Why Love Island is an Anthropologist’s Wet Dream
Love Island isn’t just a reality television show that had every 20-something-year-old on the edge of their seat nearly every night at 6 pm (PST); It’s also an anthropologist’s wet dream. Contestants, mostly comprised of 22- to 30-year-old men and women, are under constant surveillance as they seek to find love, make romantic and platonic connections, and traverse a seemingly controlled dating environment, all in the name of $100k rewarded to America’s favorite couple. This season of Love Island USA (season 8) has proven to be especially entertaining and drama-filled, with multiple episodes ending in full-blown chaos as the “boys” and “girls” (as they’re referred to) become enraged with each other due to lapses in both judgment and behavior. At face value, this television series is just another drama-filled reality TV show aimed at creating shock and stirring the media dating landscape. Yet, as I continue to watch, I can’t help but think about how anthropologically and sociologically significant this show actually is. From racial and gender dynamics to red-pill politics, and even the ways in which people behave under constant, unverified surveillance, broadcast for the entire country to see, Love Island is the perfect microcosm to dissect the ways in which society operates in our contemporary politics.
In 1975, Michel Foucault, a French philosopher, historian, and social critic, wrote Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, where he discussed how Jeremy Bentham’s Panopticon could be used as a model and metaphor for the ways in which modern society functioned. Bentham’s Panopticon is an idealized, hypothetical prison that is structurally circular, with a watch guard planted in the center, while the prisoners are positioned concentrically around the guard. The prisoners, unaware of how or when they’ll be under surveillance, know that they can and will be watched by the central guard. Above, a different guard watches both the prisoners and the watchguard as the overseer. Through this imbalance of visibility, as well as unverified surveillance, the prisoners will eventually self- discipline themselves, behaving orderly and appropriately. Through coercive control, power is always unequal.
Foucault argued that modern society works similarly. He took it a step farther and argued that by creating a sense of uniformity or homogenization, that the individual could be diluted completely, and that “prisoners” or everyday people will continue to act in accordance with what they are told is orderly, and simultaneously feel less inclined to display their individuality, until the modern man is completely docile to the point that they’ll behave in the way that structures of power wish them to.
With all of this being said, the structure of Love Island is uncannily similar to the panopticon. Not only are the contestants constantly being filmed and surveilled, but they also don’t know if or when the footage may be broadcast. At Casa Amor, the boys didn’t realize that the entire introduction of the Casa Amor ladies was being broadcast live to the ladies in the villa. Instantly, we witnessed a shift in behavior. The men didn’t hold back with their comments, and certainly not with their actions. Within the first 10 minutes of meeting the women from Casa Amor, Corbin blankly stated, “Kenzie is out the window,” and shortly after, KC said that the girls at Casa Amor are much better than the women over at the villa. It makes me wonder if they would have said these things knowing that the villa girls were watching in real-time. This is in no way justifying the actions of the boys, yet it’s the first time we really hear them express vulgar thoughts and behavior.
The “movie night” episode, where the boys and girls had to sit together and re-watch real-life footage of themselves in the villa, was particularly interesting. What they may have thought were conversations behind closed doors were aired out. The most significant aspect of movie night was how Sincere was exposed for lying to Melanie, Sol, and Amora. Everyone became silent after having just screamed at each other over Aniya and KC’s drama (which I’ll get back to). Having to re-watch his own mistakes, Sincere was silenced. Everyone was in utter shock. This makes me think about how we are often unaware of what travels with us in today’s digital panopticon. We are all constantly under surveillance through social media, and we never know who or when someone has taken a screenshot or a video recording of us and when or if it will resurface. Another perfect example of this is Casa Amor girl Alannah getting removed from the island due to a resurfaced video of her using racial slurs. The panoptic structure of social media is in many ways built to fuel cancel culture and create collective, homogenized opinions on individuals who deviate from what we believe is “right or “wrong.”
At one point during the movie night, KC says, “This is wrong.” Certainly, it feels wrong to bear witness to video evidence of one’s ugly behavior, yet it feels necessary to hold one accountable. Instagram and TikTok are both flooded with “Sincere hate”; viewers had been waiting for his true colors to be exposed. As a society, we often demand justice because it is wired within us as a moral responsibility to uphold ethical standards and beliefs. Yet, when faced with these attempts at justice, it does feel uncomfortable, at least for me. I know many people felt a sense of relief watching Sincere watch himself do objectively wrong things, and that is completely valid. Recognizing the discomfort allows us to place ourselves in Sincere’s shoes and identify with the parts of ourselves that aren’t always heroic, and that can often have antagonistic tendencies.
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On a different note, the racial and gender dynamics pose an interesting discussion about how we approach both feminism and intersectionality in contemporary society. The majority of women this past season were women of color, making the intersection of race and gender especially prevalent. Intellectuals such as bell hooks and Audre Lorde immediately come to mind when thinking about how the dynamics at the villa are contingent on how the islanders identify themselves racially.
At the beginning of the season, Trinity explained to Bryce that she’s never dated outside of her race and that it was a big deal to her. She expressed a sense of apprehension, from what I can imagine, due to how race forms differing subsets of cultures and beliefs based on lived experiences, and socially integrated behaviors — all things that can integrally structure one’s own identity, and that have historically stratified people. Moreover, we saw how Aniya and KC’s growing contentious relationship reflects what bell hooks describes as a common experience for Black women. In her book Ain’t I a Woman: Black Women and Feminism, she explains the “gender empathy gap,” where she criticized how Black men historically supported patriarchal values and encouraged Black women to assume subordinate roles, despite Black women supporting them in racial liberation. Although it is never said explicitly that race plays an important role in the villa, we see how these histories within Black feminism continue to shape relational discourses between men and women and amongst women themselves.
When KC arrived back at the villa, arms linked with Titi, Aniya broke down in tears, saying that she felt like she was constantly choosing him and fighting for him, and never felt as though it was reciprocated. However, KC expressed that from Day 1, he didn’t feel desired. He said he chose to recouple with Titi for himself instead of for Aniya or anyone for that matter. He expressed that he didn’t have anyone standing behind his door and that he had to confront that feeling of not being chosen or being able to choose for himself because at that point it was simply out of his hands. Aniya continued to cry and feel as though he disrespected her and took her for granted while at Casa Amor.
However, through their conflict, they also displaced Titi, who was instantly villainized for defending KC. When Aniya pulled Titi for a chat post-re-coupling, she reiterated that she wasn’t frustrated with her, but rather KC’s disrespect toward her. They acknowledged that they’re both beautiful black women, and that neither of them has beef with each other. I think this moment captured exactly what Kimberlé Crenshaw describes in her book, On Intersectionality, where she says that due to systemic inequalities, black women often shoulder the labor of fighting for their own rights while simultaneously fighting for black men and women. Aniya is caught in this dilemma where she does want to be a “girl’s girl” and support Titi’s exploration with KC, while also wanting to hold KC accountable for his actions. Ultimately, she does shoulder the labor of standing up for herself while also holding KC accountable and also allowing KC to move on and explore with Titi, and also being respectful to Titi and her experience. It becomes obvious that Aniya feels both internal and external conflict around those around her, and she has to find her composure to move past it.
Lastly, I can’t help but feel enraged over the fact that red-pill sexual politics incredibly influence the men on Love Island. Firstly, there was an instant divide between the Casa Amor girls and the villa girls the second the guys left the villa. Unsurprisingly, the women at Casa Amor were instantly sexualized. At one point, Corbin compared the Casa Amor ladies to “college girls,” while demoting the villa girls to mere “high-school girls.” Considering that Corbin jumped ship to Parmida without a second thought, did this hierarchy stem from a difference in his ability to establish a true connection at the villa or merely his desire to get what he wanted sexually? Frankly, it’s hard to believe the former. In another instance, KC called Aniya a grandma for not wanting to do anything more than cuddle. This dynamic is problematic because some men, such as those on the island, want to reap the benefits of a woman who is willing to express their sexuality, but oftentimes condemn those who are overtly sexual.
While many of the guys explored at Casa Amor and even returned to the villa in a new couple, the ladies at the villa seemed to overcorrect their desire to explore the new group of men. It was clear from the get-go that the women were more reserved, and maybe even felt guilty when exploring the new islanders, often repeating amongst themselves that they were to remain respectful toward their current partner, even if it meant losing out on a better connection. While Bryce and Zach did reiterate multiple times that they missed their connection back at the villa, others like Sincere, Corbin, and KC saw Casa Amor, as Amora would say, “ a hall pass” to explore at the expense of others’ feelings.
The issue with the manosphere is that women get wrapped up within it as well. Many viewers expressed disappointment with Parmida’s remark that “boys will be boys,” fueling the idea that men indeed get a hall pass strictly because of their gender status.
Unfortunately, this very dynamic is at the heart of our contemporary sexual politics. Red-pill culture has made women feel as though they have to police their own bodies, on top of being policed by men. On the other side of the coin, nothing scares a man more than a woman who can deny a man his “right” to assert dominance. In a time when women have come closest to closing the gap with their male counterparts, some men perceive themselves as having been socially “castrated,” interpreting the fall of patriarchal privilege as personal oppression. As a result, they seek to reassert traditional hierarchies through narratives that frame female autonomy as a threat and male dominance as something that must be reclaimed, and the Love Island men are no exception to this rule.
