Even a $14,000 government handout can’t get South Korea’s singles to marry

“They will make me apply," she says, with a big sigh.

State-sponsored dating has become a phenomenon here. It has spread out across the country as its fertility rate slumps, falling to an average of 0.75 children per woman, about a third of the figure needed to keep the population level stable.

City governments launched matchmaking services and other incentives to boost the world’s lowest birthrate. The national government has expanded parental leave and increased cash payouts to newlyweds. In South Korea, a socially conservative country, marriage is by and large the only route to having children. Fewer than 5% of births come outside of wedlock.

Saha-gu, a district in South Korea’s second largest city of Busan, offers singles who match at its events around $340 to spend on dates. Those who get married receive roughly $14,000 upfront and are feted with housing subsidies and more cash to cover pregnancy-related expenses and international travel. No participant has claimed the prize for marriage.

Churches and companies are lending a hand. Booyoung Group, a construction firm in Seoul, pays its employees roughly $75,000 each time they have a baby. Yoido Full Gospel Church, one of the world’s largest congregations in the world, gives its members $1,380 for each childbirth.

But marriage is a tough sell for many South Korean singles.

A recent survey shows roughly three-fifths of working South Koreans think it’s OK not to marry. Many say they don’t feel the need, and rising living costs are big disincentives, as are the punishingly long work hours in South Korea’s office culture. Women face additional barriers in re-entering the workforce after childbirth.

Typically, men are more eager to participate in government dating programs. Smaller counties have had to cancel their matchmaking events when not enough women applied.

In South Korea, around 42 districts launched matchmaking events between 2022 and last August, and among the roughly 4,000 singles who participated just 24 couples got married, according to lawmaker Lee Yeon-hee’s office.

At a parliamentary hearing, the lawmaker called the local districts’ initiatives “self-promotional" and embarrassing.

Lee, the barista, is used to her parents nagging her at the dinner table to date and get married before it’s too late. She hasn’t dated for nearly two years but would prefer to fall in love organically. Thousands of dollars in incentives won’t change her mind.

“I don’t want my parents to find out about these government programs," she said, noting it would only add to the pressure.

Shin Dong-woo put off marriage for years while he trained to be a lawyer. Now, the 37-year-old runs his own practice in Seoul, giving him the kind of stable employment many South Koreans see as a prerequisite to marriage. Still, when a friend encouraged him to apply for a government-organized Valentine’s Day matchmaking event, he hesitated, thinking about all the paperwork he would need to prepare to prove his identity, residence and employment.

“It’s more troublesome than you’d think," says Shin, who overcame his reservations and applied.

In a large room lined with painted canvases, each attendee had to lock eyes with everyone of the opposite sex for 10 seconds to test for chemistry. Then came five-minute chats with 15 people, and dinner over bingo, before having to submit their top three choices.

Seoul tries to speed up the get-to-know-each-other phase by offering a bundle of tickets and restaurant vouchers to its matches. Shin matched with a woman. But within about two weeks, they had lost touch. The free tickets to a Van Gogh exhibit have gone unused.

“It’s meaningful only if we go together," he says.

Government matchmakers aren’t losing hope.

Every other month, Kim Seon-mi heads out from her job at the district government office in Daegu, South Korea’s fourth largest city, to scout romantic locations and deck them out with flowers and banners. She then invites 10 handpicked men and women from a pool of applicants and recruits a dating coach to help them fall in love.

Her team’s matchmaking programs have produced 179 marriages in nine years. Partnering banks, hospitals and event planning agencies provide prospective newlyweds with subsidies and discounts to make sure their marriages lead to more births.

“We approach it in terms of demographic policy from the very beginning," Kim said.

Lee Seyun, who works in marketing, mingled with potential suitors at a matchmaking event in Seoul last November. After ice-breaking games, bottomless drinks and a boat ride along the Han River, she didn’t find a match.

At an afterparty Lee spotted a man she didn’t get a chance to talk to at the event. They’re now in a relationship. She doesn’t get any of the freebies since they didn’t technically meet through the government program, but she doesn’t mind.

“My only goal was to meet someone nice," said the 30-year-old Lee.

Kim Min-ki is proof that government setups can stick. He met his wife over six years ago through “Rollercoaster of Love," a matchmaking program in Daegu. The now 38-year-old teacher recalled arriving 30 minutes early to the event to find someone already there: a tall woman in an elegant green dress named Shin Seona, also a 38-year-old teacher. They exchanged pleasantries and chatted, as 28 other participants trickled in.

By the end of a daylong itinerary consisting of a relationship guru’s lecture, speed dating and a group outing to a theme park, Kim and Shin were discussing how many children they wanted.

“For the first time in my life, I was thinking this could lead to marriage," said Shin.

They were married within six months and now have a son. The city offered a lakeside public park for the wedding ceremony free of charge, but the couple booked a different wedding hall.

Write to Dasl Yoon at dasl.yoon@wsj.com