I tried speed dating to find men but instead ended up leaving with female friends

Many 20-something professional women in New York City struggle with love and relationships. I just happen to be one of them.

Finding suitable options among a plethora of casual, unserious daters has become a jading experience. It has prompted my friends to hilariously suggest I go on a dating show like "The Bachelor." But we all saw what happened to Jenn Tran — even "The Bachelorette" got duped by a no-good love bomber.

Dating has become this behemoth, creating such unsettling experiences that women have gone viral crying about their dates, their perpetual singlehood and men in general. Some even claim they've abandoned all hope and are turning to celibacy.

I’ve felt the same lonely frustrations even though I'm really never actually alone. The vicious cycle of dating hasn't helped: the initial optimism, the fatigue of disappointment and inevitable apathy – rinse and repeat. So I gave myself a challenge this summer: get off my dating apps comfort zone and try other forms of dating. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular. I wanted to experience the dating world outside the digital realm we have all fallen into partly by choice and circumstance. 

One of my friends sent me a flyer for a speed-dating event in Ridgewood, Queens about a 20-minute walk from my home. It was close enough that I couldn’t just blow it off. So I pulled the trigger and bought the $20 ticket. When the Tuesday evening finally approached, my anxiety skyrocketed which is typical before a date. My hands get clammy, my stomach sours and my mind runs with intrusive, imaginatively daunting thoughts. 

The clock read 7 p.m. and I was at the bar that had changed its name from Sundown to Cassette for performative anti-racist reasons. As I made my way to the basement where the event was held, I was told it didn’t actually start at 7 but at 7:30. Great, I think I’m the person who showed up to the date early. My anxiety ramped up when I looked around and no one was there. So I ordered a drink at the bar.

Luckily, I was the second person there; there was another woman. I ordered my cocktail, and she struck up a conversation, asking if this was the first time I was doing this. I nodded my head yes. She too, she said. She reassured me that we would get through this together. We exchanged astrological signs: she was an Aries and I was a Cancer. We quickly bonded in the universal language of astrology. 

From that point, I knew even if the night was a colossal loss I would’ve at least had one interaction with a kind stranger who unknowingly untangled my knotted anxious thoughts.

Eventually, more people funneled into the bar. My options for the night were a whopping pool of seven men — none of whom I could go for outside this speed-dating event. I was disappointed that there weren’t more non-white people there — the minorities were really in the minority. Nonetheless, the setup was cute. The lighting was pink, hearts were projected on a screen, and romantic music attempted to put us all in the mood.

With the start of a three-and-a-half-minute timer, my first date began. There was a bit of pressure because he was the first guy starting off my speed-dating experience. He didn't disappoint with his question: what was the pressing issue on my mind? Unfortunately for him, the only thing that was swirling around in my head was too heavy to talk about in three minutes. I blurted it out anyway.

I explained to him how I had been writing a lot about Kamala Harris for work, and thoughts on the war in Gaza kept intruding into my mental space. I felt conflicted about our personal responsibility in voting for someone who aided in the suffering of countless people. What an unbelievably unsexy topic to bring up during a three-minute speed date. His wide eyes blinked rapidly, but he responded with classic therapy speak, "Thank you for sharing." I can still hear myself apologizing for my "dark and twisty thoughts." I thought, Thank god I will never have to see this person again.

On another date, a postal worker asked me what my biggest fear was. Again, I didn't go to a light and flirty place. Since I was probably five or six, I've had a paralyzing fear of snakes. However, this fear isn't unfounded or delusional. Nearly 20 years ago, my mom told me the horrifying story of her experience in a Somali refugee camp. She had fled Ethiopia after a civil war and famine had threatened to rip apart the fabric of her home country.

Somalia in the late '80s and early '90s wasn't particularly safe either. At the refugee camp, she recalled laying in bed when she felt this pressure along her body. Something was tightly squeezing her leg. She always told me she thought she'd die in that moment. But by chance, luck, or God — the snake slithered away and she was not harmed. The villagers found the snake the next day and had strung it up. Needless to say, that story always shocks people when I tell it, and then they validate my fears. 

The last memorable date was with another white man. As soon as I introduced myself with my name, he asked where it came from. Look, I get it. Nardos is not a name you see often in the Western world but to ask about it on a first date in the first second felt like a microaggression. So I explained like I tirelessly always do. But then I passive-aggressively asked where his boring Anglo-Saxon name came from too. I knew from that moment the night was a total waste of $20. On each minute-long date, I was bringing the energy and oomph, feeling a real lack of effort from the people sitting across from me. Again, this was everything I expected from the dating scene. It was no shock that speed dating also felt transactional. I felt detached from any real possibilities of romance or enjoyment in the rapid way I had to package myself in minutes.

But thanks to the existence of women, I was able to run away from the bar, around the corner for some comforting Caesar salad, pizza and authentic human interaction. One of the women brought out her little card and told me she matched with absolutely no one. I had written down three names because I felt like I had to give the experience a fair chance. But in reality, I was not interested in these men.

As our food came out, men were the target of our frustrations in our conversation. One women told me a story about a guy who took her to Coney Island for a magical date and then ended up ghosting her when she said she had a great time and wanted to do it again. I laughed in horror when I told her I also had a movie-like romantic date with someone just for him to disappear into thin air. While my newly found speed-dating friend was 10 years older than me, I felt relief knowing no matter our age, some men would never tire from their games.

We ate and commiserated some more until one of the other girls eventually joined us too. We followed each other on Instagram and formed a Speed Dating club to try hitting the different ones across the city together. I received texts from two guys saying we had matched from the event and immaturely I didn't respond. That night no longer felt like it was meant for men. It was meant for a fleeting moment of female solidarity. We may just end up being each other's Instagram mutuals and nothing more but on that Tuesday it was comforting that even if none of the new and old dating fads never work — one thing would stay consistent, and it’s women’s ability to be there for each other.