I’m standing in front of a boat docked at Polson Pier on Lake Ontario that is filled with hundreds of singles and about to set sail for the next four hours. No, it’s not a nightmare. This is real.
The cruise instructions said to dress in pink and white, so I am in my best fuchsia J.Crew mini and L’Intervalle platforms, ready to find love. Or at least a moment of real-life connection with a human male. The line to board snakes through a parking lot that happens to be next to a nightclub about to host a JPEGMafia concert, which adds to both the ambiance and the confusion.
This singles afloat event has been put together by a dating organization called Thursday, which as you may have guessed, puts on events for singles every Thursday in Toronto, as well as Vancouver, Edmonton, Calgary, Ottawa and Montreal. They have lofty aims for this venture: to transform the city’s sometimes miserable digital dating scene with in-person events and real life connections.
Thursday’s Toronto chapter leads are Felisha Liu and Ben Davies, who are both extremely social; it makes sense that this is how they spend their time. “You’re not just meeting potential partners; you’re becoming part of a vibrant community of singles who value real connections,” says Liu. “We know that mindless app swiping and impersonal messages are a thing of the past and we embrace the excitement of a new in-person dating movement.”
They book out venues such as bars, clubs, restaurants—and now, a boat—for singles’ mixers. The age range is pretty wide, but usually runs early twenties to late thirties.
I’ve never been romanced on a water vessel but I’m open to it. So I go with a few of my girlfriends who are there for one of two reasons: to meet a man, or to be on a boat. Both seem good enough. When we get onboard, we are directed around by the organizers, who give us a few options. There are three floors: the lower level for those of us 30-plus, and the second floor plus the roof deck for… everyone else. Almost everybody—inclusive of the thirty-pluses—ends up on the roof. The basement, which has low ceilings and smells of hot dog water, ends up being tragically empty most of the night, save for a few people in chairs and one guy who everyone keeps whispering was a contestant on “The Bachelor Canada.”
We head up to the deck, where the drinks are flowing. There’s a special three-for-one shooter deal, and the music consists mainly of top 40 and throwback hits. We sip on watered down, fruity cocktails while Sean Paul’s “Like Glue” blares through the boat’s speakers. I chat with a guy who is shy but sweet, and we have a nice enough conversation about his recent dates and who he hopes to meet on the boat. Then he says he believes in aliens. The conversation goes south.
Someone jokingly notes that a pitfall of being onboard is that you have nowhere to run should an interaction with a potential suitor not go your way. This proves to be correct a few times. One man I speak with on the roof is a cute 31-year-old recent divorcée. By the third sentence, he discloses that he met his ex-wife on the floor of a Skrillex concert. Once he asks for my Instagram it’s time to make my exit—only to keep bumping into him every 30 minutes for the rest of the night.
While most girls are here with their friends, a lot of guys came solo. A few tell me they signed up because they saw a Facebook or Instagram ad for the event. One says he’s looking for commitment but doesn’t think the girls are “here to talk to me.” Another guy in a baseball cap tells me his background is Syrian but he grew up in Germany. He says he doesn’t understand why people in Canada split bills on dates, and that he used to think he liked Russian girls, but now doesn’t have a type. He’s on the boat because he thought he would be able to find more girls at once this way. I momentarily admire his efficient approach.
I steer away and ask some girls why they’re here. “I’ve never been on a boat,” says content creator Tina Cho. Chris Hong, an artist, says “this seemed like a fun way to cap off the summer,” and that she wanted to meet someone organically.
Some people have luck with this: as the night gets underway, quite a few new couples start sucking face on the rooftop in plain view, and there are whispers of amorous couples headed to the boat’s bathrooms.
“Because we’re not working in offices as often or incentivized to get out and about as much, we feel less confident socializing during the times we do still hang out in public, like going to bars and restaurants,” says Kate Lindsay, a writer who has covered dating culture for Bustle and is co-founder of the popular Substack Embedded. “When I’ve interviewed people who are frustrated with dating apps, they describe their dream app as something that just gets single people all together in a room, but then the humans take it from there. They’d feel more confident approaching one another knowing they’re all looking to meet someone.”
Enter third parties trying to meet that need by creating environments for connection—and not just in a bar. Next January, for instance, Thursday is hosting a singles’ ski trip to the French alps. “There’s been a huge request for more events outside of just bars and nightlife,” says Liu. “More activity-based events such as run clubs, dance lessons, holiday-themed activities. These are definitely on our radar.”
By the time 10 p.m. rolls around, I’m itching to get back on land, and by 10:30 I’m feeling seasick. When we finally dock, I almost kiss the concrete. As I walk through the parking lot with all the other singles, I reflect that maybe this exact format isn’t for me. I feel like a spark isn’t something you can force by just putting a bunch of single people in the same place, even if they do all crave connection. Maybe I’d have better luck at a JPEGMafia concert.
