It was a scene you’d imagine watching in a dumb rom-com or an episode of The Bachelor: a burly man was kneeling before me, clasping my hands and smiling up at me as he uttered softly, “I promise to forever honor and respect you.” But in this scenario, we weren’t alone on some cliff overlooking a sunset. And he wasn’t my longtime boyfriend.
In fact, I had just met this man. And we were in a brightly lit yoga studio in the Lower Haight with a dream catcher on the wall and a statue of Buddha in the corner. Roughly 40 other singles were paired off around us, all engaged in the exact same awkward declaration — yes, strangers had been instructed to pledge their unconditional devotion to each other.
Welcome to the world of “Tantra speed dating.” Referred to as “yoga for your love life,” these increasingly popular events are hosted by the Tantra Institute of New York throughout the country and promise an evening of “getting to know someone in a more meaningful way.” Attendees sit in a puja circle and engage in a series of “relationship skills” and “fun connection” exercises that draw from different practices: Tantra, meditation, partner yoga and improv acting. Despite its name, these are clothing-on, nonsexual events.
This was an evening I had signed up for as a revolt of sorts, to combat the monotony of internet dating. I had no desire to go on yet another repetitive walk down Valencia, coffee in hand, with the latest man I had swiped right on.
I had imagined a night of being forced to gaze into someone’s eyes for an uncomfortable amount of time (which we did do), and to be honest, that sounded better than trudging through small talk yet again. Plus, I considered it efficient—the speed-dating style essentially let me knock out 20 dates in one night. At worst, I would have a story to laugh about. At best, the whole thing might work.
The facilitator, a short bald man who kept referring to himself as “a real New Yorker,” started off the evening with a parlor trick. It was a Thursday evening, and all of us were seated on the floor, nervously looking at each other. A couple of people had on yoga clothing, but most were slightly more dressed up, the men in button-downs and the women in flowy skirts. “I am going to prove energy to you,” the man said before bringing out a plastic transparent ball, the kind that lights up if you hold it at both ends. The big ta-da moment? He had two people touch each end and then hold hands—the blue and red lights danced. Uneasy giggles followed his pronouncement—“See, real connection!”
As we went around the circle, filled with people I didn’t know but who would soon be massaging my shoulders and telling me their insecurities, we stated our intentions, and the word “connection” was the repeated phrase. Everyone was looking for it, having been fed up with attempting to find it through an app. They wanted depth, a soul mate and real-life exchanges.
When the facilitator asked the room if anyone liked swiping, almost rhetorically, I was the lone one who raised a hand. “It’s annoying but can still be fun. Right, guys?” I offered awkwardly, thinking someone must feel the same way. Instead, I was met with looks of pity.
Minutes later, I found myself in front of my first date, the tallest man in the room, with longish black hair. He was thanking the women in his life. I followed the facilitator’s instructions and nodded at each of his pronouncements of gratitude—to his mother, to his sister, to his aunt. Next, it was my turn to thank the men in my life. I started with my exes—I figured that all the rules of a normal date were already out—but before I could get past the first name, it was time to rotate. “That’s it?” I said aloud while my date looked at me uneasily, clearly just as confused. I had ended my first rendezvous knowing nothing about the man in front of me except that he loved his family. I guess that was something. “OK, bye,” I told him, but he was already onto the next woman.
The mini dates that followed alternated from bizarre to surprising to super-uncomfortable. At a certain point, I tied my hair up so one man could massage my neck while I was supposed to tell him what he was doing well and what I wanted more of. The facilitator told me I was practicing the relationship skill of feedback. “Rougher, please,” I said, embracing the idea that he at least might be able to get some of the knots out of my neck.
During one date, I knelt on the floor while a man pulled my arms back in a “heart opening” stretch, and in another, a man wrapped his arms around me while whispering halfheartedly into my ear that he was sorry for all the men who had hurt me.
Later, in a strange therapeutic moment, I found myself seated in front of a man, holding his hands and pronouncing all the things I wanted to let go of— procrastination, hurt, grief. After each one, he repeated as instructed, “It is already gone.” Something about his voice and his eyes made me believe him. When I stood up, I actually felt lighter. But I never spoke to him again.
As I went through the rotations, I began to crave the small talk I had come here to avoid.While these men were supposedly looking into my soul — or at least trying to — we had skipped over all pleasantries and all the facts about ourselves, all of which suddenly seemed a vital stepping stone to actual intimacy.For all the talk of “real connection” and each of the attendees’ best intentions, we had all just really been pretending. I realized that all of us faking connections only made me long for the real thing — the thing that happens progressively as you get to know someone, the thing that, unfortunately, these intense “exercises” couldn’t instantly create out of thin air.
As I took my position in front of my last date of the night, I finally felt my first hint of chemistry. But then we were told that we could lie down. I put my head on his chest, and I felt his fingers lightly stroking the outside of my arm. “This feels good,” he said with a sigh while he puled my body closer, as if we had been together our whole lives.
And right at that moment, on the hardwood floor, the attraction vanished. It was definitely too much. I wondered then what would have happened if we had started with a walk on Valencia.
Hey! The Bold Italic recently launched a podcast, This Is Your Life in Silicon Valley. Check out the full season or listen to the episode featuring Jessica Alter, the founder of Tech for Campaigns. More coming soon, so stay tuned!
