A line snaking down Ludlow Street on the Lower East Side on an early September night looked like any other queue to enter a Manhattan hot spot. But upon closer inspection, the people waiting had clues about the event inside: a person with a labor union tote bag, a man wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with Mayor Zohran Mamdani’s likeness in the style of the Barack Obama “Hope” shirt and another person wearing a top with the slogan “Hot Girls for Zohran.”
The crowd was waiting to enter a “Socialist Singles Mixer” in Apartment 5, a cocktail bar, hosted by the New York City chapter of the Democratic Socialists of America. Individual tickets cost $30 — a donation to the organization — and the event quickly filled its 200 slots, according to its organizers.
Meet-ups like these have become a mainstay of the organization since 2025, when it hosted a “Thots and Trots” mixer on Valentine’s Day that year. (That’s Trots as in the Russian revolutionary Leon Trotsky.)
If the sold-out event was any indication, the “hot socialist summer” that emerged during Mamdani’s mayoral campaign in 2025 was still going strong one year later.
“I know so many people who were dating or in situationships with people who worked on the Zohran campaign, and this really feels like a continuation of that,” said Abby Beauregard, the fund-raising coordinator.
Indeed, Stephanie Crane, a 38-year-old who volunteered on the campaign, said a picture of her and Mayor Mamdani in her dating app profile acted as something of a litmus test for matches.
“I texted the group chat that I’m here looking for my ‘Mam-daddy,’” added Valerie Greene, 36, UX designer who lives in Astoria.
Elsewhere in line, Makena McElroy, 26, wondered if not being an official D.S.A. member might hurt her chances inside. McElroy, who lives in Williamsburg, came to the event with a friend from college, Rebecca Uddin, 27. Uddin, who works in film and lives in Bushwick, said she had been a socialist since taking an Advanced Placement class in government in high school.
“We oft go out to bars together because we’re trying to do a meeting-in-person thing because we hate apps,” McElroy said. “But then I go out to bars and I either meet cops, centrists or people who are nonpolitical.”
The pair hoped they might find more ideologically suitable options that night.
At the door, participants donned name tags in colors denoting what they were looking for in a match. Red for seeking “femmes,” blue for “mascs” and gold for “everybody.”
“It’s a little heteronormative or whatever,” Kaitlynn Franks, one of the event organizers, shouted to the crowd as she explained the evening’s programming. She then blew a whistle to let the mingling commence.
The crowd, which included people in their 20s and 40s, participated in the first activity of the night, a “speed swap” of five-minute conversations with different people using a provided list of prompts, like “What’s a piece of media that someone should experience if they want to get to know you?” and “What’s a compliment you appreciate hearing that you don’t get often?” In the basement, each participant had an envelope where interested parties could deposit flirty notes, their phone numbers or other such messages.
Meaningful conversation, however, was difficult to find. The crowded bar was so cacophonous that talking was yelling directly into someone’s ear and then waiting while they loudly enunciated back into yours in return in a slow, unpleasant game of telephone.
As the night wore on and the air-conditioning struggled to keep up with the sticky late-summer heat, it became hard to ignore the sweat dripping off many inside the bar, this reporter included.
Still, the singles tried their best.
“I wish there was more room, but the vibes are great,” Brendan Farrell, 34, shouted over the din of the room, a red name tag stuck to the skin just below their collarbone. Farrell, who works in corporate finance, said that political ideology was a key component of what they were searching for in a potential partner.
“Wanting the best for people ups your hotness,” Farrell said, scanning the room. (The crowd was largely press shy: Over a dozen people declined to be interviewed for this piece and at least one remarked they were disappointed that reporters and photographers had been allowed for this piece.)
“That sucked,” Uddin said on her way out the door. She left the event early, commenting on the high volume and temperature — as many had.
Others left feeling more positive.
Tess Starman, a sociology professor who recently moved to the East Flatbush neighborhood of Brooklyn, said she had made a connection with two potential dates. Plus, she had found a nonromantic connection, too.
“I’m going to join a committee,” Starman, 32, said as she headed to the train.
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