Originally Published in Print, April 2022.

Art by Meghan Flood

 

I have to admit, I love bad television. So, when I saw that season 3 of Too Hot to Handle (THTH) had been added to Netflix, I couldn’t resist. After all, I had already watched the two previous series in their entirety. For those that don’t know, Too Hot to Handle is essentially a global version of Love Island, but with a twist. A group of ten singles from across the world, with a phobia for commitment, are placed in a luxurious villa together for four weeks while being monitored by a virtual assistant: Lana. The group participates in different activities aimed at establishing and improving any emotional connections forged between the couples. The more successful the couples are at engaging in these activities, the better their chances are at getting their hands on the $100,000 prize fund. The catch to the whole show is that the rules forbid sexual contact of any kind. Any time a rule is broken, the prize fund is reduced. A peck on the lips typically costs up to $3,000. 

 

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that THTH, Love Island (and their kind) all follow a similar script. Whether it is Love is Blind, a new addition to Netflix in which contestants engage in a blind speed dating process, or Married at First Sight, where contestants meet each other for the first time at the altar, the aim of the game is finding ‘love’ in the twenty-first century. One particular couple will steal the public’s heart and emerge as the bookie’s favourites to win while a ‘bad boy’ character, be it male or female, will test the boundaries by causing as much drama as possible. The viewers become engrossed in the development of the relationships when suddenly the producers will decide to throw a curveball in to increase ratings. In Love Island, that curve ball is the infamous Casa Amor while in THTH, new contestants are added to the mix at different points during the retreat to spice things up. Heads begin to turn and the foundations of the most stable couples in the retreat begin to shake. Will love win out or are the men of the show really as shallow as the team of producers at ITV are setting them out to be? Blah. Blah. Blah.

 

Halfway through season 3 of THTH, I found myself physically cringing at my laptop screen – cringing for the contestants and the god-awful spiel they give about how they magically emotionally mature in the space of five days. But also, for myself. Why, despite being served the same bland script year in, year out, was I still so invested in the storyline when I already know the ending? The lucky couple ride off into the sunset with their respective cash prizes, advertise the latest teeth whitening technology or protein supplement in a desperate effort to remain relevant, only to release a statement about four months later about how life on the outside took too much of a toll on their relationship, but that they wish the other ‘nothing but love and happiness’. The logical part of my brain is pleading with me to make sense of what I am witnessing. I understand that these reality TV experiences can be very  immersive for those involved, but you cannot unlearn all of your trauma and simultaneously become an amazing partner over the course of 72 hours! Am I just a hopeless romantic who believes in the power of love – Those closest to me can attest that this is not the case –  ,or, is there some sort of psychological pull behind these shows that keeps us wanting more? I have some ideas… 

 

When I talk about the psychology behind shows like THTH and Love Island, I am alluding to the human fascination with observing how other people interact. The ‘human-experiment

fascination’ if you will. Our fixation with this particular brand of show is perhaps our subconscious endeavour to try to understand other humans, our own species, even ourselves. Look at the success of shows like Big Brother and I’m a Celebrity Get me Out Of Here. We really are a voyeuristic species. I think people tune in time and time again in the hope of witnessing some sort of human evolution. With all due respect to the contestants, because it’s not their fault, I don’t necessarily think this brand of television is the best place to look. The structure of these shows doesn’t allow for this evolution because they merely provide sound-bite glimpses of reality. The contestants are stuck in confined quarters for prolonged periods of time and are then abruptly thrown back into the real world. The structure of these shows is not reflective of what actually occurs in day-to-day life. While the baseline purpose is ‘to find meaningful connections and love,’ ultimately the actual goal of the majority of the contestants is exposure, and fame. The contestants seize the opportunity to grow their platforms quickly. 

 

Creating a brand has become the aim of the game, not finding love. In a recent interview with Steven Bartlett, founder of the ‘Diary of a CEO’ podcast, 2019

Love Island runner-up turned Pretty Little Thing Creative Director Molly-Mae Hague

admitted that applying to Love Island was largely a career move. People will argue that there are exceptions to the rule. Take 2016 Love Island runners-up Alex and Olivia Bowen, for example. The couple are now married and expecting their first child –  traditionally all signs of a successful love story in most people’s books. However, one could also argue that their relationship is the foundation of their brand. Their brand’s success is largely dependent on the trajectory of their relationship. This isn’t an argument against mixing business and pleasure. What I wish to point out is the fact that in today’s world, love is monetised and commercialised. The longer we as humans expose ourselves to these different versions of ‘love,’ the more acceptable they become. This is evident from the levels of interest that these shows accumulate. In 2021, ITV received over 100,000 Love Island applications. In its first season, THTH received 3,000 applications for 14 available positions. That was before anyone knew about the scale of the show. People pretend to turn their noses up at these shows, or tune in and call it ‘research’. The above would suggest that interest in reality dating series is much more than people innocently sending in these applications out of sheer boredom. Love conquers all, they say. But does it trump career progression, wealth and fame?

 

I am not trying to disparage people who find love on reality TV shows. In this day and age,

there are limitless ways of meeting people and forging connections. As previously mentioned, shows like Love Island and THTH are incredibly intense and immersive experiences for those involved which probably explains why the relationships we see on air develop at such a  fast pace. It is also a possible explanation as to why these same relationships struggle once the show ends and they return to normality. Going from zero to one hundred in such a short time frame is surely overwhelming. It can be argued that they lack a certain organic reality. I understand it is everyone’s choice to apply and that finding love is not one-size fits-all, but I don’t think that such emotionally-exhausting and high-pressure methods of finding love should be encouraged.

 

I also want to point out that this isn’t a new revelation. I am certainly not reinventing the

wheel here.People have been commercialising their daily lives and finding new means  of making money or scaling the social ladder since the industrial age. People often seek out income streams outside of their career via ‘side hustles’. No aspect of life is sacred. If money can be made, even in pursuit of love, people will go for it. Back in the early noughties, I vividly remember tuning into Take me Out on what was once TV3 before the latest round of X-Factor. While there wasn’t the obvious enticement of prize money, the notoriety and exposure associated with appearing on a show like Take me Out had its social benefits. Since the beginning of time humans have been fascinated with accumulating wealth and associating this with the conquest of love. One needs to look no further than F Scott Fitzgerald’s classic, The Great Gatsby. While fiction, Gatsby pursues wealth and an extravagant lifestyle in the hope that it would aid him in his quest for heiress Daisy Buchanan. Money isn’t everything. It certainly cannot buy you happiness. So explain to me why parallels can still be drawn between portrayals of ‘love’ in 1920’s prohibition-America and the modern day? To me, the answer is that love has become a by-product of the pursuit of ‘more’. More wealth, more social standing, more money in the bank. If in one’s mission to add more zeros to the bank account balance you happen to stumble upon love, happy days. But love is certainly no longer the only priority. The opportunity to come upon love ‘naturally’ is becoming much less frequent. In this day and age, love is going to cost you.