“Forgive me, baby,” pleaded a shirtless boxer through a spittle-filled mouthguard to their ex-lover. The crowd’s boos echoed through thick fake smoke.
For years, Gen Z has been pigeonholed as the inside generation. Allegedly, Gen Z is lonely; Gen Z doesn’t dance or party or go to bars. I, a 24-year-old living in Brooklyn, have been sent to a “Fight Your Evil Situationship” Boxing Rave to see if this is what we do instead.
Walking upstairs into a cavernous, smoky room filled with my peers—clad in all haircuts and jean leg widths—I felt the bass before I saw the ring. I don’t know what I was expecting when I first came across the flyer for the event, which sought “fighters that will bring a slight horniness,” but it wasn’t an actual boxing ring. There it was, though, with ropes and strobe lights delineating the edges, and a DJ booth behind it. That was the least of the surprises of the night.
Grownkid, the host of this event, is a “social club for 18- to 24-year-olds” started by Gael Aitor and Kayla Suarez. This is not the duo’s first foray into fight-centric partying; for Valentine’s Day this year, they held a wrestling speed dating night. And this very physical means of closeness—from modern medieval combat to lesbian oil wrestling to the (now mainstream, or at least corporatized) Twinks vs. Dolls showdown—has also been on the rise. In the same city, on the same weekend, Migo Events scheduled its Lucha Libre, promising freestyle wrestling and mariscos at a skate park.
Grownkid’s social media pairs heady assertions like “the meaning of life is play” (the group’s tagline) followed up immediately with words not found in the bible, like “so we had people fight their evil situationships.” In their online manifesto, the founders explain that their events target problems that I find have been enumerated too many times: that we have lost our third spaces, that there is no community within Gen Z, and that we are in a much-written-about loneliness epidemic. Gen Z is the most connected generation because of social media, yet social media divides us from one another. So Grownkid “bridge[s] the online-to-offline gap by giving young adults digital tools, conversations, and guidance that feel relevant.” (Why is the age cutoff 24, I wonder? Perhaps when the clock strikes midnight on your 25th birthday, you’re supposed to have all the tools you need to move forward, and also, no more play for you.)
Tonight’s assertion? “Healthy conflict is key for a happy life.” The fights, as organizers made clear on social media before the “rave,” weren’t real combat, but rather a form of performance art. It would be a tough sell to explain how having a fun night out at a purposefully ridiculous, conceptual event moved the needle on the social or life skills of the attendees. But in my opinion, at the very least, Grownkid provided a place where play is accepted and encouraged. And there was, in fact, some healthy conflict.
Each dueling couple was introduced by two co-hosts, Caroline Jo and Basquiat, by their first name, their attachment style and the story of their entanglement. The hosts, who met that day, underscored the matches with a constant, chronically online running commentary. Randy and Meredith, for example, originally matched on Tinder but had a cheating scandal, which involved Randy’s ex sending a “hey girly” DM to Meredith. The two are still “rebuilding trust,” to which the room groaned. Shani and Nik moved in together after going out for two months. Then came mutual cheating allegations, moving across state lines together and fighting over custody of their cat. This particular story made the DJ, who’d been playing a good deal of Tinashe’s new album, scream behind the booth.
Most, if not all, of the fights began with the two combatants swinging their arms in front of them like the pedals of a bicycle slowly cycling forward. Most, if not all, of the fights ended with the two former or current lovers making out crazy style; Randy put Meredith’s foot in his mouth. The hosts, seeing how the matches devolved, would yell, “Get a room!” as the crowd screamed and pointed and jaws dropped.
As the co-hosts told the story of Katie and Marshall, an avoidant and anxious respectively, and how they went out for 10 months but never put a label on what they were, and “broke up” but kept hooking up, I was astounded by the visceral reaction of the crowd. The fight, which included Katie getting on Marshall’s shoulders and pounding her gloved fists against his skull, and Marshall getting out an empty ring box in the final moments, drew gasps and screams and pointing from the crowd.
Two boys standing next to me said they’d attended a previous Grownkid event. Aran, who told me he makes comedy videos on TikTok, said this night could be described as “quintessentially Gen Z.” Benjamin described it as a fun way to get out and do something you don’t normally see. “They’re all interesting people,” Benjamin said, of the Grownkid hosts and fighters.
Part of the Grownkid manifesto, displayed proudly on their Instagram, is to “find any excuse to talk to someone.” I felt the attendees of the Fight Your Evil Ex-Situationship Boxing Rave—although I’m not quite sure watching people box while music plays truly counts as a “rave”—came to abide by the rules. Maybe it was because I, valiantly reporting about the experience, was standing alone, but I was approached by an incredible number of strangers.
Did I feel that I was becoming a better/more adult/shinier person at this event? Not really. (It did make me aware of how much I dislike the term “situationship,” and I will now be using the less annoying, more romantic “ex-lover” instead.) But did I feel like this is exactly the kind of ridiculousness that a 24-year-old in Brooklyn should be getting up to? Yes, of course. This night was not lonely. People were dancing. It was, for all intents and purposes, a party. Gen Z will beat the boring allegations, even if we have to do it, apparently, with our fists.
