How many boozy adult playgrounds can one neighborhood take? In the Seaport, the question is gaining urgency as yet another “competitive socializing” venue opens.
You could spend an entire day doing a Seaport crawl — except instead of bars, you’d hopscotch from competitive socializing venue to competitive socializing venue, from Flight Club to Spin to F1 Arcade to Puttshackto Ballers to 5 Iron Golf, to Kings, doing shots with your groomsmen, sharing truffle fries with Zoom colleagues, dropping hundreds of dollars as you play mini golf, simulator golf, pickleball, padel, ping pong, bowl a game, drive a racing car, throw a dart, lick hot honey ricotta off your fingers, pose with a cold brew espresso martini, check your ex’s Insta, until finally — when you long for nothing so much as an escape room — you Uber 10 feet to Remedy Place,a “social wellness club,” and drop $349 to have your VO2 Max assessed.
I was drawn to the Seaport by the pull of the sea, or maybe it was the pull of competitive socializing, or “eatertainment,” as it’s sometimes called, a category that’s growing so fast that Cushman & Wakefield, the global commercial real estate firm, says it “cannot be ignored.”
Competitive socializing “concepts,” the firm reported in 2023, grew 386 percent in just a couple of years.
As I crossed over the Fort Point Channel into the Seaport on a recent day, I engaged my core muscles and changed into my sneakerinas, for I knew that where I was going, the babies have good hair, the dogs have veneers, and though I would be invisible, the gaze would still be unforgiving.
I sensed the flapping of a gull’s wings at my back as I drew closer, and I half expected to see a sign warning, “Abandon your budget, all ye who enter here.”
I had not properly planned my pilgrimage, and lacked a map for my crawl, but the skies were friendly and I just wandered. Soon, though I was not on the shore, I landed at “Cisco Beach,” which is maybe best described as a leisure concept and . . . had I fallen through a portal and landed in Spring Break?
Before I knew what was happening, an orange party band was being attached to my wrist to let bartenders know I was over 21 (not necessary), and I found myself wandering among cornhole boards, decorative grasses, and shipping containers tricked out with full-service bars.
It was a Tuesday, at least it had been when I set out, and I glanced over my shoulder toward normal Boston to make sure it was still there, with its eat-your-broccoli attitude and comforting grime. And then, suddenly — before I’d had time to consider reserving a private “beach shack” for $200 — I was somehow exiting the beach.
“Have a good one,” a dude said pleasantly. “No worries,” I vibed back.
I scanned the horizon for a Dunkin’ but a Tatte was upon me. “We are filming and taking photos at the cafe,” a sign taped to the door read. “Please let a team member know if you would like to opt out of being captured in any photos or video clips.”
Opt out of photos or video clips in SelfiePort? Wouldn’t it be simpler to warn people when their images weren’t being captured, so they could take a breather from all the posing.
The sun had moved low in the sky, and it was time to head home, but I’d yet to competitively socialize, and so it was on a Friday afternoon that I returned and strode into the F1 Arcade.
“Hey, what can I do to get started?” I asked, feigning a casualness my adult sons know I would not possess in such a situation.
“Is it just you?” the woman asked.
I felt ashamed, a grown woman playing a video game, alone, on a work day, not even wearing sunglasses, and I wanted to whisper, “I’m just here for my job.”
But she didn’t seem like she’d care, so I kept my mouth shut, and was led to a sports car seat with a steering wheel and a screen in front, and then the game was underway.
Why was mine the only car on the screen? I dimly recalled that the employee said I’d be playing against other people or maybe AI or something. Then I noticed a little 10/10 on the screen, and understood that I was 10th out of 10, and was in fact so far back I was effectively alone.
It’s hard to drive straight when you’re going that fast, what with curves and walls and other obstacles zooming toward you, and my car was careening back and forth, and the view on the screen resembled cellphone footage you’d see when someone is filming as they’re fleeing drunk, or riding a Tilt-A-Whirl.
My stomach had had enough, and even though there were over two minutes left in the game — and I’d paid $27 for three games, the cheapest package available — I tucked and rolled out of my seat, and without making eye contact, staggered out.
In front of me was some kind of outdoor mall that was dotted with little benches, each surrounded by a bounteous frame of flowers, for selfie purposes, need you ask, and as I collapsed onto one, nauseated though I was, I tilted my head just so and snapped a photo.
Other things happened, too. I stopped by the mini golf place and interviewed a man and a woman drinking Corona Lights. “Are you on a date?” I asked, so I could properly describe their relationship in my story. “Yes,” the man said. “A sexual one.”
There were children there, too, which seemed strange. What were kids doing playing a game?
Back outside, I passed three adults enjoying an enormous swing, and saw a sign that read, “This sidewalk is the first-ever installation of concrete made with low-carbon Sublime Cement™ . . . A step on this sidewalk is a step towards our post-carbon future.”
The future.
Wait — is it being threatened? But everything around me felt permanent — the pop-up shop selling tinned chocolate sardines ($107 per pound); the preppy teddy bear posed in the driver’s seat of the Ralph Lauren coffee truck; the gel manicures.
Alas, nothing lasts forever. The samples at my local Trader Joe’s have disappeared, and at some point the Seaport could be lost, too, to rising seas, maybe, or a latte spill.
Our only hope is that if it goes under, future developers will honor its heritage with appropriate branding. May I suggest Brolantis?
Beth Teitell can be reached at beth.teitell@globe.com. Follow her @bethteitell.