Queers of LA
It All Began With Intention
My Aha Moment
After a few rough years enduring a pandemic, I experienced a heartbreaking breakup. In the end, it was for the best and we remain best friends still, but it was that breakup that finally created the space for me to get the help I desired. And sex coach, Jocelyn Silva, would be the one who’d guide me toward self discovery, forgiveness and connection - all the delicious things I so desperately wanted but was too scared to admit. That’s where my Friends Journey began.
Together, Jocelyn and I began digging into my past romantic relationships and any others that lingered in the realm of haunting my sexual self. There was a lot to unpack, no doubt, but we learned pretty quickly that I’d all but given up on friendship and had been consistently pursuing relationships that weren’t healthy or fulfilling. If my ultimate goal was to find a partner who was loving and kind, I’d have to learn how to make friends first because, after all, my lover also needs to be a friend. It was also no longer good enough to accept “friends” that had ended up in my circle by happenstance or adjacency.
The Experiment: Can You Find Friends on a Dating App?
That’s where things started to get interesting. I knew from experience, after moving to Chicago and trying to find friends in a new city, it can be tough. First off, it’s hard to find people you click with and then it’s equally hard to navigate the friendly versus romantic dynamic. In the past, I’d use online dating apps. I’d begin messaging with someone, they’d ask me out for drinks, I’d say yes but mention that I’m only interested in being friends and without fail, at the end of the night they’d try and kiss me. I was baffled and frankly, annoyed, tired of restating my boundaries. So, this time around I had to create some safeguards to avoid this altogether.
My medium would be an app called Hinge, “the dating app designed to be deleted,” which I thought was clever. Because I didn’t want to confuse or come off as interested in romantic connections, I made sure my profile clearly stated I was only looking for friends. My photos were well rounded but not suggestive. I was open, honest, authentic and genuine. And I decided I wouldn’t be meeting anyone one on one or for drinks or anything after dark. Instead, I’d only have initial meetups in group settings. I also made sure to reiterate in conversations exactly what my intentions were, such as, “I’m looking to cultivate a queer community and create honest and kind friendships.”
As far as the app goes, I paid for a subscription that offered additional features and more control. I wanted to be the one choosing my friends instead of waiting around hoping someone would like me. It was time to be an active participant in my relationship goals.
Developing a Rubric
The next step after creating my friendly online profile was to start swiping but I didn’t want to do this aimlessly. Thinking about what I was working on with my sex coach, I’d have to first lay down the ground rules. She called it the Manifest Station and in order to find yummy relationships, I'd need to outline the qualities I’d like to see in my hypothetical friends. These characteristics were rated from 1 to 5, with 5 being the most important:
Someone who shows up 5
Consistent 5
Accountable & follows through 5
Communicative, able to have real conversations (deeper topics like family, politics, emotions, not surface level, not afraid to be wrong, ugly, etc.) 5
Makes effort 5
Mutually beneficial, balanced, lifts each other up 5
Kind 5
Respectful 5
Vulnerable 5
Connected with similar mindset (professional, working on themselves, adventurous, travel, health, well-rounded) 5
Holds me accountable (honest, true) 4
Thoughtful 4
Generous 4
Common interests (activities, conversations) 4
Self aware (knows who they are or at least working on it) 5
Keeping these in mind and after some initial practice, I began to notice some patterns. With the risk of sounding like a giant asshole, here’s what I came up with as my criteria to weed out anyone who might not be a good fit:
Open to Friendship Are they open to friendship? On Hinge, you get three prompts to respond, so if someone had opted to respond to the majority of questions with love on their mind, they weren’t for me, even if the rest looked good. Ultimately, we were not aligned and I’d automatically swipe no.
Intelligent & Passionate To swipe yes, someone had to show passion and intelligence. How are they with spelling and grammar? Do they have a job? Are they educated? Do they have passions? I was in search of friends that are smart, professional and hungry for life. And as a Libra, I care a lot about having pride in oneself. Effort, energy and intention do matter.
Able to Communicate Could they clearly communicate? If someone’s response had me going, huh…it wasn’t a match. If I can’t understand or communicate effectively with someone, it’s not worth my time or energy.
Age Appropriate Age ain’t nothing but a number. Not true, in my opinion. At 40 something, I try not to swipe yes to anyone under the age of 35, using that number loosely because I myself was not quite with it until then. Even so, if someone is an appropriate age and gives off immature vibes, I was not interested, and vice versa.
Positive Positive energy goes a long way and not the fake cheerleader kind either. Does this person genuinely seem happy with their life? I was not into anyone saying, DO NOT this or that. It’s just too negative and I’d rather choose to spend my time with people who are in a good place. It might also suggest some unresolved issues if someone is obsessing over NO MEN, NO COUPLES, NO LIARS, NO CHEATERS, ONLY FEMME. Ouch, in my opinion things can be handled with a bit more grace and tact.
Humble (Not a Therapy Pusher) Another one I have a really hard time with but is super popular in Los Angeles, is this claim to be in therapy. It’s like a badge of honor. In my opinion, someone who says, “You must be in therapy” or “You must have worked out all your shit in therapy” is really missing the point. Therapy, if you’re doing it right, is a process, a lifetime practice, one that’s deeply personal and doesn’t always involve sitting across from a therapist. Also, some therapists suck. And, some patients suck. Just the mere fact that you’re in therapy doesn’t mean much. I’d be willing to say that the point of therapy is to work on your shit, not point out that others should too. I’d even go as far as to say that if you’re telling others what to do, your therapy isn’t working the way you think it is.
Interesting Someone who is well rounded and interesting is key. Do they enjoy learning and growing? I prefer those who are similar to me, who eat and drink and cook and travel and exercise and design and draw and climb and read and do all the things that create an interesting life. If someone’s prompts leave me thinking, I don’t know a single thing about you or I can’t even come up with an opening line, it’s likely too boring or not vulnerable enough. I mean, the fact that you hate grapes is cool but that doesn’t really help me get to know who you are.
Open The last one, I might just bucket together a bunch of yummy qualities. Are they self aware, vulnerable, willing to share and showing effort? If someone’s profile is empty, they might not be willing to put in the effort necessary or know themselves well enough. If someone is saying how horrible dating apps are, it shows they aren’t taking this seriously. And if someone is only talking about superficial things, they likely aren’t willing to open up and go deep. I’m looking for people who are willing to take risks, who will show up and be open to whatever happens without taking things personally, someone who takes life seriously but not themselves.
Practice Makes Perfect
After pulling together my rubric, I put myself out there and began swiping. Looks aside, other than overall hygiene and just a general sense of being put together, I read every single word on every single profile I came across. I’d study each person, determining if they were what I was looking for. If I was unsure or got sidetracked, I’d simply remember my intention: find awesome queer friends. If the person was just eh, I’d pass. After all, if it’s not a fuck yes, it’s a fuck no, as Jocelyn would say.
When I came across a profile I enjoyed, I made sure to comment on one of their prompts, instead of liking a photo. To me, liking photos not only feels superficial but also feels lazy. I want friends that are able to communicate, share interests and take initiative, not tell me I have a cute smile. My comments would be engaging, often times asking questions or sharing a common interest.
From there, matches started to pile up. Regularly, I’d set time aside to thoughtfully respond to each message so that my effort and intentions were clear; I wouldn’t let messages go unanswered for more than a few days. After creating a great connection online, I’d then offer up my phone number to see if the connection continued offline. Over text, our conversations would develop and once I gained a handful of initial acquaintances, I began to plan my first meetup.
The Potluck
The idea here is that I want friends who show up and put in effort, who are brave and accountable. A pot luck in itself is cozy, it’s not wild, it’s not crazy. It also means you have to accept an invitation and prepare a dish. It’s inherently family oriented and a good environment to get to know someone; quiet enough to chat and small enough to manage group discussions. It’s also incredibly trusting and brave to show up to a complete strangers house, with a casserole.
In May of 2022, it was time for the first potluck. I individually invited 21 guests, sending them each a text explaining the event and what I’d like them to bring. It would be hosted at my apartment in Los Angeles on a Saturday evening. I spent the week leading up to the potluck confirming which guests would be attending and encouraging those who seemed a bit aprehensive. As the evening arrived, I was incredibly anxious but excited. Finally, all the work I had put into finding friends was about to pay off.
One by one, as the guests arrived, I greeted them at the door, offering a drink and introducing them to the rest of the group. Initially, it was scary and a bit awkward but nothing a few drinks couldn’t solve. Throughout the evening, everyone settled in at their own pace and began to enjoy themselves. Toward the end of the night, I gathered the group in a circle and explained my purpose once again, thanking everyone for participating and being so brave. I cautiously asked what they had expected out of the evening and received some incredibly kind and thoughtful answers. Most of all, we were there to connect and get to know each other without much expectation. It was a very special moment, one I won’t forget.
The evening wasn’t without its hiccups, though. At one point, I noticed things getting a little heated between two of the girls. Apparently they knew each other and one was accusing the other of ditching her during a dinner and leaving her with the bill. Right then and there I had to step in and stop the argument, it was neither the time or place. Crisis averted and lesson learned. I had also let a few in the group bring along friends which ended up hindering the experience, in my opinion. From then on, I decided it was better to only invite individuals I had already spoken with so that everyone mingled equally and was on a level playing field.
Mixing It Up
After the first potluck was a success, I realized my work was far from over. I felt people start to drop off, as is common in any group situation. Some wouldn’t reply any longer, others moved or found a girlfriend or didn’t seem interested. This friends thing was going to take a whole lot more effort if they were to stick, so it was back to the app.
Honestly, I swiped like it was my job, continuing to make connections with new queers, explaining my intention and hoping we were aligned. The next month, we were back at it. It was time for our next potluck, newly coined a mixer. And I say “we” because the entire time I had been living with my ex, now BFF, and she was happily participating, though initially a bit wary. I invited 24 guests to the second mixer, some repeats, some no shows, but it was the same type of magic we had experienced the first night; I knew I was on to something.
This time, we gathered guests around the living room and sat for an evening of unveiling our coming out stories. It was heart warming and sad and incredibly unifying, offering insight into the hearts of those who attended. For snacks, we prepared small bites in an effort to harmonize what was being served. On the menu was a beautiful charcuterie board, deviled eggs, cantaloupe skewers and bacon wrapped dates.
After that evening, the group began to plan other events like rock climbing, summer music meetups and even a trip to Dinah Shore. We were really starting to form friendships but it was taking concerted time and effort on everyone’s part. In July, I began what was the first round of group texts. Now that a core group started to form it was easiest to communicate with them all at once. For the next mixer, we planned a backyard BBQ with all the fixings. I invited 25 guests to arrive at 4 p.m. on a Saturday afternoon. This time the vibe was a bit more casual and light but we all had an incredible evening.
With my group texts slowly growing from seven members to 11, by August there was a solid group of about 20 of us. It was finally happening. In September of 2022, I invited 31 guests to come to the next mixer, though, not all could attend. On the menu were caprese skewers, deviled eggs, chorizo with toasted baguette and a delicious charcuterie board.
Occasionally, I’d have to pause and evaluate how things were going with the group. Inevitably there would be one or two members that I wasn’t feeling connected to for one reason or another. There were also a few moments that made it pretty obvious someone wasn’t a good fit. During one of the mixers one of the girls got really drunk and we found her rolling around in the back bedroom. After repeatedly asking her to not go into the bedrooms, the next day I had let her know that kind of behavior wasn’t something I was interested in.
Early on there was also a catfish of sorts who snuck in past security. With her photos on Hinge looking mid thirties, her age on her profile stating she was in her mid forties, she showed up to the mixer in her fifties. She also ended up being a creepy woman my friend had gone on a date with. At the time, she tried to bully her into making out and left things on a very unpleasant note. At the mixer, this woman whispered into my friends ear something about a lovely coincidence running into one another again. The next morning, I had to have a serious chat with this woman explaining that what she had done was not okay. She clearly didn’t see it that way and responded by calling me an ageist and blocking me.
Additionally, just like maintaining any friendship, I’d have to do my best to nurture the ones who were falling behind. If someone I thought I had a great connection with didn’t show up to the mixer or wasn’t participating, I’d reach out individually and check in. I’d continue to invite those who lingered to the next mixer but after missing one or two, I wasn’t interested in chasing them down any further.
Through October and November, guests invited totaled 33 and 37. Sometimes it felt like I was a revolving door, spinning my wheels endlessly, as I’d put in so much effort to throw an event only to have half the people cancel last minute. I’d enter the party worried no one would show up but inevitably it would end up being the best one yet. As time went on and the group began to form closer connections, things felt even yummier. By this time, I was able to go out for drinks or dinners with those I connected with as friends. It had already been established that we were friendly, so I didn’t feel the risk of leading them on in any way.
In early December, I planned a sushi dinner for about 10 of us and for New Years we threw an amazing mixer with all our closest friends. It felt like the cherry on top of my delicious cake and I couldn’t have been happier and more proud of what we’d accomplished.
To start off the New Year, I moved our text chat to What’s App to accommodate more than the maximum 20 my phone would allow. It was much easier to manage and there, everyone could share an introduction, social media links, photos, invites and any other thoughts. Queers of LA had officially been born (though it's first official name was Hinge ❤️).
In February 2023, we hosted another mixer for those who didn’t have a Valentine; another magical evening filled with sweet friends and great conversation.
Queers of LA
Once the What’s App chat was created, it was super easy to connect and plan events. The group started attending local queer cocktail hours, dance parties and mixers regularly. It was a safe space to share, connect and communicate and one I began to take very seriously. I continued to add and remove people as time went on. If I felt you weren’t interested in forming friendships and genuinely connecting with others, I would remove you from the group chat.
At one point, some of the group dynamics got a little weird. I think everyone felt so proud and connected to it and the others that they wanted their cousin, friend and sister to join. I was constantly getting referrals, asking me to add this person and that person to the chat, people I’d never met and hadn’t vouched for. It was something I had to carefully weigh but ultimately decided I only wanted to add those I’d met or spoken with personally. It was important that the intention of the group was maintained.
After all, what made this group so delicious in the first place was that it was selective. And not in a gross way, but it was created out of a need to find those I wanted as my friends. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a one size fits all, anyone can join type situation. As uncomfortable as it was, I had to ask the group to stop sending along referrals and just invite friends to social gatherings if they thought they’d be a good fit for the group, letting things happen naturally.
Eventually, smaller groups began to break off from the main chat for more concentrated interests. We started groups like the Climbing Crew, The Dark Arts, Queer Photography, Wellness Queers of LA, Queers Pickleball, Queer Lit Book Club, Westside Queers of LA and many more, where anyone from the main group was free to join and participate.
The Queers of LA have also planned events like coffee dates focused around sex, house warming parties, rock climbing, birthday celebrations, work events, brunches, dinners, drinks, walks, talks, hikes, camping trips, jacuzzi and pool hangs, pet sitting, pickleball, concerts, book clubs, movie nights, kid hangs, sleepovers, soccer games, pizza parties, workout sessions and so much more.
My Return on Investment
Eventually, I realized that most of my time was spent trying to manage and steer this unwieldy group as a whole rather than connect on a more personal level. That meant my next step was to put more effort into spending time in smaller group settings. I chose a few that I wanted to get to know better and reached out, asking if they’d like to set something up, grab dinner before dancing or carpool to an event. Over the next few months, that was my sole focus. Really connecting with those in front of me rather than worrying about the whole.
In October of 2023, I set off on my usual travels which include avoiding my birthday at home. I went island hopping in the Caribbean and on the morning of my birthday, I received this incredibly vulnerable and touching video from my best friend, new queer friends and favorite puppy. I couldn’t get through it without breaking down, realizing that not only did this group save me, it saved so many others.
Later in the month, I found it impossible not to celebrate what an incredible year it had been. So many beautiful souls had shown up for me and completely changed my mind about what I thought friendship looked like. They were kind, thoughtful, encouraging, smart, interesting, dependable, loving, diverse and truly, the best friends I could ask for. Honestly, I’m not sure how I got so lucky but it all started with a single intention.
Our group spent my 42nd birthday dressing up like 80’s punk rockers, indulging in Korean BBQ, singing karaoke and dancing the night away. Though stressful to set up and likely never to happen again, it was one of the best nights of my life. In November, we enjoyed a wonderful Thanksgiving meal together and through the New Year our adventures continue.
To date, I’ve likely messaged with somewhere between 400 and 500 people on Hinge. This project, if you can call it that, has been my baby. I’ve painstakingly put my time, energy, heart and spirit into creating a delicious queer community that I’ve always dreamt of but didn’t think was possible. And to my surprise, this was something other queers were desperately looking for. It only took a tiny nudge to find those ready for deep connection and friendship.
Today, we stand strong at 65 members who love and connect with each other on a daily basis and I’m truly proud of each and every one of us for showing up and putting in the work. Only time will tell but I can’t wait to see what’s in store for us next.
Photo credit: Dana.darling
