The Weirdest Thing I’ve Ever Done for a Story

I’ve been on some odd errands in pursuit of a good story. I’ve haggled over a Civil War letter at a flea market (don’t ask), attended a crawfish-eating contest in swampy heat (yes, it was as sweaty as it sounds), and once spent six hours trying to interview a man who swore he’d met Dolly Parton at a Waffle House. But nothing—and I mean nothing—compares to the time I joined a speed dating event... in costume.

Yes, you read that right. Yours truly, in a corset and hoop skirt, armed only with a notebook and a naïve sense of journalistic adventure, plopped herself down at a Civil War reenactment-themed speed dating night. It started innocently enough: I stumbled across an ad for it while researching couples who met through niche hobbies. To be fair, deep-diving into people’s quirky passions is kind of my thing. But did I fully comprehend what I was signing up for? Spoiler alert: I did not.

The Setup: “Are You a Belle or a Battlefield Nurse?”

First, I have to paint the scene for you. The event was held at a historical inn in South Alabama, a place dripping with so much antebellum charm it practically smelled like mint juleps. As soon as I arrived, I was handed a character card. My assigned role? Florence, a scrappy nurse who had “seen things no lady should see” on the frontlines. (And they meant that literally—I had to sprinkle fake blood on my apron for added authenticity.)

The room was split down the middle: women as Southern belles, spies, or nurses, and men as soldiers, scouts, or one gentleman inexplicably labeled "Union Carpenter." Everyone was fully committed. I overheard someone practicing their Georgian accent in the bathroom. If I’d known how seriously they were taking this, I might have reconsidered my hastily Amazon-ed costume, which felt flimsier than the plot of a daytime soap opera.

The Rules: “Talk Fast, Stay in Character”

Each “date” worked like this: we had five minutes to chat while staying entirely in character. No anachronisms allowed. Phones were banned (“This isn’t Yankee Twitter!” someone announced). You weren’t just chatting to pass the time—you were supposed to decide if your character would hypothetically “court” their match. If things clicked, you exchanged a folded piece of stationery for the organizers to tally at the end.

I gamely threw myself into the first couple of rounds, trying to channel my inner Florence Nightingale. A Confederate soldier opened with a tortured monologue about losing his platoon at Chickamauga, which frankly felt more like he was auditioning for Ken Burns than chatting me up. Another “date” involved a gentleman offering me his cornbread ration, which was touching until I realized it wasn’t a prop, but an actual slice of cornbread from his pocket.

Midway through the evening, I started to feel like I was inside an elaborate fever dream. There were inside jokes about mules. Someone performed an impromptu recitation of “Dixie.” I realized I had absolutely no idea how to flirt while constrained by both history and metaphors about goldfinches and magnolia blossoms.

The Highlights: “Are We Sure This Isn’t Performance Art?”

There were, however, a few standout moments. My favorite was meeting a Union spy disguised as a traveling preacher. He leaned across the table and whispered, “Forgive me, ma’am, for I have sinned more than Robert E. Lee at Antietam,” which might have been the most creative pickup line I've ever received, period.

Another contender for Weirdest Encounter went to the man who asked me which side I thought made better biscuits: North or South. I offered a diplomatic response about my grandmother’s recipe being “above the Mason-Dixon Line,” and somehow, this launched us into a shockingly earnest debate that spanned the rest of our date. (He argued the South mastered fluffiness while the North had an edge with lard—I had no rebuttal.)

Also worth a mention: a guy who looked exactly like a young Matthew McConaughey and styled himself as a blockade runner (read: the Civil War equivalent of a smuggler). He didn’t fully sell me on his character’s charisma, but honestly, if I’d met him outside this cosplaying context, I probably wouldn’t have minded getting stranded on a desert island—or blockade—with him.

The Lessons: “Talk About Curating a Niche!”

Later that night, alone in my room at a nearby motel—still wearing that ridiculous apron because I was too tired to wrestle with the corset—I realized I hadn’t just attended a gimmicky event. I’d stumbled into something fascinating: people literally in character while trying to build connections. Sure, the idea of pitching yourself as a 19th-century schoolteacher at a romantic market might not be everyone’s cup of chicory coffee, but watching strangers put in that much effort to connect? As offbeat as it was, I kind of loved it.

Here’s what I learned:
- Commitment is flirt-worthy. Watching people dive full-throttle into their personas was oddly endearing. Whether you’re into Civil War lore or cooking classes, throwing yourself into what you love could be the best way to find someone who matches your energy.
- Quirk wins points. Dating is awkward enough without spreadsheets and checklist-style criteria. Lean into what feels odd about you. Maybe it’s niche trivia; maybe it’s pretending to be a soldier from 1863. Charm hides in the unpolished places.
- Sometimes, just show up. Even if things feel weird or intimidating—or, let’s face it, completely outside your comfort zone—it’s worth taking the leap. Showing up for others (and yourself!) goes further than you’d think.

The Conclusion: Leaving the Hoop Skirts Behind

By the end of the event, I didn’t exchange stationery with anyone (Florence apparently wasn’t a hot commodity that night), but I walked away with a solid story and a new appreciation for how creative people can be when it comes to making connections. Will I ever voluntarily attend a costumed speed-dating event again? Doubtful—sorry, battle reenactors. But I think we could all take a page from Florence and her ragtag batch of wannabe suitors: Embrace your weird, because someone out there is ready to embrace it with you.

And honestly? If all else fails, bring pocket cornbread—it’s apparently more memorable than you’d think.