When I was younger, the idea of clubbing suggested danger, debauchery, sexuality, and more importantly a gateway into “adulthood”. When I reached what I then considered adulthood, I had gotten most of “that” out of my system, debunking any  preconceived notions I had about clubbing and realizing that I could in fact go to the club and come out safe and unscathed.

From the moment I was of age, I wanted to taste the clubbing experience on an international scale as I didn’t think LA had that much to offer and the scene was becoming very predictable. From turning 21 in Beijing to to getting completely lost in one of the most iconic gay clubs in London, I learned the ins and outs of clubbing etiquette, how to save money on drinks, how to turn away unwanted solicitations, and to flirt with the bouncer just the right amount so you know he’s got your back (still waiting for the day I get to meet a “she” guarding the front entrance). I made the most of my time away from home, exploring all the possibilities of what nightlife could be.

After some years abroad and living in New York, I returned home to LA, having to readjust to the designated driver experience and to search all the nooks and crannies of the city for something that excited me enough to check it out. As I continued to develop my professional dance career and further explore my identity as a music lover and musician, my focus turned less towards “clubbing” and more towards unconventional venues where two things were non negotiable for me: The music had to be slamming, and people had to be dancing. The basic requirements for enjoying myself were not always aligned with those of my non-dancer friends, so “going out” started to become a somewhat polarizing experience.

It wasn’t until a friend told me about The Floor Improv Night, that I had found my eden in Los Angeles. At first it sounded rather intimidating. All of the best dancers in the city gathering with all of the best musicians in the city for a night of entirely improvised mash up performances, music and dancing. My mind immediately jumped to..well, what would I do? How would I present myself as a dancer and a musician amidst the best of the best? The Floor happened once a month at the King King in Hollywood but later changed venues to Los Globos in Silverlake. For a while I stayed away, nervous about the idea of being put on the spot and not knowing what to do. It wasn’t until a friend agreed to meet me there that I built up the courage to go.

Once the seal was broken, I never looked back. I waited patiently for the best night of the month, mentally preparing and hyping myself up for the next event. The Floor was unique in that it was a “clubbing” experience unlike any I had experienced in LA or even in my time living in New York. The entire concept of knowing what exactly I was going to dance or play was irrelevant. I was able to show up exactly as I am, a hybrid of Afro beat, Salsa, House, Hip Hop, Contemporary, Jazz that synced effortlessly with the array of world rhythms coming from the incredible musicians. Nothing was planned or prepped, and It all happened in the moment. There was no etiquette per say with the exception of of a few consistent patterns that were trademark of this unique experience.

The structure was more or less the same, with one musician and dancer selected to improvise with each other as everyone else surrounded and observed. There were no rules or time limit, and when the moment and energy felt right, other people would jump in the circle directing the attention to another dancer, couple, trio etc. It was the essence of spontaneity and that was the only drug I needed to enjoy myself. As the focus changed and the movement shifted around the space, it no longer became one large circle but began to branch off into smaller circles and cyphers, each with their own flavor, creating a less intimidating and more equal opportunity for anyone who wanted a moment in the spotlight. Spontaneous moments of line dancing and call and response from the stage were also staples of the evening. It wasn’t too long before I felt comfortable enough to jump in the middle of the cypher, and doing so invigorated me even in the worst of moods. It was the first time that I felt my dancing acknowledged by professional dancers rather than the average person paying me a compliment for dancing at a given bar or club.

It was the first time I truly felt recognized and accepted as a hybrid dancer and established genuine connections with male dance partners who fed off of my energy without sexualizing me. I made professional connections with dancers and choreographers by expressing my most authentic self without trying to fit a “type” like I would in an audition room. I could admire dancers up close and pay them my respects instead of watching them from behind a screen on social media in a way that feels distant and inaccessible. Most importantly, it was the first time I was able to connect with  other people in my hometown who simply wanted nothing but to dance without judgement, without fear of being preyed upon, and more importantly without waiting for the next “good” song.

The Floor became my sacred hidden gem in Los Angeles, and it was the best medicine for any malady. One year it fell on my birthday so of course I invited my friends, some dancers but mostly non dancers, to join me or simply hang with a drink and take in the electric energy. Sadly the Floor went on an extended hiatus with most of us unsure if it would ever return. Especially in this global pandemic, reminiscing on the many nights I spent at the Floor feels like a distant part of my past, but the values it instilled within me feel more present and relevant in my life than ever. As an artist contributing to the local dance scene, I hope to create more spaces like the Floor; A night of equal opportunity, community, and the ultimate experience of dance and musical improvisation.