On Valentine’s evening in Greenpoint, hordes of young people shuffle into a converted loft space to enjoy their Saturday night. Under the hot pink club lights, they do all the things associated with a typical Brooklyn outing. They gossip with their friends. They drink margaritas, if of age. They arrive in baggy pants and graphic T-shirts, most of which become heavy with dampness as the venue fills out. 

But if one squints hard enough – which, given the room’s dimness, is necessary – it becomes clear that this was anything but a typical outing. The focal point of the room is not a dance floor, but three rows of rubber mats, each sectioned off by rope. Event organisers in pink T-shirts scurry about, placing headgear and high-waisted briefs around the makeshift arena. This is not a bar crawl, or rave, or ticketed DJ set. It is Grownkid’s Wrestling Speed Dating night, and attendees came ready to tussle. 

“Meeting on an app? BORING. Grabbing dinner? BORING. Wrestling as your first date? IDEAL,” read the description for the night’s event. “The best way to know if someone is worth a second date is to see how they feel on top of you, under you, and then get a good whiff of their scent.” Even for Grownkid, the New York and Los Angeles-based social club that’s become known for its slightly ironic, extremely Gen-Z-coded events, this speed dating event was out there. The rules of the night, though, are quite straightforward. Those with a wrestling ticket are guaranteed at least one round of wrestling with a partner of their choice. In order to find that partner, the wrestler has to approach that person and ask them to join them on the mat. However the pair’s relationship evolves beyond the mat – a friendship, a relationship or something in between – is up to them.

Grownkid was created by Gael Aitor and Kayla Suarez, friends and co-founders whose original endeavour was the coming-of-age podcast, Teenager Therapy. Grownkid’s genesis was also in the podcast space, but it’s since evolved beyond the audio realm. The group hosts events on both coasts, all with the goal of “making young adulthood less lonely through community and play”. Their events are as diverse as they are meme-able. Last August, they hosted a “fight your evil situationship boxing rave” to promote, in Aitor’s words, “healthy conflict and less ghosting”. In June, they hosted an “are you bisexual?” house party. 

Grownkid’s events aren’t all dating-based, either; wholesome gatherings where people practised tai-chi in the park and played a massive game of tag have also been success stories. “I think we’re missing playfulness. People are so rigid with the rules that they put themselves under, rules that no one told them to follow, besides the internet,” Aitor tells me as we wait for attendees to arrive. “If you want to be a hopeless romantic and go scream at your situationship that you love them and go back to them over and over again, go ahead and do it. You’re 22, you’re 21. You have all the time in the world to follow your feelings, you don’t need to think so logistically about what is and isn’t allowed.”

“I think we’re missing playfulness. People are so rigid with the rules that they put themselves under, rules that no one told them to follow, besides the internet”

The spirit of playfulness is alive and well at the event. For all the discourse around young people’s supposed jadedness, participants embrace the night with complete earnestness. Wrestlers’ motivations for signing up vary. Twenty-two-year-old Basil Charton, for example, is new to New York, having moved after six months of living with both of their exes. They were drawn to the idea of using physical touch to forge connections, as well as the prospect of meeting new people. From the looks of things, it works – I find them chatting with Vaute X Dreamer, a 21-year-old they meet during the event. “People nowadays put up a lot more barriers when it comes to social interaction,” says Dreamer. “In pretty much any space you go to, people are on their guard and trying to protect their sense of self. Something like this exists to help break out of that.”

Dating app fatigue is another motivation for attendees, such as Molly Price, a 21-year-old film student I meet while her best friend flirts elsewhere. Price tells me she’s never been asked out in public, aside from one occurrence with a mutual friend. This is not uncommon; 2025 research from DatePsychology found that 45 per cent of men aged 18 to 25 have never asked a woman out in person. “I’m hoping to meet some cool people, maybe a hookup,” Price tells me. “Best case scenario, I find a long-term relationship. Worst case scenario, I leave early.” Fellow wrestler Joshua Guillen is also anti-dating apps but pro-wrestling. “This is the closest thing you can get to Hinge in real life,” he says.

When it comes to the night’s main attraction – the matches themselves – attendees are just as unguarded. People tackle, body slam and overpower their partners with a surprising amount of vigour and glee, making it hard to remember that those on the mat were strangers barely half an hour earlier. There’s a healthy dose of good-natured bloodthirst, too; during the matches, the crowd – whether cheering for a friend or simply leaning into the bit – roars with the passion of a packed sports stadium.

After one round, I catch up with participants Francesco Cremonini and Lorenzo Mendiola, who tell me that, while waiting for their match, they’d already covered most of the conversation topics that usually fill a first date. “Adrenaline kind of hits you when the timer goes off,” says Mendiola. Though they only met that night, the two plan on hanging out again in the future.

The same was true for wrestlers Celestia Altaline and Dylan Mahotska. “I didn’t think I would go down that easy,” Mahotska says. Altaline, who signed up for the night after getting a text from their ex, is more than thrilled with how their match turned out, though they wish it were longer. When asked if there was any chemistry on the mat, they don’t hesitate: “Oh, hell yeah.”