Loc club

About a year ago, now 29-year-old sản phẩm designer Austin Kevitch was going through a breakup. He tried getting on dating apps, but found them “superficial và cringe-y.” and so, as a joke, he did what hàng hóa designers do và created his own platform: a website called the Lox Club, which he advertised as a “membership-based dating phầm mềm for Jews with ridiculously high standards.” It’s like Raya, with profiles that feature fewer DJs và way, way more references to Larry David.

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In an interview over the phone from his trang chủ in Los Angeles, Kevitch said that he started the site as a joke. But it quickly took off: screenshots circulated on social media, and he began receiving hundreds of applications. He put a team together (there are now eight Lox Club employees), và they started reviewing potential users over the summer, officially launching the app this fall.

“I was being a little tongue-in-cheek with , making fun of the pretentious social clubs,” said Kevitch. “To my surprise, hundreds of people started applying for it và sharing it all over Instagram. Và even then, I was like, ‘wow, I could not see myself opening a dating app,’ because I have always been so anti–dating app. In hindsight, maybe that’s why it’s working.”


Kevitch thought dating apps on the whole were too sterile. “I’m obsessed with immersive experiences that kind of bring out your inner child, lượt thích escape rooms và speakeasies with the secret entrances and haunted houses và magic shows,” he said. And so the Lox Club is designed to be playful—when downloaded, the ứng dụng first shows users a story (inspired by Kevitch’s beloved grandparents) about a couple who founded a speakeasy within a deli in Prohibition-era thủ đô new york City. An application follows, with a section asking for users for “a brief career history and future ambitions.”

I first heard about the Lox Club in November, when a chic friend alerted me lớn the existence of “Jewish Raya.” I downloaded it immediately. My application languished for nearly two weeks as I obsessively checked the app and sent deranged tweets about my desire lớn be accepted. I, like fellow Jew Groucho Marx, am only interested in clubs that would not have me as a member. It’s a deep pain lớn be cast out by one’s own people.

When I contacted Kevitch for an interview, I was finally in. He insisted that the admittance rate was just slow, which seems lượt thích the right thing to lớn tell someone with a clearly fragile ego who is writing about your business. “We’re like Santa’s little elves over here, playing catch-up on applications,” he said. (Hanukkah Harry is perhaps a less potent analogy.) Kevitch estimates that there are over 10,000 current members, with many more on the waitlist. He says there are no strict criteria for admittance, và Judaism is not a prerequisite.

“We don’t care about how many Instagram followers you have or your status or clout as much as we’re looking for down-to-earth, well-rounded, humble people,” he said. “We’re not looking specifically for status or who you’d want lớn invite to lớn a fancy dinner party; we’re looking for people who you’d bump into at a house buổi tiệc ngọt and kết thúc up talking with in a corner for hours.”

Once in, lượt thích other exclusive dating apps Raya và The League, you have khổng lồ pay—much like The Bachelor, the Lox Club is looking for members who want khổng lồ be there for “the right reasons.” Annual memberships are available for $96, six months for $60, và quarterly for $36. Swipes are limited lớn between six & twelve every eight hours. “We just don’t want it to lớn feel lượt thích a trò chơi where you sit there & swipe forever,” Kevitch says, “and then you get a million matches, but you don’t have any real conversations.” The phầm mềm sorts potential matches by region, though Kevitch says some users request khổng lồ see the most “compatible” people who might live out of state. It is sleekly designed in a soothing navy blue; in addition lớn basic profile information, it asks candidates to nội dung personal tidbits lượt thích the most neurotic thing about themselves or their bar or bat mitzvah themes. It is open to all sexualities, & they recently added 64 options under “gender.” Kevitch và his Instagram-famous sister serve as Lox Club models—sample Jews, if you will—in the ứng dụng store.

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While a few unwashed-looking users have popped up, there are a lot of photos from weddings and country clubs, along with ambitions to lớn become CEOs và US Senators. (“I won’t shut up about: golf.”) Dan Allegretto, a Brooklyn-based photographer và host of the Dial #Dan podcast, told me that he felt “extremely bohemian-shamed” by the LinkedIn-esque application. “I responded with something nonchalant lượt thích ‘I’m the gay Marc Maron of Greenpoint!! Let me in!!’ Et voila! I was in.” Allegretto, who is not Jewish but is “super flattered when people think I am because those guys are usually pretty funny & hot,” said he has seen few gay men on the app—he has made two matches, both named Dan. “Raya has rejected me multiple times, so I put a lot of pressure on myself for the Lox Club lớn work out,” he wrote in an email. “It was a complete failure, & I’ll never love again.”

Things have gone better for Lane Florsheim, a staff writer at WSJ. Magazine in New York, who heard about the Lox Club after seeing a post on celebrity gossip instagram DeuxMoi alleging that singer Charlie Puth had joined. “I feel like dating apps, especially during the pandemic, are kind of like utilities,” she said over the phone. “You have lớn use them, but it’s not a pleasant user experience.” She referenced the ugliness of Tinder, saying that the Lox Club’s aesthetic made it much more fun khổng lồ use. “I feel lượt thích I’m getting a lot of matches, and people are more both talkative & conversational on it,” she said. “There’s less of the, ‘Hey, what’s up?’ starts that you get a lot of on dating apps, and more messages using something about your profile as a conversation starting point. It’s just felt more natural.”

The Lox Club’s most quality feature is its matchmaker function, which lets you text with your very own Fiddler on the Roof–esque Yenta. They reply quite quickly, và you can ask the matchmaker lớn curate particular types of profiles for you or for advice on your own. “The experience is so tailored to lớn every person,” said Kevitch. “A lot of people will ask for help with profile pics, like which photos they look the best in & what the order should be, or how lớn make their prompts funnier. & if you’re looking for something specific, like a tall, brunette guy in advertising in New York, our matchmaker can go into our database & look for that for you và then prioritize them on your feed.” I reached out khổng lồ the matchmaker khổng lồ request users that meet my personal height requirement. “Ugh, aren’t we all,” they responded, along with several cry-laughing emojis. “Well, I’ll try my best... We’re working with Jews here.” They kindly sent me men over six feet.

After days passed without a match, I asked the matchmaker how I could improve my profile, which includes the fact that I was voted “Most Likely to lớn Fall Asleep in Class” in high school and that I once dressed up for Halloween as this woman. The matchmaker eagerly, thoroughly combed through my photos, telling me images to delete; they then examined my Instagram to lớn suggest which photos I should use instead, including a selfie in which I was dressed up khổng lồ celebrate my grandfather’s 90th birthday.

I’ve been a Lox Club thành viên for a little over two weeks now & have just two matches, neither of whom responded khổng lồ my opening overtures. It’s embarrassing to publicly admit that no one on a dating tiện ích is interested in you, so I feel compelled to add that in a third conversation, the matchmaker told me it was “so weird” that I wasn’t “getting any love,” & that I am “so cute.” I appreciated this, even if they were lying.

With a deadline looming, I attempted to vì my best Carrie Bradshaw impersonation (my hair is also c-c-c-curly). I asked Jewish people on other dating apps why they thought I was such a Lox Club reject; none of them had any insights, though one did tell me that I seemed “hungry for a Hebrew National,” which made me laugh. I went on a date with a Jewish man I was excited about (gold Star of David chain), thinking that perhaps I could throw in an anecdote from the event into this article—he was, of course, horrible, & at the date’s conclusion I cried in the snow & sent ill-advised text messages lớn an unavailable goy I have a crush on. But in the morning, I woke up and kept swiping on the Lox Club. Because what else can you vị but try? Find me a find, catch me a catch.