Content warning: This article contains mentions of suicide.
When it comes to guilty pleasures, nothing quite compares to “Love Island” (the U.K. version, obviously). Whether it’s the idea of a romance between two people on a summer holiday or the strong urge to imitate their British accents, there’s something about it that lures you in, no matter how critical you might be of reality TV. For me, it differs from other successful shows such as “The Bachelor” or “The Real Housewives” because of how real everything feels — a feature that deserves praise as much as it does severe critique on the production side.
The last few years have observed the devastating suicides of former host Caroline Flack, as well as contestants Mike Thalassitis and Sophie Gradon. While I am in no place to make assumptions about the reasons leading up to their decision, their deaths warrant a reflection on how the show’s structure impacts the mental health of contestants.
Most of the time, the contestants are scaffolders, pharmacists or flight attendants: people you would regularly see on the street or at the pub (but very good-looking nonetheless). It is likely they haven’t been media trained before this, and thus have a plethora of controversial and potentially upsetting actions in their past. Of course, the difference is that now, millions of people watch the show and have a comment to make for every one of the islanders’ slip ups. The rage online can be so powerful that once, Season 5’s Joe Garratt reportedly had to be taken to a safehouse for executives to prepare him for the amount of backlash he was going to receive post-villa, with fans disapproving of his “gaslighting” of fellow islander Lucie Rose Donlan. Other islanders have shared a similar experience, as Season 4’s Eyal Booker said, “When you come out [of the villa], it’s definitely a shock to the system. You have to reintegrate into society in a different way as you’re a recognized face. People think they know you — they stop you and talk to you in a way that is sometimes quite difficult to come to terms with.”
Another hard-to-miss, upsetting feature of the villa is the almost one hundred moving cameras, some of which are positioned in common spaces, but — more concerningly — also in the bedrooms and bathrooms. Earlier seasons of the show have included glimpses of the islanders naked while changing their clothes, in the bathroom doing their personal hygiene and — probably worst of all — being intimate with their partner. In an interview with British tabloid The Sun, Season 2’s Emma-Jane Woodham said she deeply regrets being intimate on the show as it resulted in online abuse for her family. Ultimately, these people aren’t actors with contracts allowing naked or intimate shots but rather are real people who may end up crucified for decisions they made in an isolated place when they were young. This is made possible as the show harbors a culture of judgment.
The islanders are also subject to strict sleeping schedules and behavioral restrictions. One contestant reported that sleep deprivation is a “necessary evil” of reality TV. Others, like Season 4’s Wes Nelson, have stated their discomfort with having to wear swimsuits at all times: “I used to try and go out in a hoodie and heavily clothed in the morning because sometimes it is a bit chilly, but you’d have to take that off.” Even worse, he reveals that the islanders’ phones — only functional in communication between the contestants and producers — all show different times of the day, so the contestants never know what time it is. Likewise, magazines, TV or any kind of reading material are strictly prohibited. Nelson also talks about how producers change the contestants’ microphones in the middle of the night, and how he would often wake up with a stranger standing above him. In addition to the unsustainable practices within the villa, there is a severe lack of pre and after-care for the contestants. Season 4’s Niall Aslam, a contestant with autism, said that he wasn’t provided with plain food at meals or alone time to rest, accommodations for his disability that he was promised beforehand. This led to a stress-induced psychosis, his immediate removal from the show and hospitalization. Reporting to the Daily Mirror, Aslam criticized Independent Television, claiming that he only ever hears from the organization when “someone passes away” and the contact is just a “box-ticking exercise.” He went on to emphasize the importance of speaking out: “Just because what happened to me doesn’t fit a perfect picture, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Hiding it and everyone basically acting like I didn’t exist on that show is harmful for people with autism.”
“Love Island” is my safe place. Throughout the years, these islanders have been my comfort away from home and my entertainment after a long day. That being said, I am not comfortable with my consumption being to the detriment of young men and women’s well-being. I hope meaningful conversations like these can encourage executives to reevaluate their practices and make sure shows like “Love Island” stay their fun, lighthearted selves — and nothing more.
