Dating : I Don’t See Myself in Love Island, and That’s Why it’s So Good

Why I love British TV’s most controversial show.

The UK is obsessed with Love Island. With this series hitting a ratings high for ITV2, it cannot be denied that the show is a cultural phenomenon. Although I was initially apprehensive, I am now as hooked as the rest of the British population.

However, I cannot help but wrestle with my addiction. In some ways, Love Island represents everything that I find objectionable in society. The very narrow depiction of beauty in terms of a lack of diverse body types, ethnicities and genders is questionable. I find the way it normalises plastic surgery to be distasteful. The heteronormativity of the villa and the way in which it affectively bars entry for people who are solely attracted to their own gender is definitely also something that should be criticised.

However, after dedicating many hours to watching these young straight sexy singles frolicking in a villa in Mallorca, I have come to realise that is precisely why I love it. Love Island is a window into a world that I am not a part of; the world of heterosexual dating.

Growing up gay means that you quickly become accustomed to the fact that your dating pool is comparatively small. Whilst your straight counterparts at school are comfortable in the fact that there is at least some potential to be attracted to each other, you have to get used to the fact that for you, this is highly unlikely. School was an environment where I would not be able to act out on my desires. Moreover, I was effectively denied entry to the part of the social life at school that dating constituted.

Since then, I began to date in the LGBT community and have since found a partner. More recently, however, I have become aware that this is an experience that my heterosexual friends will never be a part of. As much as I was excluded from dating at school, they will never know what it is like to date as queer person. Those people who I thought were on the inside, whilst I was on the outside, arguably have their roles reversed now. Despite of this, the fascination with a world I can never enter remains.

Love Island is one such environment. An environment away from crowded gay bars and gay dating apps like Grindr, both of which were birthed by the desire for anonymous connection. By watching Love Island, I can pretend for an hour a day (apart from Saturdays) that I am someone else. I can make believe that I live in an environment that is not hostile to my sexuality. Despite the UK’s reputation as a sanctuary for LGBT people, hate crimes can and do happen.

Some may say that this is form of internalised homophobia. It could be seen as an expression of a desire to be straight and a rejection of my queerness. In some ways, they may have a point. However, I’d also argue that this is why we watch, read or listen to any form of media. We want an escape from our reality and the truths that exist within it. Tapping into your desire to observe someone who is far withdrawn from your existence, as reality TV so expectedly does, can offer that.

Love Island is a story that doesn’t represent me. And sometimes that’s okay.