Social Concierge offers an alternative, a chance to see a person, hear their voice, smell their breath (for better or worse) and let them buy you a drink. They had already gotten comfortable if they were already sitting in a group, I assumed. So instead of approaching a mixed XX-XY group, I put my coat and bag on a couch where a group of friendly-looking 20-something women were gathered, and asked if anyone had been to a mixer before. Her friend Katie explained that she joined for the monthly fee of , submitted her photo, provided her employer’s name (Social Concierge verifies by social media or a phone call to the applicant), but said that she was entry-level — not the rich mover and shaker I thought members had to be.
Not every great conversationalist can write a killer profile. The women sitting in those cozy conversations seemed to have already picked out their guys and sunk their hooks into them. All the women I spoke to that night weren’t stereotypical crabby competitors.
Despite my fearless reputation among friends, I was nervous as hell.
Red-lipped and wearing heels, I went to Ballroom Romance, a private event, hosted by the dating club Social Concierge. arrival not only made me miss out on the booze, but it might have slashed my chances of getting a phone number.
just as a woman was putting her number into his phone.
Fortified by knowing at least one person in the room, I procured a glass of Malbec and got ready to mingle with the opposite sex.
I looked for a “crowd mixologist,” a person Social Concierge billed as a “bold character” with a corsage who was supposed to make introductions every five minutes to keep the lonely hearts club swinging.
Just then, the Metro photographer, Luc, texted me to say he arrived, so I walked to the entrance to meet him…
Having a designated "wingman/woman" at the ready is a nice touch, especially in New York.
New Yorkers live in a huge city, the hippest club around, surrounded by 8 million other people, but we often times avoid interaction. We never make eye contact with the person walking the opposite way on the sidewalk. The only corsage I found was pinned to Ben Goodman, the marketing and events consultant for Social Concierge, who introduced me to Jackson. Ethically, I had to disclose to Jackson and the others I spoke to that night that I’m a reporter and planned to write about my experience, which kind of took away some of the fun.
I ran into a pretty confident guy, Leo, who approached me by the bar, where the majority of folks seemed to gather.
He told me people call him the “Minister of Fun,” which actually sounded like a line I heard while on the dating app Coffee Meets Bagel.