The National Post
The National Post, Saturday,February 8, 2003
"Where everybody knows you're single"
Cori Howard
It's part social club, part matchmaker, part trendy bar. Has a Vancouver
dating service found a formula that really works? You have to know what
you're looking for to find it. That's true of Campoverde, a new social club
for singles with an innovative approach to matchmaking. The club is tucked
away on a side street in an upscale, beach neighbourhood in Vancouver. With
no sign outside to indicate its existence, it relies on word of mouth for
its business. When I make my way through the red velvet curtains of the
entryway, a beautiful blond, dressed in black, comes bounding over and offers
to introduce me to the people in the bar. His name is Kyle, and, though
heıs a member of the club, heıs also on staff, tending bar when he's not
hosting. At 8 o'clock on a Thursday evening, more than 50 people have arrived
and the lounge is almost full. Standing by the bar, surrounded by a gaggle
of eager-eyed twentysomethings, is Rachel Greenfeld, 31, the owner of the
club. Wearing leather pants and her long, blond hair pulled back in a ponytail,
Greenfeld, who's single herself, explains the concept behind the club. First,
there are the binders. Anyone can look through them, you don't have to be
a member, says Greenfeld. You can come for drinks, tapas and browse. The
binders contain brief biographies of the club's members (but no photos)
and theyıre laid out on a table near the bar. There are about 100 bios in
all, so far, and about as many men as women. Campoverde's staff, who are
willing to work just for tips until things get going, have been trained
to introduce themselves and other members to anyone new. Membership entitles
you to post your bio on a page in the binder (the fee is $200 per year).
For an additional $20 per month, members receive invitations to special
parties held at the club (non-members have to pay to attend), discounts
on food and drinks and of course, instant community. Perhaps, the biggest
privilege of membership is the use of Greenfeld's matchmaking skills. If
one of the bios appeals to you as someone you think you might like to meet,
Greenfeld will set up a time for you to see a photo of the person you've
chosen. Then if you're still interested, she'll discuss with you the best
way to meet that person. Arrangements are made in a variety of ways. Greenfeld
may call the person up on your behalf and invite them to a particular event.
If the person is interested, they can come in and see a photo of you before
agreeing to anything. If you are both interested in a one-on-one date, Greenfeld
will arrange the details. If either party feels more comfortable meeting
at an event, Greenfeld will make that happen, too. In the six weeks since
Campoverde opened, Greenfeld has brought at least six couples together.
A cluster of middle-aged people has gathered in one of the seating areas,
enjoying a drink. One of them, a long, wearing an off-the-shoulder pink
angora sweater and lots of gold jewellery, chats with a man in a business
suite. "Sheıs really my wife" jokes the man, though in fact they'd only
just met. "Itıs like a social event in your own home," the blond says. "Iım
not looking for anyone, but I like to mingle and not feel any pressure."
Indeed, Campoverde does feel like a living room, albeit one full of a surprisingly
large number of attractive single people of all ages. The space is warm
and elegant, with Persian carpets, chandeliers and burnt-orange walls. Comfortable
antique velvet couches with lots of cozy pillows form a relaxed seating
area in one part of the lounge, while another area, slightly more formal
offers gilded chairs and a coffee table covered with layers of art books.
A look through the binders reveals members range in age from 27 to 58. There
are filmmakers, snowboarders, lawyers and stockbrokers. One man describes
himself as having a personality that's "a cross between a husky and a Shepard,"
and another lists watching TV as his favourite hobby. There"s a 32-year
old bus driver who's info "self-development" and a 42-year-old doctor whose
handwriting resembles that of a nine-year-old. At the bar, a 37-year-old
yoga teacher, a redhead, wearing a low-cut shirt and a gold locket containing
a picture of her dog, tells me sheıs already been out on one date. That
date didnıt work out. "He was too old," she says. But they came back to
Campoverde afterward, she shays, and went through the binders together to
find him another date for the next week. "The beauty of Campoverde is that
itıs really a step beyond Internet dating, " she says. "You canıt really
get to know someone though e-mail. You have to meet them in person. This
speeds up that process and feels more natural." She says now that sheıs
become a member, "it doesnıt feel so bad being single." Her friend Ryan,
a policeman, says he often comes with her to the club. They enjoy going
through the binders together to pick out potential dates for one another.
"I was totally against this place at first," says Ryan. "I thought it was
so artificial. But now Iım sold on it. There are nice people here." Back
at the bar, Greenfeld says there are so many people here tonight, there's
no point in even doing the musical-chairs event theyıd originally planned.
"I just told them there was one rule: Donıt stay where you were originally
seated all night." Although she's from Vancouver, Greenfeld spent 10 years
in New York and London, working as a financial reporter and in international
business development for Internet start-ups. It was in New York that Greenfeld
first learned of the concept; sheıd happened upon a cafe where people put
thier bios and photos in binders in the hopes of meeting someone. When she
moved back to Vancouver recently, to take care of her ailing mother, it
occurred to her a similar kind of cafe was needed here. "Itıs so hard to
meet people, especially once youıre over 30," Greenfeld says. "The city
is so antisocial. We provide a space where people can relearn the art of
conversation." At 11pm the place is still hoping. A balding man with thin,
rectangular glasses gets up from his perch among the older crowd and prepares
to head home. One of the women urges him to stay, but he's had enough. "Iıve
reached my quota of phone numbers," he says, flashing a big grin.