Love is officially dead. It’s August 14th 2024, and Tommy Fury and Molly-Mae have called off their five-year-long relationship. Announced on BBC, Sky News, and the Daily Mail as ‘breaking news’, it is clear that their relationship has become a product that the British public bought into; the loyal boxer boyfriend and the girl-boss business-minded girlfriend.

“When we watch the contestants meet and fall in love, we then own a piece of their relationship”

Tommy and Molly-Mae rose to fame in 2019 on Britain’s much loved Love Island, during the show’s peak. Amassing over six million viewers, with 3.6 million people tuning into the finale, this couple capitalised on their moment and became household names. They sold the idea of a power couple, but behind the scenes things were not as perfect as they seemed. Cracks in their carefully curated mirage began to appear shortly after the birth of their daughter, when Molly-Mae took to the internet to express her struggle with becoming a mother and her lack of a support system. The perfect boyfriend thus became the absent one, and just over a year later, with rumours of infidelity, it is unsurprising to see that this celebrity couple have called it quits.

Why then were so many people shocked and grieved at the news? Love Island writes out a dream of perfect bodies, perfect partners, perfect love, with the classic tropes of love at first sight and being swept off your feet. When we watch the contestants meet and fall in love, we then own a piece of their relationship. We own it because we have bought it with our voting, our attention, our money; and the price of fame is a lack of privacy.

“just as it puts us down for not being like these ‘perfect’ contestants, it uplifts us by showing these people at their worst”

The heavily produced, heavily scripted illusion of reality that appears on British screens every night at 9pm exploits social stereotypes and the desire to fit in; the contestants are young, thin, and majority white. The ideal ‘tall, dark, and handsome’ man seems to be not that dark at all (maybe a slight tan), and at least one man every season says that he will only date blondes with blue eyes. When the show does cast more diverse bodies, they are often sidelined by their prejudiced castmates, and the show reinforces the sexist, racist, fatphobic rhetoric that makes up all media.

But, just as it puts us down for not being like these ‘perfect’ contestants, it uplifts us by showing these people at their worst. When the Alberti twins (2015) were consistently insulting the women on the show, when Michael (2019) gaslit Amber upon his return from Casa Amor, when Faye (2021) screamed at Teddy during a row, there is an audible sigh of relief when we remember that this is only TV, that we are not being watched and filmed during our worst moments. We, the vulture-like audience, feed off the blood sweat and tears of the contestants, counting our lucky stars that we aren’t them.

“reality TV, when done right, is so much more than its negative stereotypes and can serve as beautiful reflections of all of our lives”

Like many others, I did not tune into this year’s Love Island, and instead, my eyes wandered across the pond to Love Island USA. In what has surprisingly become my favourite variation of the show to date, and in contrast to its British counterpart, most of the original cast remain until the end and in doing so, we actually get to know them. Watching them fight, make up and grow brought us closer to them, and I found myself laughing and crying with them. The friendship that blossomed between JaNa, Serena, and Leah was especially heartwarming to see, as the girls relied on one another to keep each other in check but also to support them no matter what. It reminds me that reality TV, when done right, is so much more than its negative stereotypes and can serve as beautiful reflections of all of our lives.

BBC’s I Kissed A Girl, released earlier this year, transforms the villa into the masseria and a recoupling into a kiss-off. The show is complete with the emotional unavailability, wandering eyes, and objectification that has become a staple of reality dating shows, but also has something more to offer. Whilst it is unafraid of presenting its cast-members in a negative light, these women are allowed to be three-dimensional characters. As Fiorenza begins the show in the play-boy role, we see her open up and get emotional about her struggles to figure out what she wants. The girls discuss their sexuality and their gender, what the label ‘lesbian’ means to them, the biphobic stereotypes that have affected them, and their journeys to being accepted and accepting themselves. I Kissed A Girl prioritises showing people over drama, and its audience buys into their happiness rather than an image.

So, perhaps real love is not dead, but instead reality love is. As the unethical practices of these shows and the inauthenticity of the media produced is revealed, it is time to unsubscribe from idealising what we see and start treating contestants like real, unperfect people.