This July, six strangers sat down to dinner in an upscale Korean restaurant in Shanghai. None of them knows who planned it, only that an algorithm thought they might get along.

One of those in attendance, Jin Ling, a 21-year-old college student, describes how she paid 59 yuan ($8) for an algorithm-matched “blind box dinner” in an attempt to break the monotony of her “dormitory-to-classroom” routine.

“After three years here, I’d barely scratched the surface of the city,” she tells Sixth Tone, adding that she was curious to meet people outside her campus circle — to see who else was “living seriously” in Shanghai.

Over signature dishes like grilled beef brisket and kimchi pork belly risotto, the group shared a meal that cost about 150 yuan per person. While a splurge for a student, Jin rated the food delicious and the experience well worth the price.

But what surprised her most was the connection that formed around the table. “Because we were all strangers, the conversation felt completely unforced — no need to impress anyone, just pure sharing about our lives,” she said. “That kind of authentic interaction is rare and refreshing,” she added.

Jin’s experience reflects a growing urban trend in China: “blind box dinners,” or manghe fanju, which borrow the enticing mystery of “blind box” toys and repackage it for social life.

The unpredictability appeals to young Chinese who say it’s becoming harder to make friends beyond work or their phones. Participants simply register, without being provided any information about their dining companions’ backgrounds or careers, nor what exactly they’re likely to be served.

A need for connection

Entrepreneur Casey Cheuk, 37, first heard about blind box dinners in Taiwan and decided to participate in one in Hong Kong out of curiosity.

That initial gathering in Hong Kong left a strong positive impression on her. Cheuk and the other four diners clicked instantly. Their conversation flowed effortlessly throughout the meal, and they even made a group chat afterwards to keep in touch. The group found common ground in a love of outdoor sports, yet was fascinatingly diverse professionally, including one who was an IT professional and hypnotist.

“The venue itself added to the charm — a hidden gem in Jordan, Hong Kong, tucked away in an unassuming little shopfront that you’d easily overlook, yet serving unexpectedly delicious food,” she recalled.

After this experience, Cheuk decided to launch her own blind box dinner platform, BlindGo, in Shanghai.

Cheuk noted that while her work in PR necessitates that she meets many people, she’s struggled to form genuine friendships at work. Blind box dinners appeal to her because they bypass her usual social circles, introducing her to individuals she would never otherwise meet. “It’s a perfect fit because I enjoy meeting people completely different from myself,” she explained.

Another blind box dining platform, Fandada, also based in Shanghai, emerged from CEO Xu Luyao’s observation of urban isolation. “Everyone stands close to each other on the subway, but no one looks at each other,” Xu said, highlighting how digital efficiency demands have intensified the need for genuine social interaction.

Yet, Xu recognizes a fundamental human need: “People are social animals and need to satisfy their need for support through communication.”

Both platforms see shared meals as a solution. “If a group of strangers is just standing together, it can feel tense. But it’s different at the dining table; it’s a safe and relaxing environment in itself,” Xu explained. She said that during a meal, the moments while ordering, waiting for dishes, or clinking glasses serve as a natural social buffer.

Regarding matching mechanisms, BlingGo and Fandada have developed their own approach. For example, Fandada pairs users based on lifestyles, interests, and personalities, aiming to curate a balanced dynamic at each table. “A table of six might include someone chatty to liven the atmosphere, a couple of good listeners, and some with active minds,” Xu said. “This way, it won’t be awkward, nor will it be chaotic.”

For BlindGo, the primary filter is language compatibility. “If you want to dine together, you must first be able to speak the same language,” Cheuk said. Her platform has launched Mandarin and Shanghainese groups and will soon offer Cantonese and English.

She added that, despite the “no conditions” ethos, she has noticed three main types of users tend to navigate to the app, namely: returnees with overseas backgrounds, outgoing extroverts, and introverts who long for connection.

Cheuk and her business partner initially envisioned that participants would mainly comprise people who may not be accustomed to going out into the world alone, such as fresh graduates and those who have just started work. However, in reality, dinner attendees tend to be between 32 and 37 years old, and even 40 to 50. “After raising their children to adulthood, they urgently need new social engagements to reintegrate into society and want to spend time with younger people, seeking more opportunities to connect,” Cheuk said.

Xu has identified clear regional characteristics among users. Shanghai participants prize a sense of ritual, atmosphere, and the overall experience. Those in Beijing are more direct, quick to start topics, and unafraid to speak their minds. Meanwhile, in the southern tech hub of Shenzhen, a city of migrants, the community is highly inclusive, with a strong sense of rapport among the “Shenzhen drifters.”

On the business side, both platforms maintain a restrained pricing strategy, charging around 40 yuan for event sign-ups. Fandada’s users indicate their own price range for restaurants, while meals via BlindGo are managed through collaborations with restaurants.

Ensuring participant safety is of paramount concern. Organizers emphasize that events are held at established venues with team supervision throughout. “It’s highly unlikely for anyone to become excessively intoxicated during our weekday socials,” Cheuk said.

Beyond the logistics, the founders have witnessed the deeper social impact of their work. Xue Doujie, Fandada’s operations director, recalled, “After our dinners, we disband the chat groups we create. We often get special requests from users asking to keep the group alive ... that’s how we know a meaningful connection has been made, and that their journey together will continue.”

Xue is also responsible for collecting daily user feedback about their dining experiences, with the majority being positive. Negative comments tend to come from users who state that initial interactions can be awkward, although Xue deems this to be normal.

The staff at Fandada do not directly participate in the dinners; they only provide a platform and services to organize the gatherings. Before each dinner, they send out individual invitations to create a sense of formality and respect among invitees.

Each Fandada user also receives an invitation along with an ice-breaking task. Everyone’s task is different — for example, some are responsible for starting the conversation, while others are tasked with asking questions.

Moving forward, Cheuk and Xu have ambitious visions of what their platforms can become. Cheuk dreams of creating a place where users can connect with locals across the country. “For example, going to Chongqing to find a group of locals to eat hot pot, or going to Inner Mongolia to have someone take you to drink the best milk tea — those are the events I want to build,” she said.

Xu operates on the principle that social needs are basic requirements, secondary only to eating and sleeping. She said validation comes directly from participants, such as when someone remarks, “I’ve been to this restaurant before, but this time the food tasted better.”

Looking back, college student Jin said that the true value of her blind box dinner wasn’t in achieving her original goal of honing social skills, but in the unexpected “pure, unscripted moments” she experienced. For her, the very uncertainty of the meeting brought more delight than unease, because, as she put it, “what you gain can’t be planned.”

“You never know who you’ll meet next time, or what stories will be shared,” she said, adding that if she has the opportunity to dine with strangers again, she won’t hesitate to join.

Editor: Marianne Gunnarsson.

(Header image: Mathisworks/Getty Creative/VCG)