Squid Game speed dating and supper clubs: Is it still possible to meet someone to date IRL?

There’s a point during my Squid Game-themed speed dating experience when I truly believe my safety might be at risk. Which, to be fair, is pretty on brand for Squid Game-themed speed dating, inspired by the wildly popular Netflix series in which contestants dropped like flies in a series of gory games for a shot at winning a life-changing cash prize.

We’d been placed in single-sex teams, with hopes that sparks might fly while going head to head in a string of challenges that mimicked those in the show. And, in fairness, sparks did fly when I decided to cheat – just maybe not in the way the organisers intended.

“She’s stolen two of our lives!” one man wailed to the event facilitator, outing himself as that least sexy of things: a total grass. Another guy in the team looked on the cusp of punching me on the nose, while his friend calmed him down as if he were dealing with a spooked horse – all soothing “shushes” and a hand of restraint on the shoulder. It was giving serious “she’s not worth it, mate” vibes.

If all this doesn’t exactly sound conducive to finding love, it is conducive to having a riotously fun Wednesday night. I’d dragged a friend along to this event near Tottenham Court Road in London, one of many that are organised by the company Date in a Dash, on Valentine’s Day. It was part of my new quest to eschew online romance in favour of alternatives where you could potentially meet someone IRL (in real life).

Fed up with apps being more likely to secure a bizarre pen pal than an actual date thanks to convoluted message exchanges, and numerous rendezvous in which it took all of 10 seconds to establish there was no sexual chemistry, I started researching what else was out there.

Quite a lot, as it turns out. A women’s workshop teaching singles how to pick up men in public whetted my appetite; an app called Thursday is bridging the gap between the digital and real world, with a match and chat function that’s only live for 24 hours once a week to encourage people to meet the same day (it also hosts weekly in-person events).

So many people share my frustrations with virtual courtship that it prompted Jess Evans to set up Bored of Dating Apps (BODA) in 2021. She organises IRL socials and events, from those thrown in bars to sober activities such as book clubs, yoga, hiking and crafting. “We’re very much about community first and dating later, because we’ve found people are more concerned about finding a community than going on cold dates like we did for years on dating apps,” says Evans. “People are keen to find a community doing something they love and meeting people romantically in this way. The thought of dressing up for a stranger who you might not have any sort of chemistry or spark with isn’t appealing anymore.”

Research from BODA backs up this idea, with 91 per cent of 12,000 singles surveyed saying they’d prefer to meet offline than online, and 79 per cent of people more interested in finding a relationship than a casual hook-up.

On my IRL mission, I tried one of BODA’s socials at a bar in north London – “non-sober” being my preference when it comes to throwing myself into the path of strangers. The idea was simple: they’d hired out a space so that it was just like being in a regular bar, only everyone there happened to be single. My pal and I stood around nervously for a while, nursing drinks, before agreeing to dive in. Soon enough our efforts were rewarded by the ego boost of being chatted up by men significantly younger than ourselves. On the final charge, I spotted an attractive, age-appropriate man, gave myself a silent pep talk, and introduced myself. We soon ascertained that we had at least one thing in common: we’d both run the London Marathon. I happily dished out my phone number and was delighted when, the following day, only a couple of WhatsApps ricocheted back and forth before a real-life meet-up was suggested. Easy breezy.

Jess Evans, Bored of Dating Apps

Back to Squid Game speed dating, then. I’d selected this particular event because a) I thought it sounded funny, and b) it wasn’t even the whackiest option on the list (that would be naked speed dating, requiring a level of confidence I am yet to achieve). My friend and I hadn’t known quite what to expect; my suggestion that the evening would entail killing off all the men until one remained to be crowned my de facto husband seemed unlikely. Instead, we were split into teams of all men and all women, with the male groups moving to join a new female team each round to compete in a different game.

Each team had been given “lives” consisting of a strip of stickers, with one removed every time you lost a challenge. And herein lies the “cheating” incident. We were getting towards the end and my team was low. Our next contenders sat down and flung their stickers on the table, carelessly and unsupervised. What’s a girl to do when presented with such an opportunity?

In my defence, I was following the moral framework set up by Squid Game itself. In the show, cheating was rewarded: from Han Mi-nyeo using a lighter in the honeycomb game to Cho Sang-woo stealing the innocent Ali Abdul’s marbles. It’s a cruel, unfair world out there and only the sneakiest survive. But still – the guys failed to see the funny side.

The rest of my team didn’t though; and, truly, that was the best bit about the night. We were matched with a group of four fierce, funny, fabulous women. By the end of the event, I may not have slipped my digits to any potential suitors – the format wasn’t really all that conducive to getting to know members of the opposite sex – but I was absolutely following my new female friends on the socials.

My final stab at real-world connection came via Gooce, a London-based, pop-up singles supper club set up by long-time friends and housemates Gabi and Luce in 2018. “We experienced the online dating scene of superficial, mindless swiping, and wanted to bring a different experience to the table, getting Londoners back to meeting as people rather than profiles,” they say. “What better way to do so than over a heady mix of delicious food, drink and party atmosphere?”

It certainly sounded appealing – so much so that I rocked up to one of their dinners in a Clapham restaurant minus my usual wing woman. The format, perfected over the last five years, truly delivers, both in terms of providing the opportunity to get to know a range of interesting single people, and offering an enjoyable night out while flying solo. All awkwardness was brushed aside thanks to a seating plan, with name cards ensuring we were positioned boy/girl – and that friends weren’t seated together. After starters, the men migrated to a new spot over mains, and the women did the same for the dessert course. The result? I met around nine charming new people, six of whom were extremely eligible bachelors.

Instead of the small-talk-only chat that tends to happen when speed dating, the more in-depth formula meant conversation could plunge deeper. I asked Sam how he really felt about his job; got onto favourite books of all time with James; ended up discussing the difficulties of dating someone with an avoidant attachment style with Chris. It was refreshing after playing in the shallow end for so long.

So, after all this IRL action, what’s the conclusion? Although I didn’t end up meeting the love of my life, putting myself out there at events ranging from the ridiculous to the sublime was a breath of fresh air after months of tepid swiping and lacklustre DMs. It reminded me that there are plenty of top-notch people in the same position, and that the more you boldly step out into the world, the more chances you have to meet an honest-to-goodness romantic match. And, most importantly, it was fun. Surely that’s worth the indignity of having to apologise to a full-grown man for stealing his stickers?