More than half of Americans now report feeling socially isolated, and a 2023 survey shows merely 4 percent of adults went to a weekend or holiday party. The contrast between widespread loneliness and the historic importance of communal revelry raises a striking question: what have we lost by staying home?
Imogen Willetts, author of Up All Night: A History of Going Out and self-described party historian, argues that the current slump is an outlier in the human story. In a recent conversation she told Vox that for most of history, the activities we now label “nightlife”—drinking, dancing, music, hedonism—were woven directly into religious practice because religion dominated every aspect of life.
The sacred origins of revelry
In medieval England church services were anything but solemn. Willetts notes that “the churchgoing experience in medieval England was actually quite rowdy and quite raucous,” with feast days featuring drinking and dancing. One theory even suggests that wooden pews were first installed in Wells Cathedral to keep the exuberant crowds from turning the nave into a dance floor.
This entanglement of worship and pleasure meant that people did not need a separate “nightlife” for centuries; the religious calendar supplied the communal high-points. As the historian points out, the church “contained people’s hedonistic instinct” and left little room for an independent party culture.
From Edo’s red-light district to Western salon societies
The seventeenth-century marked a shift toward commercialized entertainment that existed outside any sacred framework. In Japan, the district of Yoshiwara on the outskirts of Edo (now Tokyo) became one of the first true nightlife destinations, offering patrons food, drink, and performances without any religious affiliation.
Across the globe, similar spaces emerged. In mid-century New York, the Cedar Tavern served as a meeting place for abstract expressionist painters, while the Viennese Secession Movement gathered at Cabaret Fledermaus. These venues acted as incubators for artistic innovation, proving that social spaces are essential for cultural breakthroughs. Willetts emphasizes that “parties are fun, but they’re also at the epicenter of some pretty important cultural and societal shifts.”
Private homes as pop-up clubs
When commercial venues were scarce or unaffordable, households turned their own living rooms into temporary clubs. Turn-of-the-century New Orleans saw Saturday night “fish fries,” where residents charged an entry fee, served generous meals, and hired bands. The earnings often helped cover rent.
In 1920s Harlem rent parties followed a similar pattern. Poet Langston Hughes wrote about these gatherings, noting they were “more interesting than anything that was going on in the cabarets and the clubs.” Invitations were hand-written on business cards, left in local shops, and collected by Hughes; many now sit in a Yale archive. These home-based events demonstrate how ordinary people create communal euphoria when formal venues are out of reach.
The timeless chemistry of collective joy
The French sociologist Émile Durkheim coined the term “collective effervescence” in 1912 to describe the surge of emotion shared during peak communal experiences. Willetts applies this concept to modern settings, saying that the same feeling arises in a stadium, a church, or on a dance floor – “the same sensation, that surge of euphoria that people feel on dance floors.”
Even contemporary DJs like Kaytranada can replicate that sacred release. Willetts admits that the feeling she gets on a dance floor while listening to his beats mirrors the sensation of being in a historic church service—both offer a release through rhythm and movement.
In increasingly secular societies, the need for collective effervescence does not vanish; it merely seeks new venues. Whether it’s a pop-up rent party in a Harlem apartment or a high-tech club in Tokyo, the human drive to gather, to dance, and to feel part of something larger persists.
Understanding this lineage helps us see that the current loneliness epidemic is not a natural state but a deviation from a millennia-old pattern of communal celebration. By reviving the core ingredients of great gatherings—good music, inviting lighting, and an atmosphere that invites the unexpected—we may begin to mend the social fabric that modern life has frayed.
