivity vanished. I’m not the bird. I’m the worm.
I think of the two men I saw outside the club that morning, one in a plaid blazer with a briefcase, the other in a white shirt and dark sunglasses. “I’m definitely wide awake now,” said the guy with the briefcase. “Yep,” said his friend.
“Right,” I thought at the time, smiling, buzzing with energy. And now, after lunch, all I want to do is nap — and I’m annoyed: at myself, for not being able to keep the show going all day — but also, just a little, at this treadmill of efficiency and productivity we all seem to be running on.
