While at work, Leila Rivera received a text from her boyfriend: someone on Reddit was searching for her.
In the comments of a post on the r/warpedtour subreddit, attendees of the punk rock and emo music festival were looking for missed connections. Rivera recognized one message that mentioned “Leila/Leila (the short girl in a red top)” as likely being from a guy she had met during the band Sweet Pill’s performance at the Warped Tour in Washington, DC, back in June.
“You tapped my shoulder and asked me to help you surf the crowd,” he wrote. “I attempted to lift you up, but no one nearby offered to help, so I awkwardly had to back off. Honestly, I couldn’t assist after that.”
The poster included his Instagram handle, prompting 29-year-old Rivera, who works in real estate, to reach out. She expressed gratitude for his kind message, despite having a boyfriend. The two quickly became friends over DMs and plan to reunite at next year’s Warped Tour in DC.
“I want to meet up and see if he can launch me into the air again,” Rivera said. “I have a boyfriend, but I’m glad to have a friend in him.”
Navigating the Gen Z-Millennial divide, Rivera didn’t grow up with Craigslist’s missed connections, where seekers reached out to strangers in a quest for contact. For many without the courage, these posts provided voyeuristic entertainment.
Such posts became popular, reminding readers of the random wonder of city life. In 2010, Craigslist estimated that around 8,000 new ads were posted on New York City’s Missed Connections page each week.
I once shared a missed connection on Craigslist live. (My recent post read: “We met at a Rockaway BBQ,” “We locked eyes for what felt like ages on the 86th.”) However, the rise of social media and dating apps has somewhat dulled its cultural relevance. A decade later, young people seem to be reviving these traditions on platforms like Reddit and TikTok.
On Reddit, subreddits like r/warpedtour host “megathreads” for missed connections. Commenters recount their encounters, leaving behind contact info in hopeful anticipation. Similar threads can be found in cities like Baltimore, Chicago, Cincinnati, and Minneapolis, as well as at festivals like Bonnaroo, Coachella, Electric Forest, and the Berghain club in Berlin (where mobile phones bring an extra dance floor vibe).
“I’m searching for a beautiful woman with striking eyes. [at] Popeyes,” wrote one Redditor from Halifax, Nova Scotia. Meanwhile, someone in Arlington, Virginia searched for the woman he encountered at a bar—while on a date with someone else. In St. Louis, a visitor in a chemotherapy ward observed strangers in the hallway crying together; he still kept her in his thoughts.
Young people claim this practice, in a romantic context, serves as a remedy for dating fatigue and embodies their ultimate urban fantasy. It’s an analog alternative to dating apps reminiscent of classic comedies where characters search hopelessly for love.
“You move to a big city and feel this hope for unexpected encounters and enchanting moments everywhere,” noted Maggie Hertz, DJ and host on New Jersey’s freeform radio station WFMU. Cat Bomb!, a show featuring missed connections from listeners, remains popular. “There’s something incredibly vulnerable about writing a missed connection.”
Hertz admitted that none of the missed connections on her show have led to real-life meetups, which doesn’t detract from the enjoyment.
“My favorite call came at 3 AM,” Hertz recalled. “The caller was excited and nervous—possibly still buzzing from a few drinks. She was at a diner in Brooklyn and mentioned a waiter who told her she resembled Jake Gyllenhaal.”
Recently, Karly Laliberte spotted an attractive guy while leaving Trader Joe’s in Boston’s Seaport area. “He was tall—rare in Boston,” shared Laliberte, 30, who works in sports marketing. “It’s a stereotype we call ‘Short King City.’ In a movie version of the story, I’d cast Jacob Elordi. They walked in the same direction for a few blocks, and I caught myself stealing glances and ‘feeling his gaze.’ I almost said hi but held back, not wanting to interrupt his conversation.”
Laliberte returned home to film a TikTok, urging viewers to help identify the man. “Within hours, it racked up 50,000 views,” she shared. “TikTok lets you tag your city, making local posts easily visible. It felt like the perfect platform to share missed connections.”
Though she never found the man, Laliberte received messages from people suggesting potential matches—some of whom turned out to be guys she had previously dated.
Laliberte has spent years using dating apps but found herself constantly encountering the same people. Frustrated with swiping, she yearns for charming, old-fashioned interactions. “I crave face-to-face connections,” she said. “I long for authentic, less forced relationships. Why not seek out someone who caught your eye outside Trader Joe’s?”
While young adults today may be realizing the value of missed connections, this practice predates even Craigslist. Francesca Beauman, a British historian and author of “Shapely Ankle Aperer’d,” traced its origins back to 1709.
The earliest ad, published in Tatler (now known as Tatler), mentioned “in the 20th incident, a gentleman wishing to thank the woman who helped him down from a boat at Whitehall, wanting to know where he might wait for her.” The woman was instructed to contact Mr. Samuel Reeves. Beauman discovered a marriage record under the same name a year later, though it remains unclear whether the connection led to a wedding.
While evidence suggesting these methods lead to true love may be scarce even 300 years later, people continue to pursue hope. Recently, actor Colman Domingo revealed he met his husband through a missed connections post in 2005 (they made strong eye contact at a Walgreens in Berkeley, California). Although Laliberte didn’t find her tall guy, she expressed her determination to post another missed connection as “100%.”
“We are all hopeless romantics, ever hopeful,” Beauman said. “Reading them is enjoyable. Placing and responding to them is equally entertaining.”
Source: www.theguardian.com
