IT'S JUST PEOPLE FROM ESSEX MUMBLING AT EACH OTHER
OK, first of all, let me make one thing clear: there’s literally nothing cool or interesting about hating something that everyone else loves. It’s quintessentially just pretty tragic not to get something that all your mates enjoy, and to miss out on the memes and group chats and drama that comes with not getting the zeitgiest.
That’s what it feels like hating Love Island, the series that’s inexplicably joined the ranks of The West Wing, The Wire and TOWIE in being a cinematic masterpiece — but none of that is half as bad as the show itself.
And I’ve honestly, I swear, I’ve really really tried to get into it. I’ve given it the best conditions possible: watching it with a killer hangover and a family-sized bag of crisps with a huge Love Island fan to explain what the fuck was going on. But it still didn’t work.
Love Island, I’m sorry to say it, is shit.
It’s garbage, but not even good garbage
Alright, I get that it’s meant to be awful, it’s trash TV. And trash TV is absolutely fine. Trash TV is good, it’s what we need to escape the glum monotony of every day life, and it’s given us some of our greatest cultural touchstones, like when Victoria called Cheska from Made in Chelsea a “fucking fat turkey” or that girl on Catfish who thought she was dating Lil Bow Wow, or every time a boy with a mushroom haircut starts a fist-fight on Geordie Shore. It’s drama. It’s Shakespearean. It gives us life.
You know what doesn’t do that? Eight indistinguishable tanned boring people in a villa mumbling at each other. Why do they spend so much time in bed? They don’t do anything? Why do they air it every night? They don’t do anything? Why are the challenges so PG and cringe (the other night they had to eat a full English dinner and then rub each other with suncream, so dramatic)? They do not. do. anything.
Is it too much to ask the good producers at ITV to just ramp shit up a little bit?
The people on Love Island are at once boring and terrifying
I have a theory that everyone on Love Island is recruited from the castoffs of a controversial medical study. You know, one of those ones that pays really well but ultimately leaves everyone a bit off for the rest of their lives? Here’s my evidence to support this theory:
1. They text with hashtags: Admittedly, I don’t fully understand the significance of this, but last night one contestant confessed their deep love for each other with the phrase #TEAMKEMTYLA. Like that’s actually how they speak. Love is truly a universal language.
2. They have a secret language: Look, I’m not gonna pretend I don’t understand what they’re saying. I do get it, I just wish it didn’t happen. Basically, on paper, I should probably like this show and think it’s unreal but I don’t wanna put all my eggs in the one basket and get mugged off when I could be watching something else. Know what I mean? Nah, me either.
3. They are all TERRIFYINGLY EMOTIONALLY INVOLVED: Either the Love Island contestants are thespians of the greatest skill, or they truly believe that they are all best mates, worst enemies and lovers for the ages three days into knowing each other. Don’t know which is more impressive either.
4. They all dress like this despite the fact that they never leave the Ayia Napa chic villa they live in.
Sidenote: Marcel
There is one saving grace to Love Island, and that’s Marcel. Marcel should have his own show. I almost hope Marcel ends up with nobody and instead becomes a solo celebrity. He deserves it after his days in Blazing Squad, the most densely populated hip-hop troupe in history. Give Marcel the £50,000. Marcel is a diamond in the otherwise apocalyptic estuary hellscape that is the Love Island villa.
Truly though, I really wish I could enjoy this show. I wish it didn’t suck. I wish I was involved in the zeitgeist. I know that deep down, despite the village villa with the cheap fairy lights and the awful music (last night ended with a strangely melancholy remix to a Clean Bandit song as one of the couples — dunno which, all look the same — left the villa) and the unintelligible lexicon and the endless pairs of River Island skinny jeans, this should be really entertaining.
I wanna be part of it. I wanna put all my eggs in one basket. I want someone, maybe one of the eliminated contestants — dunno which, all look the same — to teach me how to enjoy it. Please, help.