So, like at least two million other people, I’ve been watching Love Island.
I try not to say this in a confessional tone, but it’s difficult not to see reality TV as a guilty pleasure when people are quick to display their ‘superior’ cultural tastes and intelligence by telling you what you like is trash. I know this. I love The Wire, I do, but I also think The Simple Life is amazing and wanted Nicole Richie to be my friend until I met Nikki Soo and thought, same difference.
But beyond the snobbish dismissal of Love Island as television ‘for the hard of thinking’, there is criticism more worth entertaining. This generally falls into one of two arguments based on two separate concerns – that Love Island is bad for the people who watch it, or that it’s bad for the people we are watching.
Bad for the people who watch it
Panic on the screens of London, panic on the screens of Birmingham, there are people having sex on TV…
I’m not going to waste time arguing that Love Island doesn’t really show sex and isn’t really about sex (but it doesn’t, and it isn’t). A more convincing reason for worrying the show is a bad influence is based on what Love Island represents, rather than what it shows.
You won’t need to watch for more than two minutes to see that Love Island is for the young, fit and tanned. There goes my plan to try to get my thesis in before a stint of free Mallorcan sun with a side of constant paranoia next summer. Love Island has also been criticised for being a straight person’s game, even if producers insist that contestants can do what they want. Boys pick girls, girls pick boys, repeat until contracts end. Clearly these problems are not unique to Love Island, but I understand what this exclusivity says about who is desirable and deserves to find love (or at least, to be seen doing so on telly).
There are also concerns that the show promotes an unhealthy view of relationships. Of course, your view on this will depend on how you think people should date and/or mate. It’s probably not for anyone who thinks Tinder is the fourth horseman of the apocalypse. The contestants may be beautiful, but Love Island has its ugly moments. The chief executive of Women’s Aid warned that Jonny’s behaviour toward Tyla was ‘possessive and controlling’, while Olivia was accused of bullying Chris for chastising him for crying.
The question here is whether these relationships are presented as the ideal, or as cautionary tales. On Love Island nothing goes unframed by the lovingly sarcastic tones of the narrator, quick to mock even if not condemn bad behaviour. Camilla spawned a thousand think pieces when she tried to educate Jonny about feminism, and watching people fumble their way through dating has led some to argue that Love Island could actually educate us. Caitlin Moran described watching the show with her teenage daughters as a ‘valuable life lesson’ because ‘it’s basically an hour of people just talking about their feelings’, where worrying behaviours become learning opportunities.
The argument that the show is educational errs on the side of taking it too seriously (she says, writing 1000 words about it), and may be a self-conscious justification for enjoying reality TV. But this does raise an important point on why fear that Love Island is a bad influence is misguided. Skeggs and Wood’s 2012 book Reacting to Reality Television demonstrates that audiences do not simply swallow what is put in front of them, instead interpreting programmes and the people in them differently according to their own life experiences.
While we’re not all watching Love Island with our mums, I’d bet that most of us are discussing the show with other people. The sex and the ridiculous slapstick games may raise eyebrows, but Love Island really is just a show where people talk, a lot, about relationships. The relationships forged and broken on accelerated Love-Island-time are not normal (and not necessarily ‘genuine’), but as you watch them unfold you will undoubtedly recognise behaviours from your own life and the lives of those around you (yes you, shouting at the screen for her to take his compliments, stop shouting at yourself). This can be interesting, it can certainly be worrying, and it could possibly be useful.
Bad for the people we’re watching
‘You’ll have plenty of time to ask more questions, when it’s all normal again’ – Camilla
‘Is it ever going to be normal again?’ – Camilla’s mum
I get the argument that contestants may one day be mortified by what other people have seen, but these days there are plenty of ways to publicly embarrass yourself in a way the internet will never forget. But shows like Love Island have also been accused of exploiting their mainly working class participants for the benefit of viewers’ amusement and producers’ pockets, paying them little-to-nothing then spitting them out to sink or swim.
Reality TV partly appeals because some really do swim. Professor Helen Wood discusses the success some Geordie Shore housemates have had turning their structured reality fame into long-term financial investments, but finds disparity even among the most popular. While the girls rely on appearance-based media work which will eventually fizzle out, the boys are better placed to make a long-term living. Clearly not all former reality TV contestants can make enough money from this exposure to support themselves, and it seems unlikely that a more conventional job search wouldn’t be complicated by their 15 minutes of fame.
While I would argue that appearing in these shows is work (even when it looks like a holiday) and contestants should receive their share of the profits, the jury is out on whether reality TV is always exploitative. Skeggs and Wood’s audience research showed that while middle class audiences were more likely to see contestants as being exploited, working class audiences instead saw them as exploiting an opportunity to escape economic insecurity.
The difficulty for reality TV stars once the show’s over stems partly from the snobbery against reality TV itself. Not only is it perceived as lowbrow entertainment but participants are not seen as having achieved their fame, and ‘being yourself’ is often not seen as ‘proper work’. This means even popular reality TV stars are rarely able to move into more legitimate and economically reliable work in entertainment. All I’m saying is, don’t hold your breath waiting for Amber to fulfil her West End ambitions.
Do you believe in life after Love (Island)?
With this series coming to an end I’m interested to see what the Islanders will do following the surprising success of the show, and what this might tell us about change in celebrity culture.
Prefacing discussion between two Islanders about the future after Love Island, narrator Iain Stirling quipped that he expected this to comprise ‘an appearance on Loose Women and in Hello magazine’. But I’ll be interested to see whether Islanders are able to build a more sustainable career than interviews for gossip magazines and further stints on reality TV. Some may be able to make money promoting products to the social media audiences which have been growing without them while they’ve been offline. While this is hard work to sustain over time, the interests and work histories of many contestants in fitness and fashion translates well to Instagram, while others could perhaps use YouTube to continue to keep audiences interested in their daily lives and relationships.
Never mind what Love Island contestants will do next. What will we do now there’s an hour long gap in our evenings?
Actually talk to our own partners?
Pfft. Quick, someone send me a text.