It's a Wednesday night in south-east London and dozens of intrepid young single people are sitting cross legged on the floor and looking up at a disrobed life model.
"Am I doing feet again?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
"Who's drawing the boobs?"
"Is that where her bum is going?"
We've just arrived at Dulwich Art Group's "Draw and Date" event for single people in their mid-20s to mid-30s, and we're breaking the ice with a group "fast poses" activity. In random groups, we're combining our efforts to produce a life-size charcoal drawing of the life model in front of us. A few people are drawing the model's upper body, while some sketch out her torso, and I attempt to draw a knee, shin, and foot. I have zero life drawing experience and, well, it shows. But, I'm also not alone in that. There are many beginners here, all of us muddling along and trying our best, with mixed results. A metaphor for modern dating, you might say.
This event is part of a wave of offline dating events that are popping up in response to dating app fatigue, which is currently plaguing online dating culture right now. A recent report found that 79 percent of Gen Z daters experienced dating app burnout. There's a number of issues afoot in dating right now, principal among the complaints is the lack of conversation going on in people's inboxes. Many report amassing matches like collectors' items (albeit ones you can quickly dispose of), but when it comes to interacting with them, that's where we run into trouble. Tumbleweed in the chat. And so, we continue the vicious (and boring!) cycle of swiping, spending enough time for it to feel like the least rewarding side hustle imaginable.
As a long-time singleton who's been on just about every dating app known to humankind, I'm no stranger to feeling like I want to throw my phone in the sea. So, why not try something new? Shake things up a little? Enter the chat: IRL events for singles.
Back in the bustling studio, we're appraising the fruits of our labour. And, the finished product is...interesting, to say the least. Together, we've sketched a (very) creative interpretation of the human body. Who said art needed to be realistic, anyway? Glancing over at the handiwork of the group next to us is humbling. Their drawing is objectively great, each body part looking consistent and life-like. There's no time to dwell on our artistic shortcomings, however. We're ushered outside to get some fresh air while the organisers set up easels for the next activity.
It's a balmy evening — 28 degrees celsius (82.4F) — and everyone is looking decidedly sweaty and a tad nervous. But, we're doing what we came here to do: chat to interesting strangers. Mercifully, any shyness was overcome in that group activity and we're all getting stuck in. "So, how did you find out about this event?" appears to be everyone's favourite opening line. The consensus is: Instagram. We move on to asking people where they live and there's a decent mix of people who live near and far.
As a millennial in my mid-thirties, I came of age before Tinder blew up, before dating apps. Offline dating events are having a moment right now amid the dating app fatigue, but let's not forget, it wasn't all that long ago when offline dating was just...dating. If there's a meme response for this last statement, it'd be: "Sure grandma let's get you to bed."
Our next activity at Draw and Date is about to begin, and each woman has been asked to grab and easel, which is equipped with paper and charcoal. Much like a speed-dating event, the men will rotate through the room easel-by-easel, lending their artistic talents (or lack thereof) until the bell rings and it's time to move on. This way, you get a chance to meet everyone and chat to anyone you might have had your eye on. They're a friendly bunch and the conversation is flowing.
During this rotation, I meet two gay guys who feel a little outnumbered by the straight folks in the room. The signup sheet didn't ask about sexual orientation for their inaugural event, but in the future, it would be great to have an event aimed solely at gay and bi men, and another for lesbians and bi women.
Collaboration takes many forms in this activity — some of my group partners stand and talk while I attempt to capture the model's contorted pose. There are a few attempts by the men to "correct" my work and one even rubs out the face I've drawn, replacing it with his own scribbles. One man critiques the curve I've bestowed on the model's bum in my drawing, suggesting I've given her too much ass. "In an ideal world, yes, the line would come out here, but it doesn't," he says, before redrawing the line. I'll let that anecdote percolate with you. Thank goodness for the bell, eh.
The final activity requires being paired up with someone you've not spoken to yet and, together, you draw one half of the model's front-facing body. We get two attempts with two different poses. My partner and I work well together, he compliments my technique, and I feel like my drawing style has loosened up over the course of the class. The finished results are...pretty good actually. I'm not as terrible as I thought I was!
At the end of the two-hour event, the organisers thank us and instruct us to head to the pub next door, should we wish to chat to anyone further, or even swap details. I spy one pairing exchanging numbers (cute!). A few people linger, waiting to see who's heading out to continue the evening.
It was fun to flirt with lots of strangers, but I didn't feel a connection with anyone in particular. I did, however, make a new friend, which is always lovely. What I appreciated about the event was the hopefulness that everyone seemed to have. We all stepped outside of our comfort zone not knowing what to expect, feeling a little exposed, a little vulnerable. It's a brave thing to have hope and to put yourself out there, physically as well as digitally. So, when I stopped by the pub on my route home for a solo G&T, I commended myself for my bravery. Maybe I'll go along again, perhaps I'll take up life drawing lessons. I had a fun evening and chatted a lot of lovely people while doing something artistic. It certainly beats a night of swiping on my sofa.
