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The real sex and the city

July 21 2003

Speed dating, developed by an American rabbi in 1998, is a fun and sexy way to meet like-minded singles, Clara Iaccarino writes. Just take your stopwatch with you.

Confession: I'm addicted to speed dating. I'm not sure whether it's the buzz of meeting new people or the flirtatious excitement that engulfs a room of 20 singles, but whatever it is, I've been to two speed dating events within a week.

For my money, standing in a bar, champagne glass in hand, surrounded by nine potential suitors, is far from hellish. What's more, my fears of the potential freaks and dating desperadoes who may also be in attendance were instantly allayed. The talent was real, the monsters a minority.

It all sounds a bit Sex And The City surreal, but the fact is, speed dating is a fun and sexy way to meet like-minded singles. And Sydney has taken to it like Carrie to a Manolo.

First developed by an American rabbi in 1998 as a way of helping young Jewish men and women meet spouses of their faith, speed dating has since become the latest craze, attracting singles from the US to the UK, and now Australia.

The basic premise involves an equal number of girls and guys meeting in a bar and spending eight minutes with each suitor. At the end of the evening, if anyone takes your fancy you let the party host know.

Fingers crossed they've selected you, too, and it's a match. The day after the event the host emails a list of potential matches and their contact details. The rest is up to you.

From cheeky bad boy to charming Irishman, my first night of speed dates couldn't have been a more diverse sample. After a squeaky start with a mild-mannered gent, stumbling over hobbies and awkward small talk, I revved into gear for suitor number two, an energetic Kiwi drifter who explained the origins of his tiki - engraved by his jailed uncle - blow by blow.

He was followed by a depressive web designer who droned on about his disillusionment with "uncultured" Sydney and his need to return to London. From a man who lives near Pennant Hills and works on the Central Coast, it was a difficult eight minutes to digest.

Finally a charming bachelor emerged. With a sweet smile and an interested gaze, number seven got a hearty tick.

The conversation flowed and our similarities smouldered. There's a lot to be said about the rules of engagement when there are only eight minutes to spare.

Is it a case of four minutes apiece? Do you let the conversation take its natural course? Or do you call on the place card questions for a slight prompt, such as, "What's your earliest childhood memory", or "What would be the soundtrack to your life?"

A variety of tactics are necessary and although the cynics believe eight minutes is hardly enough to peel back the layers and uncover the real you, sometimes that eight minutes seems to be suspended in space.

The last suitor of the night came to me with bleary eyes and a lazy drawl. "This is great," he slurred. "I'm pissed and I've been pigging out on all the free food."

When our parting gifts arrived (a plastic-covered Ralph magazine that included a liftout of the 200 sexiest women on the planet), he practically ate the liftout. Needless to say he was no match made in heaven.

With a friend in tow, I sampled two different speed dating agencies, Fast Impressions, the brainchild of dimpled Englishman, Justin Parfitt, followed by Blink Speed Dating hosted by Queenslander, Chris Jack.

For elegance and suitor chemistry, Fast Impressions was a clear winner, the bottomless champagne flutes and complimentary sushi providing the fuel for an entertaining evening. The boys were well-presented and engaging, the girls, savvy and outgoing, and Parfitt's hospitality and his resounding gong (struck every eight minutes to indicate a suitor rotation) made for an enjoyable event.

Comforting to note, my friend and I both got a few bites the next day and the cyber banter continues, with whispers of a date or two on the horizon.

But don't fall into the trap of ticking even the most remotely potential blokes just to feed your ego.

We did, and the block sender command on email had a workout.

Follow your instincts and you'll be certain to stumble across at least one pleasant surprise.




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