Thursday dating: A solution to, or symptom of dating app malaise?

From Bridgeton-style ‘diamond of the season’ balls, to awkward 2000s primary school discos, I ponder the cyclical nature of the structures of dating as a walk into a Thursday dating event. A week before Valentine’s Day, the cyclical nature of our dating habits weighs on my mind. Just like the balls and the discos, it seems that we once again want to meet people in person.

Described as a ‘dating app for dating app haters’, Thursday entered the over saturated dating app market in 2021. Only available to use on a Thursday, the app is cleverly designed to give people an incentive to make connections. It recognises the exhausting nature of trying to find a match virtually, its website saying: “6 out of 7 days of the week, spend time on you, not a dating app.”

But the most talked about aspect of the app is its in person events, that take place on (you guessed it) Thursdays. These have been hugely popular, with the app selling over 100,000 tickets worldwide. Every week, around three to five events are put on across London, and hundreds of people sign up to each one. Clearly, people want to get back to meeting organically – even if it is through the roundabout way of a dating app.

As a non-dating app user, I was interested to see how one of these events would actually play out. Would there be an almost tangible overflow of desperation in the air? Would there be incredibly creepy guys? Would everyone be there for just a laugh?

Unfortunately for me, attempting to answer these question means I must go to an event. The idea of this inevitably makes me cringe. But, I remind myself that if every 2000s-romcom-female-protagonist can put their love life on the line for an article, then so can I. Although, I’m not hopeful I’m going to be finding my Matthew McConaughey.

After a few drinks at the local uni pub to prepare ourselves, a friend and I arrive at Oasis bar in Angel, London, an hour into the start of the event. Around fifty people fill the room, but by the end of the night it’s well over a hundred.

People are mixing in groups, and it seems like everyone already knows each other. Straight away, two 19-year-old girls at the bar strike up a conversation with us.

They are the youngest by far, while most guys seem to be in their late twenties to early thirties. The early hours of the event feel awkward. But as British people do best, a few drinks in, and the room is buzzing with conversation. People quite naturally go up to each other, a sight that is quite unusual in our would-rather-die-than-speak-to another-person London culture.

As I speak to as many people as I can, I notice something that clearly unites everyone in the room. A simultaneous hatred for - but overreliance on - dating apps.

A 27-year-old male NHS worker says: “In my work I’m the youngest by about 15 years so I don’t get the opportunity to meet new people, and that’s why I love online dating, because I get introduced to people, I never would have met otherwise.”

“But I hate it”, he continues, “because you may match with someone, get on with them and talk to them for three or four days, but then it stops, and then that repeats again and again.”

This frustration is echoed by everyone I speak to. Strong descriptions like “awful”, “absolutely horrible” and “tricky” are given. Mischa, 23, says this is because it’s “too hard to meet people in real life.”

Scott, 30, thinks that it’s because “people have so many options that they look for the perfect match”.

All of this must lead to the conclusion that Thursday events are wildly successful. But just as people aren’t taking the apps seriously, they also don’t seem to be taking the in-person event seriously.

“They've been fun, but I’ve never followed up with a date with anyone before”, Scott says. Multiple people I chat to tell me the same thing. Helen, 19, brutally tells me she would rate the guys at the event a 4 out of 10, making the night a resounding “extremely disappointing”.

Thursday dating events are clearly a laugh, and I think that most people there aren’t seriously looking for someone. I leave with no warm fuzzy feeling of meeting someone that I liked, no numbers and having drank a bit too much to get through the evening.

But what strikes me the most is that this event brought strangers together in a city that otherwise never would have spoken. It’s nice to see Londoners share an experience like that. Even if most likely, they will go back to their lives and will never talk to each other again.