If you’d told me at the beginning of this series of Love is Blind that one of the male participants would voluntarily compare himself to Andrew Tate on camera, I’d have assumed you were “delulu”, as the kids say.
The Netflix reality show, which sees contestants date, fall in love and propose through a wall, “sight unseen”, is so popular that it’s now on its 10th US series, alongside spin-off British, Brazilian, Swedish, Mexican, Japanese, Argentinian, German and Middle Eastern versions.
By this point in the life cycle of any structured reality show, a shift in the cast and tone invariably occurs. When any new concept first launches, those entering into the experience have zero expectations of what it will be like, and no idea whether what they’re filming is destined to be a smash hit viewed by millions or a damp squib viewed only by their mother. It’s as raw and authentic a look at human behaviour as we’re ever going to get via a television show.
Cut to numerous seasons in, and two things have occurred on Love is Blind. Firstly, at least half of the people involved are fame hunters looking to hard launch a career as an influencer rather than find everlasting love – call it the self-selecting narcissist effect.
Secondly, having seen the way in which certain characters are vilified each series, contestants are on their guard. They’re (understandably) wary, at great pains to frame themselves as an upstanding nice guy/gal and the victim or injured party whenever conflict occurs. This level of image consciousness does, inevitably, result in a once-titillating format becoming exponentially more bland as time goes on. Everyone is far too worried about coming across badly to present anything less than a perfect mask.
Hence why it was so shocking, 10 seasons in, to see men so brazenly showing who they really are – with seemingly no fears about the consequences. The prime example has been Chris, a 33-year-old account executive who matched with Jess, an intelligent and attractive 38-year-old doctor. He was warm and attentive when dating in the “pods”, as they’re referred to on the show; the pair got engaged, headed off on a blissfully romantic pre-wedding trip to Mexico with their fellow finalists, and returned to their home state of Ohio to see how their relationship would fare in the “outside world” before deciding whether or not to marry.
They seemed every inch the besotted couple, both pre and post-meeting IRL. If I were the betting type, I’d have put good money on them making it to the altar unscathed. And then, apropos of nothing, it was like a switch had been flipped. A painful scene saw Chris bluntly explain to Jess that he was more used to dating women who did “Crossfit and s***” or “f***ing pilates every day”. He was still prepared to try to make it work, he said, but thought she should know that the physical side of things wasn’t working for him.
It’s a move straight out of the playbook of insecure men everywhere. Perhaps he’d assumed that insulting her physique would break Jess – that she’d end up crushed and small, begging for his approval and renewing her gym membership in a panicked bid to save the relationship. If so, he was woefully mistaken. Being a woman of sound mind blessed with healthy self-esteem, Jess handled this indignity with the kind of grace most of us can only dream of possessing mid break-up. “If my body isn’t good enough for you, I’m never going to be like, ‘Oh please, still love me’,” was her response. “That’s not what I’m here for.”
The exchange turned out to be the tip of the personality transformation iceberg. The aftermath saw Chris set up an Instagram account populated by paid-for bot followers and take a trip to a strip-club, posting pictures of his seedy field trip online. Days later, the cast gathered for a mandatory mixer, where Chris proceeded to loudly tell anyone who’d listen that Jess was the worst sex he’d ever had, to insult her body, to hit on other women and drunkenly slur that he’d take them to the Four Seasons, “like, staying there! That’s maybe luxurious to normal people.”
Not content to limit the insults to women, he also branded one of his own male friends on the show “submissive”, claiming that his partner needed an “alpha” to take charge of her. And then there was the infamous reference to everyone’s favourite online misogynist: “I’m Andrew Tate, apparently.”
The real person behind the mask suddenly stepped forward, all ugly ego built on the shakiest ground: a ball of toxic insecurities and red pill theories hellbent on breaking women down.
The reunion episode, airing on 12 March in the UK, is likely to be explosive.
But what’s so concerning about this is not that such men exist (we’re all too familiar with the trope by now), but that one managed to slip through the net and fool everyone – not just his fiancé, but the entirety of the cast – into thinking he was the proverbial “nice guy”. He was capable of lying his way through hours of intimate dates and convincing a smart, savvy woman that he was the love of her life. Is it any wonder women have become increasingly sceptical and suspicious when it comes to dating? Especially on the apps where men can use AI tools to “chatfish” women and create a fake sense of connection and intimacy over message?
It’s alarming, too, that Chris clearly felt comfortable revealing this side of his character on television. The potential repercussions of outing himself as a paid-up member of the manosphere appeared to cause little in the way of anxiety.
And he wasn’t the only man who was uninhibited when it came to expressing opinions that might previously have been considered best kept hidden. Alex, a soccer coach and day trader, proudly shared his Maga sensibilities, told his fiancé she wasn’t his type, tried it on with another castmate, and seemed more invested in crypto fluctuations than his own wedding day. While Devonta was visibly disturbed that his betrothed, Brittany, turned out not to be white and spent the entirety of their relationship refusing to compliment her. Mike proposed to someone who was clear about her ambivalence towards motherhood, then proceeded to use that as a reason not to marry her. He’d have been better off advertising for a walking womb.
Clearly, we have entered an era in which certain kinds of toxic masculinity and problematic attitudes to women have become so mainstream that those who hold these ideologies feel empowered to share them – not just with their inner circle, but with the entire world via a global streaming platform. What’s terrifying is that views that were once thought shameful have been proudly platformed and pushed into the spotlight.
Love may be blind, but it’s never been clearer that women have to enter the dating game with their eyes wide open. And even then, who knows what might be lurking behind the “nice guy” mask…
