I never ended up placing my phone in the bag, and over the course of the night, I get the sense that nobody else did either. Everyone’s snapping photos, scrolling social media. It’s almost like… the gigantic screens with text urging you to “Touch Grass” were made to be Instagram Story fodder.

I whiz around the floor, temp-checking the vibes:

Mieraan, a man in a McLovin t-shirt with a McLovin ID card, who interns at the United Nations: “I’m Gen Z, so the only thing I can say is my mother would be proud knowing I’m off my phone.”

Kate, who used to work on Yang’s Forward Party and now fundraises with the nonpartisan “viewpoint diversity” organization Heterodox Academy: “It’s incredible,” she says of the mission to get people to unplug. “You just have to look at the studies to know that it’s useful.”

Antonio: “Everyone’s been very intelligent tonight.”

Cosa, a man with a slightly off vibe: “Look at all the women,” he says stoically.

Random British guy: “This is better than every party in London!”

Yang’s events are the latest in a wave of startups, parties, and projects aiming to solve or subvert the ills of the internet, akin to things like Perfectly Imperfect and Silknode that go against the algorithm with curated recs, or the community-minded Bushwick Burner Phone, an arty zine without any web presence. But at least those entities are populated by people who are curious about art and culture—these OFFLINE events have no such pretense. The culture is: existing. Existing and fetishizing the act of being offline. The investment in cultivating a space doesn’t go anywhere beyond Post-it note prompts and dopamine detox aphorisms. “Being offline” is an empty signifier, a performative marketing ploy that’s everywhere now—in the UK, a group called The Offline Club tried to set a “world record” by having 1,000 people watch the sunset at Primrose Hill without being on phones: “No photos, no filming – just being,” the promo says.

It goes hand-in-hand with the fad for “soft clubbing,” or events in coffee shops and retail spaces that posture as anarchic raves but are really just brand experiences. I’m thinking about stuff like the Shrek Rave, a series of nationwide EDM “parties” coasting on zoomer nostalgia and the meaningless aphorism “COOL IS DEAD!” that feel more like corporate high school prom. It’s nightlife cosplay, targeted for people attracted to the aura of clubbing who don’t have any interest in genuine scenes. Hopefully someone got laid, but most people probably just left with one or two more IG contacts.