I’d never been to Good Clean Fun or any sober club before. I went on my own, but by the end of the night, I had made a handful of new friends. There was something elemental about the evening, a shared commitment to enjoy music and the power of human connection.
Walking through those doors onto the dancefloor, we all carried a sense of vulnerability. Some have chosen sobriety just for the night; others, like me, have been sober for decades. For nearly 20 years, drugs (not alcohol) were my way of coping with family homophobia I experienced for years. Almost a decade ago, I made the conscious decision to stop speaking with my biological family, and I’ve never felt happier.
At Good Clean Fun, everyone enters from that vulnerable space. And that vulnerability breaks down barriers that normally separate us. It allows us to connect, dance and be mindful of each other and the space we occupy.
After clubbing since I was 15, I can honestly say this was one of the best nights I’ve ever had. There was a freedom to express yourself without judgment or that edgy, competitive energy that sometimes dominates non-sober club spaces.
The crowd was super diverse; different bodies, genders, sexualities, backgrounds and experiences. But what unified us was our openness, our vulnerability. There’s something elemental about dancing together with our minds clear of substances, forgetting the chaos of the world for a few hours and simply connecting with the music and each other. It felt incredibly liberating with no pressure and no stress.
I love dancing, so I quickly found myself on the floor and stripped down to my shorts when it got too hot. I noticed others standing on the edges, observing, whether out of shyness or just wanting to be present. By the end of the night, everyone was moving. That transformation, from watching to fully participating, was revelatory.
Reflecting on my past, I spent ten years addicted to drugs. Going cold turkey 20 years ago was incredibly tough, but it allowed me to truly live, to see life in all its prismatic complexity, the good and the bad, and feel exhilarated by both.
As a gay man, growing up in a world that shamed us, it was easy to internalise hatred. But I chose life, kindness and self-respect. I stopped self-medicating and began to understand that much of the negativity I carried was a projection of others. Their problems are not my problem anymore.
Now, I honour myself, care for my diet, sleep and mental health – and carefully choose the people I allow into my life. My small, loving chosen family supports me for who I am, not in spite of it, and I’ve never felt happier.
Walking into a club where people respect each other and the space we take up is such a rare joy. On the dance floor, I saw people letting go, expressing themselves freely, without judgment. It was a happy, welcoming energy, completely different from other club spaces where consent issues (particularly in gay clubs) can overshadow the fun.
And the music! From jazz to old-school house (thanks, Amy, for dropping Lil Louis’ – French Kiss – what a moment in the evening!), it kept everyone hooked to the dance floor. I got so immersed that I even forgot to hydrate, though a few kind souls reminded me. The tempos and breaks shifted, but the collective energy never faltered. Everyone moved together, feeding off each other’s rhythm, creating something almost magical.
For me, the beauty of sober clubbing is the beauty of being sober: experiencing joy fully, seeing everything clearly, remembering every moment the next day, and making genuine connections with like-minded people.
If you’re reading this thinking, “I could never do that alone,” trust me, you can. Go to Good Clean Fun on your own, and by the end of the night, you’ll be dancing, connecting and maybe even making new friends. And if you need a dance buddy for the night, I’ll be there.
For me, Good Clean Fun is a space where music, vulnerability and connection come together to remind us of what it feels like to truly be alive.