Much like Amy Winehouse, Nando’s and The Great British Bake Off, if there’s something blowing up in England, eventually America is gonna want to get involved. And has anything blown up in recent months as much as Love Island? Maybe it’s the mass feeling of escapism that has us (meaning, us Americans) traveling not only across the pond, but all the way to Majorca to see how we can get involved.

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Maybe I’ve watched too much Jersey Shore (or not enough The Only Way is Essex), because I always assumed that we Americans pretty much owned trashy reality TV. We’ve got Housewives, Bad Girls, Teen Moms, and don’t even get me started on 2004’s The Swan. We’re responsible for so much of the worst stuff on TV; it’s honestly shocking that we’re allowed to call this current era our “Golden Age of Television” considering what we’re actively putting out into the world. But maybe that’s why I love Love Island, airing on Hulu in the US. It’s the UK’s way of being like, we see you, America, and we can do better. (Or, perhaps, worse.)

From our perspective, it’s like you’ve taken Bachelor in Paradise (the Bachelor/Bachelorette’s beach-themed spin-off show, featuring the motley crew of Bachelor/Bachelorette alumni) mixed it with Big Brother (which, to be fair, was yours to begin with) and added a heavy pour of Paradise Hotel (a short-lived show that also featured hotties sharing hotel rooms on their first dates.) I must say, it’s nice to know that the “Can I steal him for a sec?” bit they repeat on The Bachelor applies across the pond. But the added element of the show airing every day – practically in real time – is a genius twist. Binge watching may be on trend, but there’s something about an entire nation watching something unfold together that creates not only mass hysteria, but hundreds of Daily Mail headlines. With so much TV to watch, we’re rarely all watching the same thing (at the same time!) anymore. Love Island, as silly as it may be, is a uniter. What’s the last show that had all of America on the same page: maybe Queer Eye? Lost? The second season of Survivor?

Perhaps one of the best parts of Love Island is the steady stream of new blood. Our reality stars, used season after season (Jersey Shore Family Vacation, anyone?) are old hat compared to the revolving door of Love Island. It’s one hottie after another, and favorites are easy to come by with so many options. No one hits your fancy? In a few days there will be a new crop – pen salesmen, bartenders, doctors and, naturally, models. (What would a crop of young hot people be without a few models?) I’m more inclined to root for the “normal” people to find love, maybe I’m the only one who feels that way. When pen salesman Jack Fincham fell for aspiring actress/bartender Dani Dyer (whose pedigree of being daughter of actor Danny Dyer means nothing to us over here, sorry) I was genuinely moved. When Love Island invented a whole new set of devious rules and games to keep them apart? I was genuinely angry! Much like a slew of Brits who called in to complain. It’s almost like we all forgot it was a reality show for a moment there.

Another Big Brother-inspired move that takes Love Island to the next level is public voting. If it gives you Hunger Games vibes, that’s because it should. This is more than just a talent content. This season there was a challenge where the islanders have to read Twitter opinions of themselves: “Islanders, it’s time to find out how the viewers rate you as couples. If you can match the public’s perception, you can win a party tonight #CoupleGoals #PolesApart.” The stakes were low, and yet the game was terrifying. After not being voted “most loyal”, one of the contestants, Georgia, says: “I don’t understand why I was not in the loyal one when I’ve been loyal the whole time I’ve been in here … How am I not loyal?” Despite there being no phones or contact with the outside world allowed, the producers of Love Island manage to forcibly break that fourth wall and let the audience have a say in these peoples’ romantic futures. It’s one of the more devious reality show moves we’ve seen in quite some time.

Single black female: Love Island and the problem with race and dating Read more

There’s also a weird raw truth to what plays out on Love Island that certainly applies to dating in America – despite it’s producers’ best efforts to create surface level juicy storylines. Because contestants are constantly asked about what their “type” is, and whether someone is or is not that, only on Love Island will the not-as-muscled doctor fail to couple up despite his best efforts (“He’s not tan enough!” one of the women says in season four’s premiere episode), or, perhaps more close to home, that the only black woman will excuse herself from the show because she’s just not anyone’s “type”. Even though these people spend hours together after first meeting, there’s barely any emphasis on getting to know each other beyond a “type”, thinking that perhaps you could get along and maybe even find love despite not fitting each other’s mold.

Watching Love Island can also make you feel like you’re a cultural critic, peering over the fence between America and the UK, observing their mating rituals. Of course the dial is turned up to 11, but it’s fun to say things like: “Oh, is that how they ask each other out over there?”, “There’s got to be more queer people than this” and “What the hell does dicksand mean?”

Another show I’m quite fond of is Japan’s Terrace House, which recently made its way on to Netflix in the US. It’s the opposite of Love Island: there’s no prize, no games, no viewer participation, no emphasis on hot bodies, and it often takes weeks for housemates to ask each other out on dates. But it’s fascinating to watch how people in different cultures take on sex and dating – whether it’s over the top like Love Island, or the other direction. It’s exaggerated reality TV, but there’s truth in both of these shows.

The problem with Love Island – by the people who turned it down Read more

But maybe what’s so fun about watching Love Island as an American, all the way over here in America, is the lack of context. It’s almost as if I’m the one without a cell phone, cut off from news cycles and isolated from the greater conversation about the show. Protected from think pieces on race and gender and what it really means when a contestant named Hayley doesn’t know what Brexit is. There’s something a bit freeing about that.

I guess what I’m trying to say is: congrats England, you did it. You made a show worth getting all up in arms for, worth seeking out on illegal streaming sites, worth reading about in the Daily Mail again and again. Sure, I hope we never get our own Love Island (we have enough stuff to deal with over here, honestly) but I will continue to struggle to keep up with yours.