On Valentine’s Day, over 200 people lined the block around a Greenpoint loft for a chance to get physical with one another. Eager to get it on, they side-eyed potential partners at the check-in station while donning bracelets that indicated their sexual orientation. Many of them had never been to a steamy event like this one before — that is, “Wrestlemania” for singles. 

Both a social mixer and sport tournament, the “wrestling speed dating” event invited 18-to 24-year-olds to flirt, choose an opponent and test their physical chemistry on the mat in 60-second rounds. 

Attendees could choose between a wrestler ticket, which guaranteed one round of wrestling with a partner of their choice, or a standby ticket, which still gave a chance to step into the ring, but only if picked by a wrestler. 

Wrestlers selected a “man-on-man,” “woman-on-woman” or “man-on-woman” ticket option, but these options felt limiting for some, especially within a queer-inclusive space.

I bought a man-on-man ticket, which I thought was a bit reductive in terms of gender and sexuality, but I just discovered as long as you have consent you are allowed to wrestle anyone. Manon McCollum, FCLC ’24

“I bought a man-on-man ticket, which I thought was a bit reductive in terms of gender and sexuality, but I just discovered as long as you have consent you are allowed to wrestle anyone,” said Manon McCollum, Fordham College at Lincoln Center ’24. “Now that beautiful women are on the table, the world is my oyster.” 

One face-off was between Tasneem Sarjoo and Luiz Campos, who met that night. 

“I just got out of a relationship, so I’m trying to do more fun things for myself,” Sarjoo said. 

For Campos, a Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu fighter, it would not be his first time stepping into a ring that day. He had just come from a tournament where he completed six Jiu-Jitsu fights and won all of them. 

Despite her lack of wrestling experience, Sarjoo put up an impressive fight against her partner — gracefully pinning Campos down to the mat — all while wearing a stylish jean skort.

“I’m tired of Hinge … It’s kind of killing my soul.” Maxim Marshall, Attendee

After reconvening for a post-game chat, both Sarjoo and Campos agreed that the experience had made them feel closer to one another. It was clear from their easy rapport that their dynamic had opened up. The two were not exactly friends or lovers yet, but they had found firmer ground to stand on as playpals. They made plans to hang out after the event.

For many of the young singles in attendance, the event was a chance to put themselves out there in a fun and lighthearted way and to mix things up without expectations. 

“Why spend Valentine’s Day drinking at a bar like usual when I can watch people wrestle and potentially wrestle them myself?” said Nate, who declined to share his last name. “I’m really just looking to hit a suplex, I think, at the end of the day.”

Several attendees expressed frustration with an app-based dating culture that seldom offers more than short-lived “situationships,” and were excited at the possibility of an in-person meet-cute. 

“I’m tired of Hinge,” said Maxim Marshall, who recently moved to Brooklyn. “It’s kind of killing my soul.” 

Though things certainly got heated in the ring, the wrestlers seemed to be in agreement that the night was about the memories to be made rather than the outcome of the match, echoing the philosophy of Grownkid co-founders Kayla Suarez and Gael Altor that “the meaning of life is play.”

The night’s host was Grownkid, a Gen-Z social club that organizes play-based community events. While their hammy edge-lord aesthetic might induce some eye-rolling (they previously hosted a “‘Fight Your Evil Situationship’ Boxing Rave”), the club’s underlying ethos is earnest. 

“Caring is rebellion,” reads the Grownkid social manifesto on their “about us” page. “Bold people pull the world forward; they make connection possible for everyone around them.”

The event had its hiccups — lulls between wrestling rounds stretched on, and the paper sign-up system (which included blanks to write a safe word and preferred level of aggression) mostly fell to the wayside in favor of a big line. Some ticketholders felt underwhelmed, despite organizers’ best efforts.

“This event was a perfect showcase of the sexual puritanism and social awkwardness of Generation Z,” McCollum said at the end of the night. “These people seemed incapable of living in the real world and flirting. However, this may … have more to do with the fact that they are all 19.”

Though things certainly got heated in the ring, the wrestlers seemed to be in agreement that the night was about the memories to be made rather than the outcome of the match, echoing the philosophy of Grownkid co-founders Kayla Suarez and Gael Altor that “the meaning of life is play.”

“It’s not about who wins or loses, it’s about the story and the drama,” acting student Andrew Dominguez said after an intense round of grappling that exhilarated the crowd.  

Not every wrestling pair felt a romantic connection, but whether or not sparks flew, sparring with a stranger was a foolproof way to break the ice and quickly eliminate any initial awkwardness between new friends. 

Grownkid provided Valentine’s Day-themed contact cards on pink cardstock, encouraging event-goers to connect without needing to pull out their phones. For those lucky enough, it might just be a love match.