The union of brunch and gyrating bodies may not seem intuitive, but crowds gathered in their Sunday best yesterday morning for an all-male revue that promised hot men dancing alongside small bites of quiche and yogurt parfait.

In the bright light of day, many of the attendees seemed sheepish about waiting in line for Sir Sundays, a new weekly brunch show near Metro Center. Multiple groups declined to chat, or mumbled something about a birthday party while avoiding eye contact.

Vincent was an exception. He had a crisp wad of one dollar bills sitting in his pocket as he surveyed the crowd. “I was figuring there would be more men here, especially in D.C.,” he said. While he wasn’t the only guy on the line, the crowd was majority women. He shrugged. “Maybe they’re sleeping in for the later show.”

As the doors opened, a man on stilts emerged from within to get everyone excited. Once inside the ornate halls of Sax, a darkened downtown cabaret decorated in a Liberace fever dream, people got more talkative as the bottomless mimosas started flowing.

Joni, 34, came from Rockville for a friend’s birthday. “I immediately knew it was how we had to celebrate,” she said. “It’s opening day, brand new, and completely different.” Her group of four sat on a red velvet bench on the top floor. At the bar, buff men in black, speedo-style suits stood at attention like a phalanx.

Male burlesque is definitely having a moment. Channing Tatum’s stripper film Magic Mike and its sequel surprised by being legitimately good movies—showing their dancers, and the women on whose laps they grinded, as three-dimensional far beyond their abs. Now Tatum is launching a Las Vegas show to bring “women-empowering, equal opportunity objectification” to the Hard Rock.

One needn’t go as far as Sin City to find said equality, though. “I’m so excited to be able to provide an escape and a fantasy for people,” said local choreographer Derek Brown, Sax’s artistic director and the mastermind behind Sir Sundays (not to be confused with the man behind Columbia Room, Eat the Rich, and other cocktail bars).

About every 15 minutes for two hours, the lights went off and another dance performance began. Some of them were group numbers, with performers dressed as 1920s gangsters or military recruits. As the dancers unbuttoned their shirts, there were scattered shouts from the crowd. When they ripped their pants off, revealing more spanx, it turned into a roar.

Many of the routines took place in a glass box on top of the downstairs bar, though some had dancers performing throughout the club (I was on a staircase during one of the latter, and quickly sought refuge in a corner as the men burst onto the scene).

The most impressive performances came from dancers with special skills—one does a number of acrobatic tricks on aerial silks hanging over the bar, flipping and spinning like an Olympic gymnast. Another gracefully spins around two poles set up in the glass box, flashing a shy smile after completing each mind-boggling deviance of gravity.

There’s one birthday dance, where a woman named Heather sat surrounded by shirtless dancers as they undulated in front of her and picked her up in her throne-like chair. She later described the experience as “insanely delicious,” though it more closely resembled a bar mitzvah’s Hava Nagila than a striptease. (Rules at Sax bar some of the more hands-on lap dances.)

The performers who most interacted with patrons were the waiters. They’re the ones wearing only tight black Speedo-style suits, and they’re equal parts server and eye candy. One, Charles, described the job as “table service/table dancers.” He had a slew of dollar bills tucked in bands on his bicep and his thigh.

He said the cash came courtesy of a table of vegans, who appreciated that he went to the kitchens to get them some specially prepared food for their dietary restrictions. “I’m just making sure it’s safe for vegans out here,” he added, with a grin.

Charles also talked about the diversity of body types among the so-called “table service studs,” but the spectrum was decidedly limited. Sure, some boasted a slender physique while others were bona fide beefcakes, but everyone had a six pack.

One table of five women who arrived from Ashburn, Va. via a white limo had more than a hundred dollars in ones on their table, which was also filled with trays of uneaten food. When I first glanced at them, they were stuffing bills into a waiter who looked equal parts surprised and overwhelmed. “Thank you,” he said sheepishly.

Julie, who insisted a friend move over so I could join their table, said that the inaugural Sir Sunday was cause for celebration, and that they’d be drinking since 8:30 a.m. “We are going to come back every weekend,” she said. “Actually, we have decided that we’re not going home. We’re going to have all our mail forwarded here.”

Another waiter approached and the women grabbed fist-fulls of bills for his armbands, taking the time to caress his muscles first. “He’s so smooth!” several exclaimed. “Do you exfoliate?” one woman asked. (Turns out, he moisturizes.)

Matthew, the man in stilts who greeted the crowd outside, was the only performer who kept his shirt on as he handed out light-up bracelets. He’d be on his elevated legs for about eight hours straight. His job is to entreat everyone to “be our guest,” he said. “We make it nightlife in the daytime.”

Indeed they did. Inside of Sax, it was hard to believe that somewhere beyond the doors the sun was shining.

“It was a little too dark, but the dancers and the dancing was good,” Vincent declared after the show ended with one final group number.

Upstairs, Joni agreed that the experience had been worthwhile, though “when they did the group thing, I was looking for my Magic Mike and I never quite got there.”

Vincent had a suggestion for next time. “They could be wearing thongs. I mean, what’s wrong with that?” He said he had handed out around $30 in dollar bills. “Would I come again? Absolutely.”

Sir Sundays is occurring every Sunday until December 1 with shows at 11 a.m. and 2 p.m. (doors open at 10:30 a.m. and 1:30 p.m.) at SAX Restaurant and Lounge on 734 11th Street NW. Tickets cost $50-65.