What My Brain Did at an Entrepreneur Networking Event

I walked into the entrepreneur networking event armed with ambition, a questionable amount of confidence, and zero strategy for basic human interaction.

The venue was peak industrial-chic. Exposed brick, neon signs, and more plants than people. Every wall had some aspirational quote in millennial pink, like “Dream Bigger” and “Hustle Culture Is Dead.” I stared at that last one while actively panicking about not hustling enough.

Within twenty minutes, I had already committed three quiet personal tragedies:

First, I tried to push a pull door. A guy with “Chief Vibes Officer” on his name tag watched the whole thing.

Then I called the bartender “bro.” He was clearly Gen Z. He gave me the kind of polite smile people reserve for relatives who shouldn’t be on TikTok.

And finally, I ate part of the décor. I thought it was an artisanal mushroom bite. It was actually part of a $500 centerpiece.

Now I’m hiding behind a suspiciously healthy monstera, chewing on something being described as an “elevated bite” while pretending not to panic. Every time someone makes eye contact, I respond with a half-smile that probably makes me look like I’m up to something.

Then came the handshake.

An overly enthusiastic entrepreneur stuck out their hand and I froze. Was this a firm handshake situation? Casual? Friendly? I did something in between all of them, resulting in a weird half-wrestle, half-limp fish. Neither of us knew when to let go. It went on too long.

To recover, I hovered near a conversation about scaling businesses and nodded like I understood. Someone asked me what I do, and my brain completely blue-screened.

I’ve practiced this answer so many times. But in that moment? Nothing. Instead of saying, “I run an online magazine,” I started spitting out random words like “authentic engagement” and “community building” like I was trying to win Startup Buzzword Bingo.

Next thing I knew, I was part of a mastermind circle led by a woman who sells courses about selling courses about selling courses. I still don’t know how I got there.

The snack table had devolved into a quiet competition. Every time new trays appeared, the room shifted like a herd of silent, fashionable animals. I saw someone in platform Doc Martens leap over a vintage stool for the last cauliflower wing. I didn’t even feel judgment—just respect.

And then came the networking games.

An event organizer—who definitely had more than one adaptogenic mushroom latte—announced we’d be playing Creator Bingo.

I glanced at the sheet. Squares included “Meet someone who’s gone viral” and “Find someone who manifested their success.”

My greatest accomplishment at that point was keeping a sourdough starter alive for three weeks. Apparently not an option.

They also tried to organize a group photo "for content." It was like wrangling cats, except all the cats needed to check their angles first. Someone yelled, “Say passive income!” instead of cheese. I smiled while quietly questioning every decision that led me there.

As things wound down, people were fake-following each other on Instagram while checking for BeReal notifications. I left with three QR codes in my pocket. One of them just said “To the moon!” in bold font with no further context.

In the Uber home, the driver asked how it went.

I said it was transformative. Then immediately wondered if "transformative" sounded dated.

Later, my mom called and asked if I made any good connections. I told her I mostly made eye contact and questionable snack decisions.

She hung up. I’ll be unpacking whether that joke landed or alarmed her for at least a week.

Next time, I’ll just claim a dentist appointment and skip the spiral.