Last week, after an early dinner in Soho, my partner and I jokingly rounded-off date night with a trip to the new IKEA on Oxford Street. It was partly driven by curiosity, partly by a need for more POKAL glasses, but mostly by irony. Turns out, though, we weren’t the only couple with this idea. And for most, it appeared to be no joke.
The place was swarming with hand-holding lovebirds, analysing the longevity of various cutlery sets and cooing over cute hedgehog toys as though gazing into an idyllic future full of picture-perfect offspring. In sharp contrast to every other IKEA I’ve ever visited, the vibe was stress-free. Not a matrimonial meltdown in sight. Nor for that matter, any screaming toddlers. It was adults-only and all the better for it.
Meanwhile, the restaurant was so coupled-up it looked like Andrew Edmunds had undergone a functional Swedish redesign. The only thing missing amongst the meatballs and ASKHOLMEN chairs was candlelight. Why spank £100+ on a W1 meal for two when you can get eight iconic meatballs for a fiver in London’s buzziest new opening?
And it wasn’t solely couples being funnelled down the notorious IKEA maze. There were plenty of unhurried singletons too, gazing longingly at MALM bed frames and occasionally each other. In the queue, which was remarkably good natured considering it stretched all the way back into textiles, I couldn’t help noticing some heavy-duty flirting was taking place between the two strangers ahead of us. ‘You go first.’ Bashful giggle. ‘No, you go first’. Reddening face. ‘Oooh, that’s cute,’ said young woman to young man whose sole item for the self checkout was a cuddly panda. ‘Tis not for us to question why a man in his late twenties would go to IKEA and buy nothing but a child’s toy. I’m sure he had a perfectly legitimate reason.
By the time I’d exhausted myself, my wallet and my ability to note aisle numbers, I was so overloaded with glasses, surplus-to-requirement duvet covers and an obscene quantity of food bags that I had to take the lift back to street level. It was at this point that a handsome young man flashed me a smile. Chances are, it was simply a ‘phew, we made it’ smile of recognition. Then again, if I’m not mistaken, it was sort of playful. The two toilet brushes sticking out either side of his knapsack were a bit of a vibe-killer. Nonetheless, it was a brief thrill that took me back to my dating days of two years ago when, burnt out by the dreaded apps, I would have done anything for a retail-themed meet-cute.
If IKEA Oxford Street had been open back then, I may have spent my evenings lingering in the plant section. It would have been more fun and fruitful than an evening of jaded swiping. And I expect you can tell more about a person from their IKEA basket than their vacuous Hinge prompts. That smiling man who doubled-up on bog brushes, he probably has a central London pad big enough for two bathrooms. Or a very grubby toilet.
Utilitarian warehouses set in the soulless retail parks of Brent, Croydon and Essex, traditional IKEAs are the opposite of seductive. But plop one into the heart of the West End and it’s a different story. Passersby will drop-in by choice and make carefree purchases small enough to carry home on the central line. Not so the weekend warrior forced to drive-out-of-town for a budget wardrobe while wearing the haunted look of someone on the brink of flatpack hell.
You can tell more about a person from their IKEA basket than their vacuous Hinge prompts
I give it a month before IKEA Oxford Street becomes a de facto venue for singles’ nights. It worked for Spanish supermarket, Mercadona, when shoppers decided that 7pm to 8pm would be singles’ hour and an upside-down pineapple would be a sign of availability. Swap the pineapple for the tail of a BLAHAJ shark plush sticking out a FRAKTA bag and the term ‘IKEA lover’ might take on a whole new meaning. After all, if the old Tottenham IKEA can be transformed into Drumsheds, the UK’s biggest nightclub, what’s to stop the new Oxford Street IKEA becoming London’s dating hotspot?
