The single people congregated between the mixed nuts and the flat packs of canned corn. They flirted by the $17.99 premium floral bouquets and sustained eye contact next to shoulder-high stacks of pure vanilla extract. One man squared his shoulders and approached two women who were standing by a tower of grass-fed beef sticks (Kirkland brand).
More than a hundred singles gathered Thursday night at Costco in SoMa for a meetup that was not authorized by the store. Think of it as a flash mob, but for matchmaking.
The hopefuls roamed the aisles, each wearing a distinctive bird-shaped clip to alert other daters to their presence. Some pushed carts filled with bulk items; others simply strolled. A strong scent of hot-dog water lingered in the air.
Jaden Booher, 31, drove from the South Bay with two single friends. “In all the movies, the meet-cutes are in the grocery store, so this is just — artificially — that,” he said. Plus, the people at this event would likely have Costco memberships. “That’s a green flag,” he noted. He planned to start the evening in the protein powder aisle. His friend Amanda Kim, 24, said she would try to strike up conversations near the pumpkin pie display.
Booher and Kim had learned of this gonzo grocery meet-cute the same way everyone else had: through word of mouth, anonymous flyers posted throughout central San Francisco neighborhoods, and via an invitation (opens in new tab) on the social media app Partiful. The posters invited daters to a “Grocery Store Chic Singles Night.” The online invitation, hosted by 26-year-old Marli Anglim, read, “Join us for a new dating experiment held in your fave aisle of Costco.”
Some attendees were less than enthused to find that it was all a promotion for a dating app. Booher found that “a little scammy.”
AI-powered Rarebird, which is in beta, was the dating app behind the event. Standing outside the store Thursday night, Jey Kottalam, the app’s founder, said the inspiration came from a Burning Man camp (opens in new tab) called the Costco Soulmate Trading Outlet. If people love it on the Playa, why not throw a dating event at the actual warehouse store, he thought.
“Isn’t that the dream in real life too?” Kottalam asked. “You just want to be, like, at the grocery store, or at a party, and you just bump into somebody, and there’s a great spark. Not grinding away on apps.”
Minutes before the event, which was free to attend, dozens of singles swarmed the folding table Kottalam had set up outside Costco, marked “Singles Night.” Attendees were encouraged to take cards with prompts such as, “If you had to hide in Costco for 24 hours, which aisle would you head to?” They were given the bird-shaped pins to attach to their clothing. Organizers tried to connect Costco card-holders with nonmembers, since members are permitted to bring two guests into the store per visit. Singles sidled up to one another, breaking the ice with the words, “So … do you have a Costco membership?”
Fatigue over swipe-based apps has given rise to attempts at bringing dating back offline. In San Francisco, these efforts have ranged from classics like speed dating to gimmicks like lonely-hearts ads on telephone poles, live matchmaking sessions, and a dating app that works only on Thursdays.
“People are just so frustrated with the dating apps and dating in general that they are willing to try meeting people in person,” said Spencer Kuzmier, 35, who attended with a group of single friends. “I’m looking for a partner,” he said. “But this event — I’m here for fun.”
And it was, if you consider harsh overhead lighting, sobriety, and the singleminded determination of bulk shoppers “fun.” But the benefits of the store-based singles event, attendees agreed, were numerous: an activity, the friendliness of the setting, and the way it ruled out people who are allergic to goofiness.
“I like the absence of information, because it lets you talk to them and ask them more questions,” said Kim. On a dating app, “I feel like you already know so much, you make a decision in the first five seconds.”
The setting portended a future of shared domesticity, a partnership in which you might actually make it through 36 eggs or want to go in on a Frigidaire and front-loading washer-dryer set. Or at the very least, someone to split bulk items with for awhile.
For Rachel van Heteren, 30, and Taylor Flanders, 32, the event was an opportunity to take on the Bay Area’s allegedly skewed gender ratios. The friends said their favorite social activities — a knitting group and a soup-making club — rarely attract men. In Costco, single men approached them as they loaded kimbap and a store-brand sweatsuit into their shared cart.
“We’ve seen single men walking down the aisle with a bird, and I feel panic in my heart, and I nod and I keep walking,” van Heteren said, laughing. It was nice to be in an environment where people were actually excited to talk to each other, she added.
“We’re fighting the social norm we’ve all been taught of don’t really make eye contact while you’re grocery shopping, and don’t talk to people,” said Flanders.
After two hours of shopping, participants began to flock toward the food court. On their way to buy a slice of pizza and a hot dog, Kim and Booher summarized a conversation with other single shoppers.
“We talked about corn,” Kim said. “And green beans.”
“All the fun things,” Booher added. “Batteries.”
A Costco employee, who was not permitted to speak on behalf of the company, said the staff had become aware of the event earlier that day and had prepared as best they could. “As long as they’re all Costco members, it’s fine,” he said. “I would love for them to shop. Hopefully they’ll buy more alcohol, Champagne, and chocolates. We have them here.”
Some daters proceeded to an after-party at a nearby bar. Others went home, lugging family-size boxes of ramen and giant packs of peanut butter. The romantic connections forged at Costco may not result in long-term relationships. But everyone seemed to enjoy the samples.