I Went To 5 Singles Events & It Gave Me Hope

I’m single and have been for so long, it feels like a core part of my identity. When the right man comes along, it’s going to be an adjustment. But it is an adjustment I want — a lot. I’ve made no secret of that among people I know. I’ve done the apps for years — on and off, boom and bust, sparks and fires — but they always leave me feeling worse off by the time I next delete them. 

It’s not been a very good time for dating apps, what with lawsuits being taken out against them, a damning investigation over their safety, their stocks plummeting, and the general attitude from users of just being ~ d o n e ~ with them. I’m done for now, and I don’t think I want to download one again. If the definition of madness is doing the same thing over again and expecting different results, I’m done being mad.

So where does that leave me? Still single, still wanting romantic love and affection in my life. I’m outgoing and have met people in the wild before, but those experiences happen randomly and not at the pace you get on a dating app. They’re often unexpected, charged moments in which you make eye contact with a stranger. If you’re lucky, that pans out, but if it doesn’t, it might be a long while before you cross paths with another stranger you get that shared instant attraction with.

There’s an appetite for more natural ways of meeting people romantically, but still an urge for it to happen faster than nature allows. This makes way for engineered meet-cutes: singles events. Last summer, Eventbrite reported they’d had over 1.5 million users in the U.S. searching for singles events in a year. I’ve been going to some in recent months, both for this article and to create more chances that I might actually meet someone. I haven’t, but I have still gotten something from these events the apps could never provide: hope. 

There’s been a sit down dinner, speed dating, a drinks mixer, a gig, and even a comedy night. The results have been mixed… For reference, I date men, and it’s important to note that the events I went to were aimed at heterosexual people rather than the queer community. 

The first event I went to was by Gooce, a supper club for singles. I was dreading it beforehand, but I ended up having a great time. The gender split was equal (a rarity in this scene) and it was organised well. There was a chance to mingle freely at first, then we went to the table which had name cards. At each course we rotated round, so at every course I had three new men to chat to (either side of me and opposite). By the end of the night, I’d spoken with 80% of the men there because of this intimate setup. I was asked out by one guy who, though lovely and attractive, wants different things from life to me so it didn’t go further. I left that night with a drained social battery — there was a lot of talking — but with a renewed sense of hope. It was nice to be in a space full of single people intent on finding a partner. That visual is lost on dating apps — it can often feel like you’re the only one in a sea of situationship-seekers. 

Then I tried a drinks mixer with Bored Of Dating Apps (BODA), who host events across the UK and in New York. I’d tried a drinks mixer once before some years ago with the app Thursday and hated it, so my expectations were low. On the way in, I got a warning to not ghost anyone I connect with because this isn’t an app experience (a nice touch) and given some cards — one to write my number on to pass to anyone, and another to exchange for a free shot that could only be taken with another person (maybe not the best for sober folk). 

The problem with these drinks events is the gender split isn’t even. More women show up than men. I mingled for a little and spoke to a couple of guys (and got my free shot), but I’d arrived late and by that point there were a lot of one-on-one conversations happening and I didn’t want to be that person who f*cks another over to chat to some random guy. I also chatted with some nice women — one of them even warned me to steer clear of a particular man who’d made her uncomfortable. Women look out for women like nothing else. I left after about 45 minutes with my number card still in my pocket, a little deflated, but glad I’d given it a go. One good thing about these events is you can bounce pretty quickly. If you aren’t vibing with someone and don’t want to be locked into convo, tell them you need the loo. 

On the way home on the Tube, twice I saw friends hug each other goodbye and say some version of “love you, text me when you get home”. It reminded me that no matter what romance is missing from my life, my friends really are my real loves. 

A few days later, I went to a singles night hosted by Sofar Sounds and Heartbeat, an intimate gigging experience for up and coming acts. I’d been to a regular Sofar Sounds before and enjoyed it, so I had high hopes. Alas, this was not my night, nor could it have been for most women there. When I arrived — early this time — I quickly realised women were going to outnumber men significantly. The men’s tickets hadn’t sold out while the women’s had. At one point, I was chatting to two of the only men in the room, and after that spoke with some of the friendly women. We discussed why there were so few men. My theory is that the apps are working for them better than they are for us. One woman I meet says it’s because they can’t handle rejection in real life. I also think it’s because finding a romantic partner hasn’t been impressed upon men like it has on women. The jury is out, but whatever the reason, it meant that most women were chatting to themselves that night. 

I left in the interval and while waiting for the lift, one of the few men in attendance also decided to call it a night. We both agreed it wasn’t for us, and wished each other well. Honestly, this event made me feel pretty downbeat. The thought in my head: I’m going to be single forever. I walked to a viral dessert spot I’d seen on TikTok to cheer myself up, then on the walk back to the Tube I spotted two friends hugging each other goodbye again. Maybe there’s a sign in that. 

A week later, I went to the most unusual event of them all: an open mic comedy night for singles hosted by Date In A Dash, in which it was encouraged to get up and share your worst dating story. I could write a book with the number I’ve had, so my friend beforehand encouraged me to get up and share one. New data from Eventbrite shows this type of dating event is growing in popularity in the U.S., and I can see why. I genuinely had a laugh, and although I didn’t click with anyone, I left feeling as though I’d had a good night. I shared one of my worst first date stories, got some cheers and laughs, and then enjoyed hearing other people’s stories. One woman had been to a naked singles event, in which 90% of attendees, surprise surprise, were men. If that doesn’t say it all, I don’t know what does, but I guess there’s a singles event for everyone. Single people really are all in the trenches, and sometimes it’s nice to laugh in solidarity with people in the same boat. 

Finally, I went speed dating with the same events company. There were 10 men to five women (miracles can happen). I stayed put in a seat for 90 minutes as a conveyor belt of men were presented to me for four minutes each. It was interesting, almost like swiping on an app in real life. At the worse end of the spectrum, I found one man offensive (he began trying to guess my ethnicity before asking me anything else) and on the better end of the spectrum, there were a few attractive guys I enjoyed chatting with. The catch? Because there always seems to be one… they were all housemates. As much as I’d love to channel my inner Samantha Jones and date a whole friendship group, I don’t think they were keen on the idea. I swapped numbers with the one closest to my age, who I’d have liked more than four minutes with, and we’re arranging when to go on a real date. I also swapped numbers with the two women to my left, because they had the best chat of the night and we might all go to another event together in the future.

You might find the idea of these kinds of events scary. But let me ask you this: What is more scary than committing an evening to meeting an app stranger for the first time? They lied about their height, or they kept talking about their ex, or they literally made you worry for your safety. Log off and book the event; bring a pal if you need to. Maybe you’ll see me there.