Latest news with #Timeleft
Telegraph
13-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Telegraph
I went for dinner with strangers and it restored my faith in humanity, life and myself
As the lift ascends to the 15th floor, only one thought loops through my mind: 'I don't want to be here.' I'm attending a dinner with five total strangers. I don't know their names, ages, or any details about them. All I know is that they'll be meeting me at 7pm. I'm here to experience Timeleft, a viral dinner club designed to help groups of people meet new friends, try new restaurants and break down the barriers that the digital world has erected between us. 'Even 10 years ago we spent way more time socialising: we'd go outside, we went to the bars, we had some rituals in the week too – we went to church or the grocery market or whatever,' asserts Timeleft's founder, Parisian entrepreneur Maxime Barbier, 40. 'The online world has made us much more isolated. I don't think we're becoming less social, I think we're losing our capability to express ourselves, and that's why we created a space where people can talk to each other. That's why I think it's working well in so many different countries.' Operating in 260 cities in over 60 countries around the world, Timeleft dinners take place every Wednesday evening. Diners pay a membership fee for access (£12.90 for a single dinner, or £19.90 for a month in the UK) then can choose a date, and the algorithm pairs them up with five others. The location of the dinner isn't confirmed until the night before. Before any of this, I have to complete a personal quiz. The questions are eclectic: 'Are your opinions usually guided by logic and facts or emotions and feelings?', 'Do you consider yourself more of an author's film enthusiast or mainstream blockbuster lover?', 'From 1-10 how much of an introverted person do you consider yourself?' These answers will, in theory, be used to match me up with a group whose chemistry is perfect for potentially making friends. 'We know six people is the best size for a table, we know that gender balance is really important, we know that it's really important that there's no more than 10 years difference between the youngest and oldest at the table, we know everyone needs to speak the same language, the price of the restaurant plays a big part, we know the balance has to be right between introverts and extroverts,' says Barbier. At the end of the dinner, I can rate my fellow diners to help the algorithm refine what types of people click. Feeling apprehensive Given three million diners have used Timeleft since it launched four years ago, the algorithm should, in theory, be pretty good at putting together good groups: so as I ride the lift up to Madera restaurant on the 15th floor of the Treehouse Hotel in central London, why am I feeling so gripped by anxiety? The truth is, I used to be better at this. A few years ago I could have walked into a room of strangers and felt totally at ease. Recently though, I went through a period of what I can only describe as mild depression. I felt myself growing exhausted by social interactions with new people. The well of gregariousness which I'd always found easy to draw from dried up. It's a bewildering feeling to look back and notice a change like that in yourself; almost as though some quintessential 'Jackness' in me had been irreparably eroded, replaced by a constant concern about how I was coming across: too loud or too quiet, too verbose or too meek, too opinionated or too reticent. Self-awareness is a vital – and sadly often neglected – skill, but this went further: I could never settle on who I was or what I was bringing to people. Of course, some people are natural introverts who would simply not throw themselves into a social situation like a dinner with strangers to begin with. Perhaps I could have accepted that's who I am now. But meeting people used to fill me with joy; I always say that one of the best parts of my job is the wealth of people I come into contact with, so I wasn't prepared to go gentle into that quiet life. So: to dinner. I tell the host I'm here for the Timeleft dinner and she shows me to the bar where I meet Victor and Oli. The pair know each other already – Timeleft allows diners who've enjoyed each other's company to pair up again on future dinners. They are actually celebrating their 'Timeleftiversary': having met at a dinner a year ago, they quickly became fast friends, even holidaying together, and tonight's meeting is a celebration of that. Oli has been on 41 Timeleft dinners across London, and jokes he's an unofficial ambassador for the company. 'I signed up originally because one day I looked at my friendship group and realised they were all married, or having kids, and I had ended up left out,' he explains. 'There are so many people in London, I wanted to meet some of them and hopefully make new friends.' Gradually the rest of our party filters in and it becomes apparent that I'm the only newbie. Ruxandra has just moved to London from Bucharest for a job in the film industry and has been to two dinners to make some new friends. Jeni, a cheerful Australian with an easy laugh, also knows Oli and simply enjoys meeting people; this is her ninth dinner. Sarah, who recently returned to London from Hong Kong and wanted to relaunch herself on the social scene, is on her 19th. A safe space Despite my dinner companions' backgrounds, according to Barbier, 'around 80 per cent' of Timeleft's users are natives rather than expats seeking to form a new social circle. The 50-50 gender split of my dinner is also somewhat unusual: two thirds of users are women. 'Women get together for the purpose of gathering and men get together for the purpose of doing,' thinks Barbier, who argues that generally women are more social overall. 'We launched women-only nights two months ago and we've had more than 12,000 women participating in that.' Men-only nights are being considered to address the precipitous rise of male loneliness, but Barbier thinks they will require a bit more of an activity – he's considering football-themed meet-ups as a trial. 'You say to women that you're having a 'women-only event' and they understand immediately that it's about solidarity, making a safe space, all that stuff,' he says. 'When you say 'men-only' guys panic and suddenly think it's a dating thing. Men are socialised to be bad at this.' Once we make our introductions, conversation turns to food; Jeni volunteers to play mother and picks a selection of sharing platters for us and from there the chatter doesn't stop flowing. We joke about the deafening sound system, especially after a surly manager furiously informs us that no, he won't turn down the speakers 'because in my restaurant we want to keep up the party vibes'. We talk about previous Timeleft dinners, and the rise of in-person meet-up experiences. We chat about holidays, concerts, life in London, the cost of living crisis, the ethics of service charges (Jeni is dead set against them, and after our run-in with the grouchy restaurant manager, we quickly come round to her point of view). Conversation is brisk and free-flowing. Very occasionally we lapse into silence but Oli's endless conviviality is quick to overcome those moments. I'm happy to say that the three and a half hours we spend together flies by. Easy connections It strikes me only once we've split the bill and headed our separate ways that I still don't know a huge amount about my dining companions. I never asked their ages, their occupations, if they had partners or pets. I worry momentarily that might have been rude of me, but then I realise that in the whole time we were together I never felt the need to fall back on stock questions or small talk which might have illuminated such subjects. Instead I learnt about raves in Romanian castles, laughed about the proper 'vibes' a restaurant should aspire towards, and debated the appropriate costs for a taco. It felt rather like hanging out with friends, more than meeting strangers. I won't pretend that I wasn't exhausted by the end of the evening. I can't bear awkward silences and I kicked myself slightly for not being good enough at averting them in places. But overall it was a delight and most importantly, enlivening; proof to myself that the old, confident Jack is still inside me somewhere. And alright, I didn't necessarily make any new bosom buddies, but Oli added me to his WhatsApp group for events in London, and I've promised I'll do another Timeleft dinner. With around 30,000 diners around the world meeting up for dinners this Wednesday night, I'm sure a lot of people have felt the same apprehension I felt earlier. But I'm heartened to think that collectively we all chose meeting, engagement and friendship over the ease of doing nothing, scrolling through social media and letting the solitude of modern life win. In a world that seems endlessly desperate to drive us apart, sometimes it's nice to get a reminder of just how easy it is to connect with the people around us.
Tokyo Weekender
10-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Tokyo Weekender
Timeleft Japan Review: Does This Friend App Really Work?
If you're a 20- or 30-something in Tokyo, you've probably seen a Timeleft ad on Instagram. Typically featuring a group of young people grinning at dinner with wine glasses in hand, the photos look more like your friend's recap of a fun night out than an ad. Timeleft's premise sounds intriguing, albeit a little cheesy. It's 'a new way of meeting people without expectations,' according to the app's Instagram account. 'Every Wednesday, we gather as strangers around a table to take a chance, share our stories and open up to each other.' The concept certainly piques curiosity, but not everyone is brave enough to take the plunge and risk the potential awkwardness of meeting a bunch of strangers via an app. Plus, there's the logistics of it all. How do you get matched? Who pays? Is it safe? Luckily, one of Tokyo Weekender 's trusted sources was kind enough to provide some details about her experience attending a Timeleft gathering. Meet Nozomi, a 27-year-old Tokyoite working in advertising. Timeleft Participant Interview Can you tell us about yourself? I'm Japanese, but I was born in Kobe and grew up in the US. I came back to Japan and spent my middle and high school years in Kansai, and went to Australia for university. Some of my hobbies are Pilates — I hold group lessons in English every month — podcasting (about topics like career, relationships, beauty and fashion for girls in their late 20s) and traveling. I've been living in Tokyo for two years now, and I love it so far! There are so many things to do. What do you love most about Tokyo? And what are some of the challenges of living here? The city feels so big, and you can meet such a wide variety of people. Even though I'm Japanese and have lived here for more than half my life, it feels so new. But as a young professional, sometimes it feels like all you're doing is just commuting between your home and your office — you know, home, office, home, office. Then on the weekends, you're just so exhausted that you just want to rest and stay at home, and not really branch out as much. When you worked in Australia, were people more open to making new friends? Yes, having experienced western cultures, I do sometimes think it's harder to meet new people in Tokyo. Generally, I think that as adults, a lot of people just aren't as interested in expanding their existing friend groups; they're happy with their circle already. For me, I know I already have a lot of great friendships from school — they are my closest friends and we've known each other for over 10 years. I do, however, still want to branch out and expand my circles, especially since I teach Pilates on the side. My vision is to create an international social-slash-Pilates community this year. How did you first come across Timeleft? I saw ads on social media and websites even when I was living in Australia. But I always just thought it was a scam, so I never had the guts to sign up. After I kept seeing targeted ads in Japan, I just decided to go for it. How does it work? After downloading the app, you take a short personality test, then choose a location out of a few areas in your city. I opted for Meguro or Ebisu. You then decide whether you want to get dinner, or just drinks. The gatherings are on Wednesdays, or more recently, on Tuesdays for girls only. You can select your budget from three tiers, your dietary preferences and preferred languages. I chose Japanese and English. You also have to pay to attend — It's ¥1,890 for one-time participation, meal price not included, and ¥2,290 for a monthly subscription. A few days before the dinner date, you get a notification from the app about your group, consisting of the other four people's nationality and occupation, as well as the restaurant details. You can't contact any of the people beforehand; you just have to show up to the restaurant. That seems so nerve-wracking, like going on a blind date. Yes, it really is. You don't have any clue who's coming. You might even run into someone you know. How did the evening unfold? I consider myself an extrovert, but I was honestly so nervous. It felt like a first date. But when I showed up to the restaurant and sat down, we were all instantly able to connect. It probably helped that we were speaking in English rather than Japanese; I often feel that I can get closer to people much quicker when conversing in English. My group had three Japanese girls, one Kiwi guy and one Taiwanese girl. We just started out by introducing ourselves, and asking basic questions about our jobs, backgrounds and hobbies. The app also gave us icebreaker questions, like 'what would you want to do on your last day on earth?' Things like that. I think we got lucky with our group chemistry, so none of us felt awkward. After dinner, we got a notification about the second location, which was TenCups, a bar in Shibuya. What does the second location hangout entail? Was it just your group? No. Timeleft basically put together a bunch of groups who had also been having dinner around Ebisu, for more opportunities to mingle. The whole bar space was rented out; we just had to pay for our drinks. Interestingly, I did notice that not every group was as friendly with each other as ours. So I do think group chemistry can be hit or miss. You can also choose to forego the second location. One of the girls in my group felt tired, and just went home after our dinner. Did your group make plans to meet up again? Yes, we exchanged contact information and made a Line group chat immediately. We made plans to golf together, and some of them wanted to join my Pilates class. Last month, we merged our group and another group together, and we have another house party coming up this month. So, it definitely didn't end as a one-time outing, which is great. I also know of a girl who met another girl at a Timeleft gathering, and they found out they live really close to each other. Now they're basically best friends. Would you go to another Timeleft meetup? Yes! I definitely want to. And I already recommended it to so many of my friends here and abroad. If you have wanted to meet more people outside of work and your close friend circle, I think Timeleft is a great tool. Do you think the app is going to be successful long-term? I can see it lasting long-term, especially because connections and social interactions these days rely so heavily on digital avenues; I think in-person meetups will become more and more valuable! Follow Nozomi on Instagram @nozzzieee , The Sunday Brunch Club Podcast @sbc_podcast and check out her bilingual pilates classes @noz_pilates . Related Posts Japanese Dating Apps: A Guide To Finding Love Online For Comedian Yurié Collins, A Perfect Day in Tokyo Involves Stand-Up and K-Town Tohru Dance: The Salaryman Turned Dancing Sensation
Time of India
14-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Time of India
Why young Indians are paying to meet strangers
Why young Indians are paying to meet strangers TNN Updated: Jun 14, 2025, 19:30 IST From potlucks to themed house parties, a new wave of offline meetups is helping people forge real connections. Aziz walked into a restaurant in Mumbai unsure of what was on the menu — or who he'd be dining with. Fresh off a breakup and weighed down by exams, he had signed up for a dinner with five strangers through Timeleft , a Paris-based company curating meetups in cities across India and abroad, just to try something unfamiliar. That evening, Yukti, Parth, and Atit joined him — strangers from different backgrounds, each drawn by the same desire for a 'real, meaningful connection.' Over two hours, their conversation flowed from the polite 'What brings you here?' to tales of childhood mischief, travel disasters, and one near-kidnapping. 'It felt less like meeting strangers and more like rediscovering the joy of simply being human, offline,' they agreed.
New Indian Express
07-05-2025
- Business
- New Indian Express
Stranger Things! Know more about Timeleft, an app buzzing in the city
As our worlds have become increasingly urbanised and everything from eating out to finding the love of your life happens digitally, many, especially young people, have felt a deep loneliness and longing for connection and community. This is evident in the spurt of clubs and community-driven events that Bengaluru has seen since the pandemic. But loneliness is a global phenomenon and people aren't just trying to combat it in Bengaluru. Timeleft, a Paris-based company with a presence in 60 countries and 300 cities, which recently launched in Mumbai and Bengaluru, has been doing the same by using a personality algorithm to bring people together for meals. 'We all meet other people digitally and have thousands of connections; but the truth is, we barely connect in real life, so there's a huge space to grow real life communities. Unlike dating apps, you can meet people without any agenda – you can find a partner, friends, business connections, you don't know what,' says Tu-Han Vincent, the head of operations for the Asia and Pacific region. Every user is prompted to take part in an assessment; the questions in this quick test range from basic age and occupation ones, to ones that try to gauge your personal style, your preference for talking about the news (or not) over dinner, how social you are and even whether you enjoy 'politically incorrect' humour. As Vincent explains, the goal isn't to put together five identical individuals but to have a mix of characters that are likely to get along. 'The most important elements for us are to have an age gap within 10 years, so people share the same stage in life, diversity in terms of gender, and of course, a balance of introverts and extroverts. We go deeper and deeper with the matching criteria as we have more users in a zone,' says Vincent. While exciting in its spontaneity, meeting strangers completely blind, without vetting them through chats like dating apps allow, may cause some, especially women, to hit the breaks. But Vincent shares that the venture has put safety measures in place. 'We're constantly in touch with restaurant managers and we've been really careful with the areas and restaurants we choose. We also make sure that we don't have a solo woman at any table. There is also a trust and safety team that is really careful and reads everything [any negative feedback that's reported],' he assures. The cost of getting on the app, too, is more exclusive in India compared than other countries and their income levels, with a range between `1,000 to `1,800 per month based on the subscription period, acting as a deterrent for miscreants. Currently only available in central Bengaluru, the app has partnered with 81 restaurants in the area like Toast and Tonic, Foo (Brigade Road), Misu (St Marks Road), Lupa, and more.
Yahoo
21-04-2025
- Health
- Yahoo
The Multimillion-Dollar Friendship Industry Has a Big Flaw
If you're a lonely adult in an American city, please know that people are trying very hard to help you. A few examples: The organization Project Gather hosts food-centered hangouts—potlucks, bake sales, mushroom foraging—across the country. The company Timeleft, operating in more than 300 cities, matches groups of five strangers for dinner every Wednesday. Belong Center offers 'Belong Circles,' 90-minute gatherings led by 'trained community architects.' Block Party USA seems to, um—advocate for the concept of block parties? Ventures such as these make up a growing friendship industry, and they claim a lofty goal: Not only do they want to get people off their phone and out of the house; they want nothing less than to cure Americans of alienation. 'Eating with others can bring joy, build interpersonal connections, and ultimately help solve the loneliness epidemic in the U.S.,' Project Gather declares. Block Party USA considers itself an 'actionable cure for our country's loneliness, social isolation, divisiveness, and the youth mental health crisis.' Ambitious! But I have some notes. First, it must be said: Research doesn't back up the idea that America is experiencing a loneliness epidemic, or even that overall loneliness rates are worse now than they've generally been throughout history. Of course, plenty of people do report feeling lonely—particularly young adults, a group that may actually be lonelier than they used to be. And many of these endeavors explicitly or implicitly target Gen Z, a cohort that does seem to struggle with interpersonal trust and vulnerability, and therefore could probably use some help connecting. If only it were as easy as getting them in the same room. [Read: The myth of a loneliness epidemic] Most of these start-ups appear to rely on a common assumption: Loneliness results from a lack of friends, and to make new friends, one should meet new people. But we don't fully know what makes a person more or less lonely. Loneliness and time spent alone don't seem to be closely correlated; different people crave different amounts of socializing, and not all socializing is equally fulfilling. When researchers at the Harvard Graduate School of Education surveyed 1,500 American adults about loneliness, they found that people cited a number of struggles, not all clearly related to a friend shortage: 65 percent of those who were lonely said they felt existentially alone, separate from others or the world; 60 percent said their insecurity or mental health had made connection more difficult; 57 percent said they couldn't share their true self. Other studies suggest that very few people have no friends, and that the average number of friends people have has remained fairly stable over time. The problem with relationships is often one of quality rather than quantity. One firm believer in this principle is Shasta Nelson, who writes about friendship and hosts a podcast called Frientimacy. The title is a nod to what she believes many people are hungry for: not friends, per se, but real intimacy with those friends. 'We don't need to meet more people,' she told me. 'We need to feel more met by the people we already know.' Achieving frientimacy, she argues, requires three things: consistency, positivity, and vulnerability. The friendship industry tends to start and end with mere presence: You have to show up. But a single paint-and-sip does not a best friend make. Jeffrey A. Hall, a University of Kansas communication professor, has found in his work that going from strangers to casual friends typically takes 40 to 60 hours spent together; moving to actual friends takes 80 to 100 hours, and forming a good friendship tends to take about 200 hours altogether. Ideally, a friendship-event attendee knows that if they meet someone they like, they should reach out again. What about the time after that—and after that? Without another shared context or network to put them in regular proximity, consistency is difficult to attain. [Read: The six forces that fuel friendship] American culture has few models for how early friendship development works, Nelson told me. People tend to understand that after a good first date, they need to schedule the next meetup—soon, or they'll lose momentum. With platonic prospects, though, many people don't know how to put in the work. 'One of the big myths,' she said, is 'that we just have to meet the right person. We just need to keep being in the room, and eventually we'll find our best friend.' Instead of seeking more and more people, hoping for a spark, maybe you're better off working on the friendships that you already have—you know, the ones you're neglecting while playing badminton with strangers. This is where positivity, another one of Nelson's pillars, comes in: the measure of how good a given friendship is making you feel. It's actually the key to consistency, because you won't be motivated to clear space in a hectic schedule—to pay the babysitter, to do the commute—if you didn't leave the last hang feeling seen. Nelson hears a lot of complaints about consistency being the hardest node of the triad to achieve, but for years now, she's been asking participants to assess their own strength in each of the three areas—and she's found that positivity is the area in which participants perform most poorly. So many people, she observed, are overwhelmed and burned out; they might show up and cross 'friend time' off their list without really giving those friends their full attention. Or they're so nervous and afraid of rejection that they focus on themselves while socializing, not on how to make others feel valued. And if they're too guarded to really open up—to achieve the third pillar, vulnerability—how can they expect the other person to do so either? Hypothetically, an anti-loneliness start-up could design meetups with these principles in mind: supporting the slow build of connection over time; encouraging warmth, sharing, and vocal affirmation. Nelson herself ran a 'friendship accelerator' program back in 2008, in which she matched participants into small groups and had them commit to 10 full weeks of structured gatherings. Each one ended with everyone in a circle, telling the person on their right one thing they appreciated about them. At least one of those groups, she told me, is still close. At the same time, she knows that even the most perfectly curated series of get-togethers isn't likely to fix anyone's social life. She compared it to working out: You don't really start to feel the benefits until you've stuck with it enough to get in shape. 'We have to see our social health not just as an event here and there, but like a lifestyle,' she told me, 'that we are training for and getting stronger in.' [Read: Americans are hoarding their friends] The loneliness industrial complex is unlikely to sustain a lifetime of intentional friendship. But further, it isn't equipped to address the structural issues plaguing many lonely people—especially young adults. Hosting social events won't make rent any cheaper or higher education more affordable, which might allow more young people to live near friends rather than moving back in with their parents. It won't cut down on people's working hours so they can spend more time with loved ones. It won't fix the mental-health-treatment gap, which exists because providers tend to focus on children and adolescents or end up treating middle-aged and older adults, leaving young adults underserved. It won't transform the architecture of cities—build larger housing units, say, so people can host groups; improve public transportation so they can easily reach friends; open new 'third places,' public areas where people can socialize for free. Imperfect measures are better than none. Still: A whole lot of resources—whether from investors or individual donors or pro bono efforts—are being dumped into the friendship industry. TimeLeft, backed by venture capital, has raised more than $2 million since 2020; according to a story in New York magazine earlier this year, Belong Center has gathered at least $1,750,000. Hinge's 'One More Hour' initiative is investing $1 million in existing social clubs—some of which host events, such as 'reading parties,' that sound highly likely to be one-off experiences. And although some of these meetups are free to attendees, others require entry fees or memberships. Take the Brooklyn-based Sprout Society's upcoming 'Together We Dink': A Pickleball Experience event: A ticket that includes playing, food, and drinks costs $250. Across the nation, people yearning for some kind of community are really trying—they're making time, getting dressed up, shelling out—all for a highly imperfect solution. At best, these enterprises offer helpful venues for meeting interesting people, whether or not you'll be forever friends or even have much in common. At worst, they're expensive distractions, offering a false promise of shiny new connections at the expense of old pals—the ones who have been there all along. Article originally published at The Atlantic
