“You’re going to kiss more people in your life than you’re going to fuck,” says Sarah Ruby Armstrong.
A Portland-based graphic designer and dating consultant, Armstrong is also the creator of the Kissing Booth Social Club. It’s a salacious summer-long residency operating every Friday night at Nevermind, the latest in Quinn Matthewstearn’s constellation of clubby neighborhood bars. [Update: As of Friday, July 10, Kissing Booth will be moving to a new location, Rhinestone at 2100 SE Clinton. —eds.] The goal is simple: create a space where pairs of consenting adults can focus on making out (in a photobooth) without a bunch of other variables getting in the way, and then dial in what they like in a kissing partner and what they don’t. It’s not exactly pure science, but it is applying scientific methods to a very unscientific human behavior. Also, there are charts and graphs.
Are we really doing kissing booths in 2026? Yes! Well, sort of. There’s definitely kissing and a booth involved.
It’s early evening in late June, and Armstrong and her team have just finished setting up a small kiosk in front of the bar’s retro photo booth. They’ve posted signs and instructions about how the whole thing works, and artfully arranged a little pay-what-you-will store for kissing accessories: toothbrushes, deodorant… that sort of thing. Everything’s in black, white, and lipstick red, like a classy midcentury magazine ad for women’s cigarettes, or a new kind of motor oil.
Unlike the carnival sex work of yore, this is a strictly Bring Your Own Kisser affair. If you’re an established couple, the process is pretty straightforward: approach the kiosk, either with nervous trepidation or the confident swagger of a true makeout artist. Then pay the entry fee, which tops out at $20 per person, but slides significantly downward for queer and marginalized folks. In return, you get three photo booth tokens, a pre-sharpened golf pencil, and a tri-fold “field notes” pamphlet with metrics, like “lip tensility” and “teeth!?” to fill out. There’s also space for personalized feedback, as well as a glossary of Armstrong’s kissing terminology.
Queue up for the booth, and once inside it’s time to do your thing as the camera clicks away. Armstrong’s original idea was for every pair to go three rounds, adjusting for feedback as they go, although more adventurous kissers can rotate partners as they see fit.
For solos or squads of friends, that’s where the “social club” part kicks in. Unattached and non-monogamous participants can snag a “I am bravely open to kissing someone new for science” sticker and see where the night goes. They start appearing on lapels with more frequency as the sun begins to set, and, perhaps with the help of a little liquid courage, pairs of former strangers begin approaching the booth together.
As awkward as it might sound on paper, there is an undeniable frissonin the air, somewhere between a high school dance and the moment before a friendship becomes a situationship. “Inviting, but low stakes,” is how a participant named Shannon describes it. Lyndsay says she hasn’t kissed anyone in three years, but over the course of the evening she’s approached by Erika, who hasn’t kissed anyone who wasn’t a partner in nine, and Amanda, who just got out of a ten year relationship. Lucas, who’s just here for moral support, spots an intriguing figure from across the bar. An hour later they’re discussing techno-anarchist manifestos, and an hour after that they’re in the booth together at last call.
The hardest part, perhaps unsurprisingly, is managing expectations in a public facing event that involves physical touch. This isn’t a sex club with a discreet entrance and a beefy security team. There’s no real partition between bar patrons and kissing clubbers. Indeed, the distinction becomes increasingly porous over the course of the evening as makeout partners drift onto the dance floor and curious rubberneckers decide to take the plunge. Armstrong says that’s very intentional: She wanted a space where the uncommitted could circle the room a few times and maybe come back next week with more gumption.
Every event has around five of her crew on hand to keep things running smoothly: one at the kiosk, an archivist and a “booth butler” keeping an eye on the proceedings, and a handful of floaters in the mix who sometimes engage in a little light matchmaking, or at least laying the groundwork for the kissing curious to take the plunge. In the event of a serious disruption, the bar staff is on hand to 86 anyone who’s not playing by the rules.
Like many scientific endeavors, Armstrong says she did a test run on herself before expanding it to the public.
“I set up all my dating profiles to say some iteration of, ‘This is an experiment,’” she explains. “If we matched, our first time meeting each other [would] be at a photo booth.” Then three rounds of kissing, feedback, kissing, feedback. No awkward small talk, no pretending to get coffee sometime. For her it was a way to create a “social container” where the kissing part was the only part, and could be evaluated
in isolation.
During this development phase, Armstrong got a feel for what makes a good photobooth makeout: it’s gotta be low tech, no apps, filters, or complicated menus. It’s gotta be public enough for an elicit thrill, but not so public you’re competing with the bar TV. And location is everything: “[It can’t be] the one by the bathroom at the Belmont Inn.”
For Armstrong, the project is more about using design and curation to explore specific questions about physical intimacy, rather than just facilitating anonymous hookups (though naturally that’s been a byproduct). “We have a lot of language now to articulate what we want about sex,” she says, but kissing is often relegated to the category of chemistry: either you’ve got it or you don’t. But maybe with a little trial and error, and some specific language, it could become something with more of a learning curve?
So what’s her advice for first timers? For established couples, she says, show up early. There’s less of a line, and the process can take a bit longer when the person you’re evaluating is also who you’ll be making small talk with over eggs tomorrow. For soloists, later is better. There are more freelancers in the mix and the vibes are closer to a dance club. She also suggests going with a squad or at least a wingman, for moral support if nothing else, but also… who knows?
Kissing Booth Social Club at Rhinestone, 2100 SE Clinton, 6 pm-late, through August.