Nothing fills my body with serotonin quite like the opening notes of theLove Island theme tune. They vibrate with the promise of an hour of pure joy: sales executives in white Crocs trying to impress pharmacists wearing thong bikinis. They conjure up hot summer evenings, Whatsapp groups exploding, pop culture history being made. What’s not to love?
I’m not ashamed to say that I’ve watched every single episode of every single series. I’ve dissected each contestant, each date (sometimes professionally). I’ve paid for an ITV Hub subscription so I could watch it by the pool on holiday in France. I’ve sent thousands of Whatsapp messages to groups called Pulled For A Chat. I’ve interviewed Amy Hart and Shaughna Phillips. I’ve even followed Chuggs on Instagram. I have lived and breathed Love Island like a super fan.
As we welcome the second ever winter Love Island, the tenth series overall, however, I am starting to wonder how much longer I’ve got left in me. As Love Island turns eight, I’m approaching my 40th birthday at the end of this year; the series is very much not for me, I’m well aware I am not the demographic. But can I carry on watching? Well the answer is of course - it’s for everyone. As the latest series, filmed in Cape Town with Maya Jama as the new host, replacing Laura Whitmore after her two year run, kicks off, however, I wonder if I am alone in my sense of Love Island fatigue. I feel vaguely tired by the prospect of going through the motions yet again, perhaps because we finished the last summer series but six months ago.
Still, there’s a reason we keep coming back. The camaraderie of Love Island viewers being the main one. Firing up the old Whatsapp groups is like a school reunion. People I don’t talk to all year round come back into my life, and as the mum of a 10 month old it fulfils a rabid desire to be connected with the outside world, in lieu of a social life. There are the memes, the TikToks, the think pieces - it’s just pure fun.
Then there’s the drama. The Andrew and Tash tit-licking incident was truly one of the highlights of a very politically fraught 2022. We get light relief; in an increasingly depressing world it feels good to be able to wantonly enjoy something, as well as take the piss out of it. The show has delivered us some spine tingling pop culture moments over the years: Marcel’s relentless need to announce he was in Blazing Squad, Chris Hughes offering to rap to relieve the tension of a villa bust up, Jack Fincham asking Dani Dyer when her plane was booked for when she told him she was going to leave the show.
No, I’m not ready to give it up just yet. Maybe, like Amy Poehler’s Cool Mom in Mean Girls, I need the show to keep me young. I know what the ‘talking stage’ is thanks to Love Island, I know that having your underboob out is socially acceptable and I think I even understand the extremely complicated modern rules of being a ‘Girl’s Girl’ (they seem to change every series, however).
And while I may be reaching the end of my Love Island tenure, I still don’t think the mooted idea of a Love Island featuring an over thirties cast would fill a gap in my reality TV schedule. The report, which surfaced last summer, claimed that ITV was planning a new version of the dating show featuring 30-50 year olds with ‘normal bodies’, whatever they are. Now I don’t know about you but I find the prospect of that show deeply depressing. I don’t watch Love Island to see people my age date (regardless of body type - the twenty something version should have broader body diversity but that’s a different piece altogether). I enjoy the boldness of a 19-year-old who’s never been dumped, and I worry there may be too much baggage and anxiety at play in a more seasoned cast - where’s the escapism? I’ve got all that at home.
So, if like me, you will be wearily settling in for another opening episode this evening, remember this: hard work pays off, and there will undoubtedly be some nonsensical, funny, sometimes moving moments in the process. See you round the fire pit.