Where everybody knows your favorite Housewife's name: How reality TV is helping fans find friends
On a recent Thursday evening, Boston-based fans of the Bravo reality series Southern Hospitality braved the icy weather to gather for a viewing party thrown by pop culture podcast hosts The Bottoms. Attendees sipped themed cocktails and peppered guests Maddi Reese and Joe Bradley, two of the show's stars, with questions during commercial breaks. Many people went home with "Bravolebrity" selfies. Some left with new friends.
That's part of the appeal, according to Emilia Diamant, a 39-year-old nonprofit leader and longtime Bravo fan who fostered her love of reality TV on Facebook groups and now attends live Bravo-themed events. "It's a way to make friends and a way to talk to people," she tells Yahoo Life. "When you're in your 30s-plus, it's hard to figure out points of connection. This has been a cool way to make connections with people with similar interests."
Is your favorite show the secret to finding friendship and warding off loneliness? Below, reality TV fans share how they've turned their guilty pleasures into real-life bonding.
Watch parties and online fan forums have been around since the early days of Survivor, Big Brother and The Bachelor. But as reality TV has become more of a behemoth, so have the communities enthralled with the genre's most popular shows.
Bars, restaurants and event organizers are rising to meet the challenge. In Austin, Texas, Victory Lap hosts Bachelor watch parties on Monday nights featuring Bachelor bingo and bow tie-wearing servers "pouring champagne like it's a rose ceremony." The Hartford, Conn., food hall Parkville Market draws RuPaul's Drag Race fans for Friday night screenings. And if you happen to find yourself in London this summer, you might find a "faithful" new friend at The Traitors: Live Experience, an immersive event in which devotees of the Peacock competition show can plot, murder and banish (or pretend to, anyway).
In the U.S., it's BravoCon, a weekend gathering of stars from the network's vast portfolio of shows (Real Housewives, Summer House, Vanderpump Rules, etc.), that's emerged as the ultimate opportunity for fans to connect. Around 27,000 fans attended the 2023 convention in Las Vegas; after a hiatus last year, BravoCon will return to Sin City this November.
There's also no shortage of Bravo-themed events happening in the meantime. AJ Hernandez and a group of friends are regulars at the ones held in Boston. The group communicates in a text chain titled "Real Housewives of Boston" and shares Bravo-themed memes on Instagram in a group called "CLIP!" inspired by a notorious Real Housewives of New York City scene in which former star Dorinda Medley repeated the word in an attempt to shut up co-star Sonja Morgan during an argument. (The phrase now adorns mugs and collectible stickers, which can be purchased online.) But Hernandez says the relationships go deeper than RHONY.
"We don't just talk about Bravo anymore," the 32-year-old communications consultant tells Yahoo Life. "But I think if it wasn't for our shared love of reality TV, the bond wouldn't have been as strong to begin with."
For people relocating to a new area, reality TV communities can serve as a welcome wagon of sorts. When Kylie Clark moved to New York City for graduate school in August 2023, she leaned on her love of the long-running CBS series Survivor to find new pals.
"I've been watching since I was like 5 years old," Clark, now a 27-year-old nonprofit manager, says of the show. And so she headed to local watch parties, including one at the Ainsworth Midtown. Before she even walked through the door, she hit it off with three people she met in line.
"We ended up meeting at my friend's house every Wednesday to watch Survivor together for my whole time in New York," Clark, who recently moved to California, tells Yahoo Life. "We kind of formed this little community."
At a recent potluck dinner, Clark met a couple who had also just moved to California. When she found out they shared her love of Survivor. she invited them to join her weekly viewing of the series alongside her boyfriend and his mom. Now, the group watches together each week.
In addition to meeting at live viewing events, many superfans of reality TV shows have fostered solid friendships that started online. Back in 2016, Kirsten MacInnis, a 32-year-old policy analyst in British Columbia, joined a Facebook group dedicated to a podcast focused on the CBS series Big Brother. She frequently texts and gathers on Zoom with the friends she met in the group. Eventually, the interactions grew to be in-person ones.
"I would say some of my closest friends in the world are people that I met in the 2016 and 2017 period when I was first getting involved," says MacInnis, who recently traveled to Toronto to attend Taylor Swift's "Eras Tour" with a friend she met in the group in 2017.
Mel Sullivan, a social media manager from Quincy, Mass., also found solid friendships in reality TV-themed groups online. She frequently recruits fellow Survivor megafans off the internet to partake in live (and tamed-down) versions of the series, in which people gather in someone's home and plan an entire weekend of social strategy games. Competitors tackle challenges ranging from puzzles and drinking games to gross eating games. ("One year there were bugs," Sullivan shares.)
In an era of binge-watching, reality TV's ability to foster such strong connections between fans could be attributed to its serial release. For the most part, episodes are dropped weekly, and if you don't watch them live, you risk coming across spoilers or missing out on buzzworthy moments. Sullivan calls her Survivor screenings a "weekly watercooler moment," which "allows you to have that conversation longer and find new people; you want to join the conversation."
The accessibility of reality TV is also a welcome distraction at a time when people are looking to embrace escapism. Unlike prestige dramas, the petty in-fighting and personality conflicts between cast members seem much more relatable.
"It's not so far outside of your realm of possibility," says Diamant, who will travel to BravoCon to celebrate her 40th birthday later this year. "It's not like Succession, where they're behaving so badly you're like, 'I would never do that.' You can often see yourself reflected in a character or two."
That personal connection with someone onscreen can be particularly welcome at a time when people are struggling to engage with others.
"A lot of people are embarrassed about watching reality TV, or they think of it as fluff or something that's just not that serious," says MacInnis. "When you find someone else who likes that same show as you, or who kind of enjoys it on the same level, it's like, 'Oh my God, like, you're my people.'"
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Yahoo
23 minutes ago
- Yahoo
Tired of dating apps? This touchy-feely singles mixer is unlike anything you've tried before
If finding a soulmate in the urban sprawl of Los Angeles is a long and arduous journey, one studded with minefields erupting in confusion, anxiety and repeated dismay, then let the body lead the way. Your body is a compass. And it's smart. That's the hypothesis of the Feels, an unusual in-person singles event that weaves meditation, talking prompts for intimacy and somatic exercises to help participants connect on a deeper level — with both each other and themselves. The somatic exercises in particular, such as deep breathing, hand-holding or direct eye-gazing, allow participants to check in with how their bodies feel in proximity to one another. It's the opposite of swipe-based dating apps, chatty singles mixers at bars and frenetic speed dating events. Call it 'slow dating.' On a recent Wednesday evening, a Feels mixer was underway in a roomy event space in Venice. Couches and chairs were arranged in a circle with a smattering of throw rugs at the center. Candles dotted the dimly lit room as a Feels playlist — lots of indie pop and moody electronica — set the tone. At first the evening was infused with all the awkwardness of a high school dance. Guests — mostly in their 30s and 40s tonight and from the heterosexual monogamous community — huddled by the open bar during a welcome reception. A group of women chatted in an enclosed circle. A trio of men stood stiffly nearby, sipping beers and surveying the room. Then they headed toward the women, uncertain but smiling. The circle opened, the women giggled, then nervous laughter erupted amongst them all. Two hours later? Participants, now paired up, gripped hands with their partners, fingers interlaced, gazing into one another's eyes. One woman, 5 feet 3, stood on a couch facing her partner who was 6 feet 7 and standing on the ground. 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He keeps returning partly because of the somatic exercises. They allow him to truly relax, he said, creating a better state of mind in which to get to know someone. And he's able to glean information about his partners without using words. 'You can communicate with people nonverbally,' Liu said. 'Sometimes you can feel their energy. You breathe together and slow down. And somatically there's a way I can start to trust another person — not just saying it, but having trust and ease and relaxation in my body while with another person. That can be a great foundation for having a true connection.' Carly Pryor, 36, recently moved to L.A. from Maryland, and tonight was her first singles event of any kind, ever. Why the Feels? 'I'm just very much into self-healing and therapy,' she said. 'And this seemed like a good way to meet someone with similar values — it seems a little more real.' Read more: L.A. Affairs: After dates with cringe men, I almost gave up on online dating. 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New York Times
38 minutes ago
- New York Times
Finding Jordon Hudson: What a New England road trip reveals about Bill Belichick's girlfriend
The left turn sneaks up on you, interrupting the wall of towering trees hugging both sides of this winding two-way road in suburban New England. Through the clearing, an electronic gate comes into view, blocking whatever lies beyond. Unless Google Maps has malfunctioned, this is the place — or more accurately, the culmination. Stop No. 17 on a two-day trek across New England in search of the answer to a question that has captivated the sports world: Who is Jordon Hudson? Advertisement Hopefully, an address on the other side of that gate can provide insight on Hudson beyond her role as the increasingly famous 24-year-old girlfriend of Bill Belichick, who won six Super Bowls as coach of the New England Patriots and is almost 50 years her elder. Official filings show that the listed headquarters for all 16 of Hudson's limited liability companies is located here, nestled somewhere in this private golf community south of Boston. As my rented silver Chevy Trailblazer idles in the entrance lane earmarked for guests, a security guard slides open a glass door and lumbers out to greet me. Hi, I'm here to see Joshua Christian? That's the listed resident agent on most of Hudson's LLCs. 'Does he know you're coming?' Uh… no. 'Go on in.' The gate arm lifts. I'm in. I take the first left, down a long driveway dotted with multi-million dollar homes that runs parallel to the course's seventh and eighth holes. Finally, jackpot. A sprawling brown two-story with the matching address posted to the left of the garage — which, conveniently, is open. The trunk is also popped on a Mercedes sedan parked in the driveway, with a Callaway golf bag and two pairs of grass-stained sneakers lying nearby. Somebody's home. Admittedly, expectations are low. In my head, Christian opens the door and I explain why I'm interrupting his Saturday evening sunset. If he declines to talk — the heavy favorite — I thank him for his time and reverse down the driveway. Or maybe he actually shares a personal anecdote or two about Hudson that illuminates her character or ambitions. I'm practically rehearsing the options as I ascend the two short steps to the door, mash the electronic black doorbell and back away. Silence — and then the door jostles open. But it's not Christian, nor Hudson, who emerges. Instead, it's a familiar face with a recognizable mop of rustled grey hair — a silhouette I've seen stalking NFL sidelines for decades. Oh! Hey, Bill. How ya doing? The impetus for my 34-hour, 573.5-mile journey along the Northeastern coastline? Public fascination with Hudson, much of which stems from how she has reshaped the personal brand of arguably the greatest football coach of all time. But since Hudson has yet to give a single interview since Belichick's hiring at North Carolina in December — his first foray into college football — the world is instead left deciphering clues. Analyzing her 26-second on-stage answer at the recent Miss Maine USA pageant, where she finished as second runner-up. Scouring public records, Ring doorbell footage and the former national champion cheerleader's social media accounts for clues. Wondering if the couple is engaged, as the New York Times reported Hudson has told at least one person. Hunting for breadcrumbs, basically. Hudson did not respond to an interview request for this story, either. So in lieu of hearing from her directly, the next best option? Walking — or in this case, driving — hundreds of miles in her shoes. Start in the farthest northeastern corner of Maine, where traces of Hudson's childhood can still be found among the aging lobster cages. Head nearly five hours south — through one-stoplight towns, past countless roadside blueberry stands — until you hit Boston, where Hudson spent 1,000 hours studying cosmetology, and where she now owns multiple rental properties as part of a burgeoning $8 million real estate portfolio. From there, it's a curl around the coast to the tiniest tip of Cape Cod, Provincetown, Mass., where Hudson spent her formative years in the self-advertised 'gayest town in America.' Advertisement That unconventional backstory explains, at least partially, what led Hudson to becoming Belichick's 'creative muse,' as he wrote in his new book — and, in turn, a cultural fixation. 'I consider her a supernova,' says Dougie Freeman, a celebrity hairstylist and owner of West End Salon & Spa in Provincetown, who was Hudson's boss for several years. 'Our motto here at the salon is, 'Let us help you use what you've got to get what you want' … and maybe Jordon Hudson is a good example of that.' Belichick's NFL heyday was defined as much by winning as it was instructing his players to 'ignore the noise,' to block out any real or perceived distractions. Yet six months into his UNC tenure — before he's coached a single game on his $30 million guaranteed contract — Belichick's time in Chapel Hill has been defined by questions about Hudson's role. While the coach has maintained he has both a 'personal and professional' relationship with Hudson, who handles his promotional opportunities away from North Carolina, the line has proven to be blurry amid a series of scrutinized episodes. Hudson's Instagram profile, meanwhile, with its 110,000 followers, has been like a window into another world: one where Belichick, 73, posed as a fisherman next to her in a mermaid Halloween costume. 'This relationship has kind of pushed him into a different realm,' says Alice Leppert, associate professor of media and communication studies at Ursinus College. 'There's a clash of imagery between who fans knew him as, this one particular type of coach, versus who we're seeing in the public eye now. So it may just be that clash, that mismatch, that has gotten so many people's attention.' Amid Hudson's rise, her family's origins in Hancock, Maine, have brought attention to the 2,500-person town in the northern shadow of Acadia National Park, where Hudson was born in anonymity. Her parents, Heath and Lee, owned Frenchmans Bay Fisheries, a mussel and seaweed farming business they operated out of their rural ranch. Miss Daisy, Heath's dragger, made local headlines more than a time or two for being unceremoniously beached during sudden low tides. Advertisement Eventually, though, local fishing regulations changed, straining the Hudson's operation. That upbringing, as Hudson said both at the Miss Maine USA pageant and in various social media posts, is what sparked her passion for saving Maine fishermen. These days, the town named after founding father John Hancock is less known for its fishing scene. Instead, it's better known as the home of a summer program that trains orchestra conductors — or as the filming site of the 1989 horror film 'Pet Sematary,' based on Stephen King's novel. The local economy isn't all that's turned over. Most of the Hudsons no longer live in the area — except for Heath, who still resides in the family's old home. He was formally awarded ownership of the charcoal-colored house Hudson grew up in just last month, according to court records viewed by The Athletic. But more than a decade after Lee and Heath separated, and after Lee and her children left Hancock, there are still visible signs of Hudson's childhood. A dilapidated wooden shed out back, with a tattered sign advertising scallops. The rotting tree house next to it, which Heath once built for Hudson and her sisters to play in. David Johnston — who was born and raised in Hancock, and who now oversees its historical society — can't speak to the Hudsons personally, but he does have something to share. In a side room of the historical society, Johnston leans over and opens a long filing cabinet, where he maintains folders on every family that is, or was, part of Hancock. He plucks out two. The first folder provides a peek at the previous four or five generations of Hudsons. There's a newspaper article honoring Heath's Eagle Scout project, a footbridge over a swamp in a bird sanctuary at nearby Tunk Lake. There are children's drawings and scribbles by Jordon's sister Jenna; a birth announcement for another sister, Becca. Obituaries, communion pamphlets, records of school math meets. But save for a blank Frenchmans Bay Fisheries merchandise order form, featuring a picture of young Jordon and her sisters, there's no mention of Hudson. That's for the other folder, Johnston explains. He'd seen Hudson's name pop up in relation to Belichick, but never thought much of it — until the Bangor Daily News, his preferred local paper, started posting articles about her. At that point, Johnston made an executive decision. Advertisement 'This is something,' he says, 'we should probably record for future generations.' There's been no shortage of news to chronicle. Belichick requested his girlfriend be copied on certain UNC emails weeks into his tenure, around the same time she offered unsolicited advice to school communications staffers. In late February, as North Carolina was finalizing a deal with HBO's 'Hard Knocks,' she played an 'instrumental role' in the production pulling up stakes. All that came before her viral, off-camera interruption of a CBS interview, when Belichick was asked how the couple met. (They say it was on a 2021 flight to Palm Beach.) Most recently, the school denied a report that Hudson had been 'banned' from the football facility. The parade of headlines has done nothing to slow criticism locally and beyond. 'I am a longtime UNC fan and cannot believe you are stuck with a coach who is clearly being run by a woman who is young enough to be his granddaughter dominating football practice and interviews,' one longtime supporter wrote to the school's president, according to emails obtained by The Athletic. 'It's ridiculous, won't end well, and makes UNC look foolish.' It's that view of Hudson that comes through most strongly in her official Hancock folder. The bulging collection reads as if Hudson suddenly parachuted into the world, with no meaningful backstory beyond her relationship with Belichick. There's an article about her teasing a statement on social media in the wake of the CBS interview. A New York Post story from last July recaps a romantic bike ride the couple took on Nantucket. A review of Hudson's Miss Maine USA pageant performance, another about her being likely to decline a 'Dancing With The Stars' invite. There is even a meme tucked into the back: Hudson on the red carpet at the roast of Tom Brady … next to a life-sized Sugar Daddy candy. Whenever this story runs, Johnston asks, could someone please email him a copy? Hudson's cosmetology career began inside a pink–doused proving ground in Ptown. While still in high school, Hudson started working at Dougie Freeman's salon, which he's owned and operated since 1982. She quickly proved 'very gifted' at henna tattoo, with impressive hand-eye coordination that allowed her to draw intricate designs. She also did hair, sometimes while wearing a Miss Massachusetts sash. Advertisement 'My Jordon' — as Freeman, a Provincetown institution, calls her — fit right in at the fabulous parlor tucked inside a nondescript white house on Commercial Street. Over the years, a host of celebrities — the late Anthony Bourdain, Margaret Cho, the cast of 'Queer Eye' — have sunk into Freeman's flamingo-pink chairs. 'My parents always said,' Freeman jokes, 'that people who live on the Cape year-round have something to hide.' Hudson — plus her mother and siblings — moved here around 2010, after Frenchmans Bay finally went under. The census from the same year found that Provincetown registered the highest rate of same-sex couples of any municipality in the country. Evidence of that is everywhere, including the countless variations of pride flags flying down Commercial Street. Hudson's mother, Lee, now co-owns one of Ptown's dueling LGBTQ+ sex shops, Toys of Eros, on that very thoroughfare, where a window decal of a nun smoking a cigarette and an accompanying slogan welcome couples of all ages and orientations: More toys than the Devil has Sinners … 'Growing up in this town, she saw how alternative relationships work. They can work,' Freeman says of Hudson. 'I think that validated it for her.' Hudson eventually enrolled at the New England Hair Academy, which is housed in a renovated drug store just outside of Boston. Even after enrolling at Bridgewater State University, where she studied philosophy and helped the cheer squad win two national titles, Hudson made it a priority to avoid becoming a 'beauty school drop out,' as she wrote in one Instagram post from November 2019. In that same note, she explained how she spent one 12-week period juggling cosmetology school during the day — usually until about 4:30 p.m. — before making the hour-long commute back to BSU for cheerleading practice, which usually ended around 10:30 p.m. Those experiences ultimately led to Hudson forming two of her earliest LLCs — 'Roosevelt Beauty' and 'Roosevelt Glam,' both of which date to December 2023 and derive from her full name, Jordon Isabella Roosevelt Hudson — to pursue opportunities related to cosmetics, hygiene products and event styling. Others she's created since — all since 2023, according to documents obtained by The Athletic — range from real estate oversight to book and movie production, from trademark and copyright management to information technology (IT) solutions, from business operations to merchandising. At least four of the companies are directly affiliated with her boyfriend: Chapel Bill LLC; All BB Team LLC; Coach Show LLC; and BB's Version LLC — the last of which is a play on the strategy Taylor Swift used to reclaim the intellectual property rights on several of her songs. Advertisement 'People in Ptown are veeeeery resourceful,' Freeman adds. 'Many of us wear many hats to make money.' Freeman says he last spoke to Hudson via a series of internet DMs about two weeks before our visit, after he spoke to another outlet for a profile on 'my most famous employee.' How's she doing? What did she say? 'She seems to be doing fine,' Freeman responds. 'She said, 'I understand you're going to do an interview with the Washington Post.' And I said, 'I said a lot of nice things about you, I think you'll be pleased with it.' And I assume she was.' Even that brief encounter makes Freeman, as far as I can ascertain, the only person who actually knows Hudson — who stays in touch with her, at least to some extent — who has agreed to speak about her. That isn't for a lack of trying. Beyond her own reticence to be interviewed, Hudson's circle has similarly bunkered down — in many ways, in Belichick-esque fashion. A dozen-plus friends of Hudson who The Athletic reached out to did not respond. Her business partners — Christian, plus the other lawyer who helped organize her LLCs, David Jensen — are similarly silent. Hudson's pageant and cheer coaches, from the high school level on up, also ignored multiple outreaches on multiple platforms. Other than Freeman, the closest I get to anyone who actually knows Hudson? Surprisingly, her parents. Lee picks up the cold call, but upon learning there's a reporter on the other end of the line, interrupts: 'I have nothing to say about that.' Click. Heath at least hears out my pitch before politely declining. 'No, thank you!' Hudson's agency in insulating herself from legacy media — even as her growing fame shatters the barrier between private citizen and public figure — is part of what makes her story so lack of information about her effectively brightens the spotlight trained on Hudson's every move (or Instagram story). Advertisement 'It empowers a lot of internet sleuthing,' says Leppert, also the co-editor of Celebrity Studies. 'Certainly I think she qualifies as a celebrity, because look at the amount of attention that has been focused on her — and the fact that she is actively courting that attention, right? That Instagram is public. She is constantly posting photos with narratives of her relationship on it.' That relationship, and everything that has come with it, is why Freeman says he no longer views Hudson as just 'one of the most beautiful young women I've ever seen.' Have you seen the CBS interview, Freeman asks? Or her Dunkin' Super Bowl commercial, alongside Ben Affleck? 'When you do that, honey,' Freeman says, 'you've arrived.' He notes that though he's never met Belichick, he does not understand how anyone can consider the couple anything but a 'we,' given all that's transpired publicly. 'You know,' he adds, pausing for dramatic effect, 'she's not less than.' If anything, Freeman says? There's room in his eyes for Hudson's star to grow. 'It's about Jordon Hudson, the book. It's about Jordon Hudson, the movie. It's about Jordon Hudson, the brand,' he adds. But before our visit ends, Freeman lowers his voice for the first time all afternoon. He's read much of the backlash Hudson has received, especially after the CBS interview, and worries about the toll that may take on her. After one of his previous stints with reality TV went wrong, Freeman knows firsthand how vitriol can overwhelm. 'Fame comes with some barbs,' he says soberingly, 'and it doesn't always come with fortune.' During the Miss Maine USA pageant in May, Hudson appeared to allude to the criticism: 'I'm hoping that anybody who's watching this finds the strength to push through whatever it is that they're going through — and embodies that hate never wins.' Back on the front porch inside the secluded golf community, it's tough to tell who is more surprised: Me … or Bill Belichick, who appears to have answered the door for a solicitor for the first time in a long time. But it's him all right, in the flesh, sporting a navy blue T-shirt and mesh Carolina blue gym shorts. His usually stoic expression is decidedly less so, though, replaced instead with something between confusion and unease. Advertisement There are, as you might expect, roughly a thousand questions ricocheting in my mind. On my search for Jordon Hudson … did I accidentally find her? Is she here, too? At no point in my search process did I expect to find Belichick. But here he was: at home, and at the headquarters of Hudson's litany of LLCs. As Freeman says, a true we. With less than 100 days until North Carolina's season opener against TCU, it's uncertain what Hudson's role in Belichick's orbit might become. But there's no doubt that the separation of love and sport will remain blurry. Also guaranteed? That the world will be watching, eagerly. After a brief whiteout, I realize it would be wise to introduce myself and explain why I'm here. Belichick tells me he doesn't know a Joshua Christian, who organized his girlfriend's LLCs. So if this isn't Christian's property, I ask, is it Belichick's? Silence. There's the coach everyone knows. Well, I continue, if Christian isn't here for an interview, would Belichick be up for one? He quickly declines. So then what would be the best way to facilitate an interview with you? 'Uh … do you have a card or something?' Belichick examines the card and says he'll have someone reach out. The end of our chance encounter, clearly, is near. But then I remember the two pairs of shoes in the front driveway and try extending the scene a few more seconds — all in the hope that maybe, just maybe, Hudson will appear. But attempts at small talk fall flat. Saturday night beckons, and Belichick has better things to do than strike up conversation with a stranger. Saying goodbye, he backsteps off the porch and into the residence. Then he politely shuts the door, away from any more prying eyes. — Additional reporting by The Athletic's Matt Baker. (Illustration: Dan Goldfarb / The Athletic; Jim Dedmon / Imagn Images, iStock)
Los Angeles Times
42 minutes ago
- Los Angeles Times
Tired of dating apps? This touchy-feely singles mixer is unlike anything you've tried before
If finding a soulmate in the urban sprawl of Los Angeles is a long and arduous journey, one studded with minefields erupting in confusion, anxiety and repeated dismay, then let the body lead the way. Your body is a compass. And it's smart. That's the hypothesis of the Feels, an unusual in-person singles event that weaves meditation, talking prompts for intimacy and somatic exercises to help participants connect on a deeper level — with both each other and themselves. The somatic exercises in particular, such as deep breathing, hand-holding or direct eye-gazing, allow participants to check in with how their bodies feel in proximity to one another. It's the opposite of swipe-based dating apps, chatty singles mixers at bars and frenetic speed dating events. Call it 'slow dating.' On a recent Wednesday evening, a Feels mixer was underway in a roomy event space in Venice. Couches and chairs were arranged in a circle with a smattering of throw rugs at the center. Candles dotted the dimly lit room as a Feels playlist — lots of indie pop and moody electronica — set the tone. At first the evening was infused with all the awkwardness of a high school dance. Guests — mostly in their 30s and 40s tonight and from the heterosexual monogamous community — huddled by the open bar during a welcome reception. A group of women chatted in an enclosed circle. A trio of men stood stiffly nearby, sipping beers and surveying the room. Then they headed toward the women, uncertain but smiling. The circle opened, the women giggled, then nervous laughter erupted amongst them all. Two hours later? Participants, now paired up, gripped hands with their partners, fingers interlaced, gazing into one another's eyes. One woman, 5 feet 3, stood on a couch facing her partner who was 6 feet 7 and standing on the ground. Their foreheads were pressed together, their eyes were shut, their hands clasped; her lips were ever-so-slightly pursed, his forehead was wrinkled in concentration. They looked like long-lost lovers, reunited. They'd met just 10 minutes earlier. The exercise was meant to help participants tune into how their bodies felt — did their chests open up, was their breathing steady or shallow? — while in the presence of their partner, said Zoë Galle, the somatic coach who facilitated the evening's activities. 'It's about paying attention to: 'How does my nervous system feel with this person? Do I feel settled?'' she said, adding that the Feels helps participants connect on a more immediate and vulnerable level. 'We give them a place to practice that safely together.' Michael Liu, 47, an Orange County-based doctor, has been to three previous Feels events. He keeps returning partly because of the somatic exercises. They allow him to truly relax, he said, creating a better state of mind in which to get to know someone. And he's able to glean information about his partners without using words. 'You can communicate with people nonverbally,' Liu said. 'Sometimes you can feel their energy. You breathe together and slow down. And somatically there's a way I can start to trust another person — not just saying it, but having trust and ease and relaxation in my body while with another person. That can be a great foundation for having a true connection.' Carly Pryor, 36, recently moved to L.A. from Maryland, and tonight was her first singles event of any kind, ever. Why the Feels? 'I'm just very much into self-healing and therapy,' she said. 'And this seemed like a good way to meet someone with similar values — it seems a little more real.' The Feels is the brainchild of Allie Hoffman, who came up with the idea for a more thoughtful IRL dating event while pursuing her master's degree from the Spirituality Mind Body Institute at Teachers College, Columbia University. She was in her late 30s at the time and struggling with being single and 'feeling very left behind.' She started the Feels to connect with others who were also grappling with the digital dating landscape. The experiences she accumulated at Feels events became her master's thesis. Research for the master's thesis — including group relations theory as well as writings by Carl Jung, Joseph Campbell, her professor Martha Eddy and the Ugandan Buddhist monk Bhante Buddharakkhita — in turn helped refine the Feels. 'It gave the event scientific rigor and gravitas. [The concepts are] research-backed,' she said. 'I hated dating apps, the ecosystem that they created. The Feels was my way to say, 'Hey, we can date better, we can relate better, and it needs to happen IRL.'' The first Feels event took place in New York in August 2022, and it soon expanded to Washington, D.C., and Philadelphia. It debuted in L.A. in January 2024 (13 events have taken place here so far) and it's now also in San Francisco and Chicago. Events serve a broad age range — roughly 25 to 55 — but they're tailored to either the queer, heterosexual monogamous or ethically non-monogamous communities. Hoffman said there's a particular need for the Feels in L.A., where — she's personally observed — there's a disproportionate value placed on aesthetics and age. 'The Feels is, in essence, about getting past all that — and quickly,' Hoffman said. 'It's less important what you look like or do for work and more: 'Do you know you, and how you operate?'' In that sense, the event is also meant to help attendees get to know themselves better and develop relating skills they can use in everyday life, romantically and otherwise. 'If you meet the love of your life, that's great,' Hoffman said. 'But we're more excited about you getting insight into who you are and how you might date and relate.' Hoffman plans to grow the Feels in L.A. to three to four events a month by this fall. Tickets are $75-150, depending on when they're purchased and the dating type. (Queer community tickets are less expensive so as to promote inclusion.) On Wednesday, attendees — who were paired up four times throughout the evening — followed conversation prompts that included offering compliments or revealing details about their erotic selves. They milled in the room to music between sessions with partners, shaking off awkwardness by wriggling their arms, swinging their hips, jumping or full-on dancing. Additional somatic exercises had them placing hands on one another's hearts or — at the end of the evening — falling into each other's arms for a long held embrace. 'Tune into what it feels like to have someone's arms wrapped around you — what does it feel like to be offered support?' facilitator Galle asked them. 'Now tune into what it feels like to give it.' Benjamin Titcomb, 36, a software engineer, said the exercises were revealing. 'What I learned about myself is I still struggle with being as open as I could be,' he said. 'I didn't quite expect that. But I made a couple of connections — we'll see how that goes.' For Tara Haug, 43, a Feels newbie who works in tech sales, the night was a win. The online dating world, she said, can be difficult for women because of the anonymity factor — 'you can feel very unsafe.' But the Feels felt the opposite to her. 'Being here with people who took the time to do something intentional, I felt really safe with the men instantaneously. Because it felt like a shared space where we all made a social contract to take care of each other.' Did she make any connections? 'Yes,' she said, 'I connected with everyone!'
