Reality television, and more specifically shows that revolve around dating, sex or marriage, have grown exponentially over the last twenty years. In an era of prestige programming from streaming platforms such as HBO and Apple, a steady stream of low-cost, low-quality reality series remain. It raises a pressing question: why do so many of us crave to view content that surrounds other people’s personal relationships? The sun-soaked villa of Love Island offers one answer, turning “normal” contestants into performers who provide the audience with intimacy, drama and desire.
They say Love Island is just about love and entertainment. I say that Love Island capitalises on viewers mediated voyeurism, loneliness, and parasocial tendencies, while simultaneously exploiting the audience’s craving for authenticity and the contestants’ search for fame. This cultural guilty pleasure is easy to watch, hard to look away from, and reveals the modern desire to escape into other people’s lives and emotions instead of facing our own.
Reality television is built on the premise of “real life” scenarios, often showcasing ordinary people instead of professional actors. The early 2000’s marked the rise of reality TV with global hits like Survivor, Big Brother andAmerican Idol, cementing these programmes as everyday entertainment.Out of this new form of media has emerged Love Island UK, which has generated over £718 million in revenue since its inception in 2015.
It is a mixture of a dating show and social experiment – a format reminiscent of Big Brother – where “Islanders” head to a Spanish villa to find love whilst competing for a £50,000 prize. The show perfectly combines flirting, competition and surveillance; with games throughout revealing Islanders’ own comments or the public’s opinions, all whilst facing weekly eliminations. It drew me in week after week for the most recent twelfth season. But now it leaves me wondering why are so many viewers loyal to this series?
Voyeurism is a concept many associate with the image of a “Peeping Tom.” The concept was first defined in a psychiatric setting as the tendency to derive pleasure from secretly watching others in intimate situations undressing, naked, or engaging in sexual activity. But many argue voyeurism is not confined to the sexual sphere. At its core, it reflects a broader human curiosity; the desire to see what is normally hidden from view. Like many ideas, it has expanded with the convergence of media and technology, shifting from private or secretive to collective entertainment.
Professor Clay Calvert reframed the concept as mediated voyeurism, defining it as:
“the consumption of revealing images of and information about others’ apparently real and unguarded lives, often yet not always for purposes of entertainment, but frequently at the expense of privacy and discourse, through the means of mass media and Internet”.
In simpler words, the digital age has normalised the act of watching strangers’ lives unfold on a screen, wrapping it in entertainment and stripping away the risks once attached to “physical” voyeurism. Put simply, I can observe my boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend online without any of the social risks that such activities once entailed. It’s tempting to see that as harmless – even a win perhaps.
Well unsurprisingly, scholars have begun to link mediated voyeurism directly to the appeal of reality TV. The Love Island villa is essentially a stage for mediated voyeurism. Nothing is off limits. The audience hears contestants’ conversations, flirtations, arguments, and intimate moments – yes, even sex scenes. They are broadcast in a way that feels both authentic, yet carefully curated for maximum drama. After all, isn’t that why people are watching?
I don’t think we can be fooled in to thinking that viewers are simply tuning in to “watch love” evolve. Perhaps the fascination with Love Island isn’t just about watching others. It is about escaping our own lives for a little while. Plus, there is the desire to access intimacy, tension and vulnerability that would otherwise remain private. In this way, Love Island thrives precisely because it transforms these new age voyeuristic impulses into a form of entertainment. Through the Islanders, we’re able to feel something without consequence.
Yet mediated voyeurism and entertainment alone aren’t enough to sustain audiences across eight weeks of programming. The audience need to be more than curious – they need connection. In 2023, the World Health Organisation (WHO) declared loneliness a priority public health problem, with an overwhelming 1 in 6 people around the world experiencing feelings of loneliness. In a culture where many people report feeling increasingly isolated, shows like Love Island offer a “replacement” for social connection. Even virtually, viewers are drawn into the villa alongside the Islanders. They experience the development of their relationships, learning their habits, and witness their heartbreak. For viewers around the world, the show creates the illusion of social closeness, filling gaps that may be absent in everyday life.
Cognitive behaviour specialist, Alex Heddger, says:
“Sometimes due to the increased busy nature of our lives, we don’t get enough of these emotions and feelings in real life, so we switch on the TV to experience it.”
Research suggests television has long provided young people with information about relationships, sex, and intimacy that they may not otherwise encounter. Meaning that programs like Love Island may be consumed more regularly, particularly if the viewer is experiencing higher levels of loneliness or social isolation. For audiences, the Islanders are not removed actors but peers; “real people” who feel relatable, even when their experiences are dramatised or exaggerated. The program blurs the line between fiction and reality, encouraging viewers to not only imagine themselves in the villa, but to be co-producers. The public is able to vote, influence eliminations and participate in discussion through online platforms – peep the 181,000 users of the Love Island UK official Reddit page alone. Maybe that’s what makes it comforting. The villa offers a world where relationships always have clear answers, where emotions are heightened but never our own to manage.
This blurring sets the stage for parasocial relationships to blossom, where viewers experience a one-sided relationship with individuals who do not know they exist. First described by Horton and Wohl in the 1950’s, parasocial relationships have now become a cornerstone of media personalities, including actors, influencers and reality TV stars. On Love Island, this bond is built deliberately through its filming style. Between the five weekly episodes, and the behind-the-scenes section “Unsee Bits”, viewers feel like they really get to know the Islanders. Islanders appear to be vulnerable, unfiltered, and accessible, amplifying the sense of personal connection one may feel. Islanders whisper in the confessional booth as if they are in the room with us. They lock eyes with the camera as if we are sitting in front of them. They share their most vulnerable moments – heartbreak, rejection, betrayal.
The result? Loyal fan cheer on their favourites, mourn their evictions, and argue online about who’s real or fake. I’ve caught myself rooting for contestants as if they were my actual friends – groaning when they make a bad choice (looking at you Toni) or celebrating when they find their “type on paper”. That’s the strange thing about parasocial bonds; they are one-sided, but it doesn’t feel that way when you’re watching them on a screen.
And now with social media cemented in our lives, the connection doesn’t end when the credits roll. Between the constant updates on Love Island UK’s official Instagram and the never-ending threads on the Reddit page, fans are able to immerse themselves in the Love Island experience 24/7. Every kiss, argument and outfit is critiqued, debated and often turned into a meme. Dejon Willaims from the most recent season has fallen victim to many online attacks and memes.
For some, this online discussion is just as addictive as the actual episodes. It encourages the blurring of the line between viewer and participant and helps to deepen the parasocial bonds that keep an audience member engaged. There is something about these parasocial relationships that offer predictability in an unpredictable world.
Although I believe one of the strangest paradoxes of the show is that it sells itself as “real”, whilst being one of the most tightly produced and edited shows on the market. As a viewer, you are aware that there are cameras in every corner of the villa. You’re aware that producers stir the pot with challenges and bombshell arrivals, and yet authenticity is still the currency that keeps audiences hooked. Authenticity or being “true to yourself” is key within white Western modernity, and has since become a foundation of a contestants success on reality TV programs. To be “genuine” in the villa is not just desirable, but it is rewarded. The public votes in your favour, continuing to secure your spot and ultimately a chance to win not only the prize money, but fame and sponsorships deals after the show ends. This raises the question; can anyone be authentic when they know millions are watching their confessions, tears and vulnerabilities?
Even as a viewer, I fall victim to this contradiction. I know producers edit storylines and encourage on contestants to create drama. But when an Islander breaks down, I still feel as if I am seeing a raw moment. Maybe authenticity on the show isn’t about being “real” or their true self, but a version which is convincing enough to keep an audience watching.
Considering all of these factors, why do contestants choose to appear on this show? I think it is simple, and it does not necessarily involve love, but desire to famous in their own right. Season after season, we see these Islanders receive lucrative brand deals, unprecedented business opportunities, and of course, popularity on social media platforms. After appearing on the season five, Molly Mae, has started their own clothing labels and even starred in a documentary about her life, Molly-Mae: Behind It All.
However, this level of success is not the experience of all Islanders. For every Molly-Mae, there are the numerous Islanders who leave the villa with stagnant Instagram followers, gossip articles and online trolling. Two former contestants, Siânnise Fudge and Anton Danyluk, have spoken out about the pressure, the toll on their mental health, and the reality of relevancy after appearing on the show. This being said, I do not necessarily feel sorry for these contestants or have a desire to start a Go Fund Me. However, they are human too. For some, it pays off spectacularly. For others, it leaves wounds. And this is where Love Island reveals its dark side. It doesn’t just capitalise on our voyeurism, loneliness, and parasocial cravings. It also capitalises on contestants’ hopes, vulnerabilities, and willingness to trade their form of authenticity (however true it is) for exposure.
In the end, Love Island thrives because it capitalises on factors which define our modern lives. It feeds our mediated voyeurism, giving us intimacy and drama that we may not otherwise have access to. It eases our loneliness by offering a sense of connection. It fosters our parasocial relationships, often feeling just as real as the one’s outsides our screen. Whilst also exploiting an audiences need for authenticity, and the drive of contestants to reach a level of “fame” after appearing on the show. This guilty pleasure might promise love, but what is really delivers is escapism to everyone who watches, and that is okay. As long as you know what you’re watching is not necessarily genuine or the truth. Being able to zone out and lock in to a program is a part of modern life, something that all of us seek out to getaway from harsh realities.
Sammy Tassone 
Monique B 
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