After I became newly single, I received a parade of well-meaning but ultimately generic pieces of advice. Only one actually caught my attention: If you want to meet someone, go to an indoor climbing gym.
From my understanding, climbing was a niche, exclusive sport for people who chased adrenaline or had the grip strength required to casually dangle off walls. I had no idea it was an activity so open to the public—let alone to someone so inexperienced and clueless like myself. But apparently, my lack of skill didn’t matter. “You have to go,” my friend insisted, as if this was common sense, a necessity to my well-being like buying groceries or lifting weights.
Indoor climbing—specifically bouldering, which doesn’t involve ropes or harnesses and tends to be more accessible for normies like me—isn’t new, despite what TikTok might lead you to believe. What is new is who’s showing up. “It very much used to be people who climbed regularly or the weirdos who worked there,” Allan Andranikian, General Manager of Central Rock Gym Manhattan, an indoor climbing gym with other locations across the US, tells me. “Climbing was incredibly niche, and most people’s experience with it was, ‘Yeah, I do this at birthday parties.’”
Now? By 6 p.m. on a Friday, the gym I visited—a bouldering-only indoor climbing facility in New York City—looked less like a fitness center and more like a full-blown social scene. The space was alive, packed with bodies, chalk dust, and the thump of early-2000s club music. A handful of people scaled the walls, but the real action was happening on the mats. That’s where groups of 20-somethings, dressed in baggy jeans and oversized tees, lounged, laughed, and chatted—so comfortably, so close together, it hinged on intimate.
Couples stood out even more clearly—at least 50 people appeared to be either in established relationships or on what looked like first dates. Some exchanged quick kisses; others wrapped each other in warm hugs between attempts (tries up the wall) or sneaky waist grabs disguised as playful “encouragement.” None of this was happening in an over-the-top, showy, PDA way, though. It was just a natural expression of the gym’s relaxed, communal energy.
“It’s kind of like a playground. Maybe more like a zoo,” one member tells me. “Everyone’s climbing, but we’re actually mostly talking.”
Indoor climbing gyms originally began as safe spaces for climbers to train when outdoor weather conditions (rain, snow, or extreme temperatures) made it dangerous. The earliest credited artificial wall was built at the University of Leeds in 1964. Since then, the sport has evolved into a mainstream phenomenon—and is projected to be a billion-dollar industry, thanks in part to “sport climbing” making its official Olympic debut at the 2020 Tokyo Summer Games, along with a growing cultural appetite for experience-driven and social fitness, Andranikian points out.
To anyone watching from the outside, climbing might look solitary, which makes its transformation into a bustling social hotspot feel almost counterintuitive. In theory, it’s just you alone on a wall covered in oddly shaped grips (technically called holds) that are designed to mimic the rocks and ledges of a real cliff, all of which are arranged into specific routes (problems) that guide you to the top. Getting up there becomes a test not just of strength, but of strategy: deciding which holds to grab onto, twisting into uncomfortable positions, even launching yourself into a one-handed leap to reach a faraway grip.
“Back in the day, most people were just here for the climbing,” Paul Guarino, owner and Chief Communications Officer at ASCEND Climbing, a gym with locations across Pennsylvania, tells me. “You come to climb and shut up. But nowadays, it’s much more service-oriented. It very much appeals to the urban socialite.”
People waiting on the mats aren’t just passing time—they’re watching, cheering, offering advice, and mingling with whoever’s nearby. “You have this natural downtime where you can actually have deep, meaningful conversation outside of climbing,” Andranikian says. Then there’s the experience of being on the wall, which longtime climber Kristina Ang, 25, compares to stepping into the spotlight onstage. “All eyes are on you,” Ang, who lives in New York City and frequents VITAL Climbing Gym in Brooklyn, tells me. It becomes a chance to show off a tricky reach, a daring jump, or even just a cool outfit—moments that, she admits, have earned her a few impressed glances, flirty compliments, and the occasional request to follow her on Instagram.
“I’ve been hit on more here than at a café or bar,” Ang says. “You probably will too.”
You don’t have to be competent—or confident—to be swept into the singles scene. In the climbing gym, even awkwardness works in your favor: Every slip-up, every look of confusion becomes its own icebreaker. One climber admitted she sometimes “plays dumb” to catch the attention of a helpful, attractive bystander. Then, she’ll let his generosity evolve into a reason to start talking. Anna*, 28, is another person I spoke with who says she’s not a “climber” in the traditional sense: She joined a New York City gym with zero experience, just encouragement from a few friends who swore it was a fun workout and social scene. And while she did get better over time, she tells me it was the awkward learning curve and early mistakes that created the instant camaraderie she’d been craving—something she rarely finds on dating apps or at her former run club, where no one slowed down long enough to chat.
“Usually if a guy and I are doing the same climb and we’re both trying to figure it out, the conversation organically starts there,” Anna says. He might suggest a different foot placement or demonstrate a move she keeps botching. It’s like you’re trying to solve a puzzle together, so “there’s a communal sense of struggling,” Andranikian says. “It’s a commissary that lends itself to people breaking out of their shell,” which, for Anna, has led to a surprising number of first dates and fun hookups.
Factor in the inherent intensity of the sport—the sudden surge of adrenaline, the quiet awareness that you’re a dozen feet above the ground—and it’s easy to see how the experience can break down walls. “Climbing can be scary. It’s vulnerable,” Guarino says. However, “that fear bonds people a little extra. It speeds up the getting-to-know-you process and forces everyone to be a little bit more extroverted”—sometimes without even realizing it.
At the climbing gym I visited, more than a few people admitted—some sheepishly, others with full confidence—that they weren’t just here to climb: They came to meet singles. “If you come here every day, I guarantee you’ll find at least one person you’re attracted to,” one said with a grin. Some gyms are leaning into this growing trend to help climbers connect romantically. ASCEND held a recent “Climb and Flirt” event due to popular demand. Gravity Vault in Montclair, New Jersey, throws mixers, while Pacific Pipe Climbing Gym in Oakland, California, hosted “Singles Night.”
Jess*, 25, is one of the few I met who says she specifically bought a gym membership to meet attractive, fit men—and so far, she’s had good luck. She tells me about a few innocently flirty conversations on the mats, casual post-climb hangouts and dinner dates, even a handful of steamy flings. One story, in particular, she’s willing to share: It was a regular Thursday night at 10 p.m., and she noticed a group of guys. One was looking her way in particular, too often to be a coincidence. “Eventually, they came over, and this one guy was talking to me. He was asking small questions like how long I’d been here, is this the time I usually come?” Shortly after, they exchanged Instagrams, which was followed by days of DMing, a few dates, and some casual hookups. “He was hitting me up at times that were unrelated to climbing,” Jess recalls, laughing. “On the weekend to meet me out, or to go to his place.”
Beyond late-night texts and spontaneous flings, Guarino has observed that climbing gyms can also be fertile ground for deeper, lasting relationships—even for those who weren’t looking. “Dozens and dozens of people have met at ASCEND and are now dating or married,” he says. “We’ve had people get engaged at the top of one of our boulders. Two of my closest friends got married last year at the brewery below our gym. One couple had their Pittsburgh wedding reception at ASCEND a few years ago.”
Romance was the last thing on Ang’s mind when she joined her gym in 2020. She made it clear to me: “Meeting someone here was never the goal. I didn’t want to date.” And yet, that’s exactly where she met Bryce—the first climber she fell for, now her partner of three years.
“A mutual friend introduced us,” she reminisces. “And the day we met, we didn’t actually do much climbing. We exchanged Instagrams and kept in touch.” Talking about those early weeks of late-night texts and slow-burn tension, Ang practically glows with excitement. “Meeting my boyfriend at a climbing gym is such a green flag, because it told me a lot of things,” she explains. “He works out. He cares about his appearance. He’s social. He’s also an amazing and talented climber, so when I saw him doing all the hard problems, I was impressed, and—not going to lie—it was hot.”
From the outside, it might seem like the indoor climbing gym was just the backdrop to their love story, but Ang insists it was more than that. Climbing was what created the foundation for their chemistry—instantly and naturally. The immediate attraction. The easy icebreakers that came from sharing a common interest. The mutual admiration. The playful back-and-forths—all of it built a connection neither of them expected yet couldn’t deny. Their romance didn’t just happen around climbing. It happened because of it.
People still don’t believe her when she says this, but Ang repeats it anyway: “Go to a climbing gym,” she says, but this time, I can tell she’s directing this at me as much as anyone else. “It can be a good place to find your soulmate. It’s where I found mine.”
Related:
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- Why Every Anxious 20-Something Is Running a Marathon Right Now
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