Last weekend, His Purpleness, Prince Rogers Nelson, threw an epic dance party of legendary proportions, and you should feel bad if you weren’t there.

One assumes.

I wasn’t there myself, and on the list of items considered contraband at Prince’s Chanhassen studio Paisley Park are cameras and cell phones, which would more appropriately be called “cameras with tweeting capability” these days.

The party was the latest in what has become something of a regular event at Paisley Park, and it is something of a minor miracle that in this day of networked lenses and FOMO that no photos have leaked out from any of these events. (Maybe I’m just not googling hard enough. Or may Prince has had his lawyers some how magically remove all said photos.)

Cameras are everywhere today: in our phones, tablets and TVs. Even on our shirts. It makes one wonder how Prince’s crew has pulled off this feat.

But, for me, someone who considered making the trek to the burbs for about five seconds before deciding 2 a.m. is past my late-20s bedtime, it is comforting to know that Saturday night, no one was having more fun than me. After all, as the Twitter people like to say, “photos or it didn’t happen.”

FOMO be damned. I can always just imagine the party was something like this.