Fast Forward to last night: My girlfriends and I show up to Xino in Santa Monica, dressed up, and ready to make snap judgments about the eligibility of strange men.
We were each assigned a number and given a card with three columns printed on it.
In column 1, you wrote the number of the guy you're dating, in column 2 his name, and in column 3, what you ranked him on scale from "Maybe, let's have one more drink" to "Never in a million years" (no joke, it said that on the scale).
After mingling at the bar for a bit, we all sat down at a long table, where there was an empty chair next to each woman.
Bear in mind, if you have any people skills whatsoever, four minutes goes by really fast, so theoretically, there's not enough time for it to get awkward if you don't hit it off. It was fun, there were appetizers, and the hostesses were lovely (and all foreign model/actress types).
I’ve tried the apps but, like Adam, have gotten mixed results. On one hand, I’d love the companionship or even a very consistent friend with benefits, but I’m also content in my singledom.
I’m used to it, despite the societal pressure that comes with being unmarried and childless at 32.
For some reason, I never thought of how heteronormative traditional speed dating is: It’s all straight men going from table to table to meet straight women.
In our cases that’s fine, but I did start to think about how inclusive and welcoming an environment it could be. That was one of the first things we realized during the pre-event process: These events cast a wide net – even our age range was between 24 and 38 – and there is no telling what kind of group you’ll wind up at your event.
Dates write down whom they fancy and if they have a match - they get notified the next day with details.