On the dance floor, we ask you to keep your phone in your pocket. That is the whole ask, and it is the one people want a reason for, so here it is.

The front room is yours. Text the friend who is running late, take the picture, post the picture, film the thirty seconds you want to keep. Then put it away and walk onto the floor.

Here is what we are protecting. A dance floor is one of the few rooms left where a few hundred people agree, at the same time, to do the same thing. That agreement is easy to break. A handful of raised screens is enough to turn a room into a backdrop, and it does not turn back on its own.

You have felt the difference even if you never named it. A floor where everyone is present has a density to it. People dance facing each other instead of facing forward, and strangers make room without being asked. The set builds, because the person playing can feel it landing and pushes further. A better sound system cannot manufacture any of that.

There is a quieter reason too, and it matters more. A room where nobody is filming is a room where people can stop watching themselves. That is worth most to whoever has the least room to be watched: anyone dancing in a body they are still making peace with, or with a partner they have not told everyone about. Phones down keeps people safe. It only looks like a matter of taste.

So: chat in the front, dance in the back. If something happens that you genuinely need to keep, step off the floor and keep it. Nobody will mind.

This is one of our community agreements, and it sits alongside the others for a reason. Being present, looking out for one another, and leaving room for everyone else to be themselves are the same instruction pointed in different directions.

Come and see what a room feels like when everyone is actually in it. Here is what is coming up.