I’m convinced Netflix created Love is Blind specifically to steal my free time and my dignity. Lately, I’ve found myself wasting hours I’ll never get back on this series. It’s the ultimate chick-flick binge spiral. I know it’s ridiculous and a waste of my time, and yet there I am, sucked back in like a moth to a very dumb, very sparkly flame.
The whole premise of the show is that men and women “date” behind a wall so they can fall in love based solely on conversation – no looks, no distractions, just hopes, dreams, and whatever version of themselves they can sell in ten-minute increments.
One of those ten-min. increments had my full attention. I was scrolling my phone while the show was playing in the background, when suddenly my ears perked up. I heard the woman seductively say to the stranger behind the wall, “Oh, baby, I can’t wait to jump on top of you. I’m so hot for you right now. There’s nothing and I mean nothing, I wouldn’t do for you.”
Holy mama! Are we approaching soft-porn territory?
The poor guy on the other side of the wall, fully aware he’s on camera, is trying to hide the obvious predicament he’s suddenly dealing with. Chances are this is the first time in his life a disembodied voice has said such things to him. He’s sold. He doesn’t know her middle name, but she’s clearly the woman he’s been searching for his whole life.
The funny thing? When they finally saw each other, he ran to her like he’d won the jackpot, but you could see the utter disappointment on her face – desperately trying to hide it, not wanting to hurt his feelings. They didn’t just fail to last; they didn’t even make it to Mexico. I’m pretty sure they never saw each other after that first encounter.
Supposedly this social love experience proves whether love is truly blind. Can two people fall for each other without ever seeing each other?
I’m now on Season 5 and when I finish with all the US seasons, there’s always Love is Blind: Brazil, Love is Blind: France, Love is Blind: Australia, etc. Apparently love is blind on every continent.
I’m amazed that often, at least half of the couples stick it out, get married, and are still together at the reunion a year later, appearing happier than ever. Apparently, this social love experiment can and does work.
But I have to admit, I find the “getting to know you” parts of the show are painfully boring – the giddiness, the forced sexy talk, the ridiculous questions they come up with. Do you fart in bed? Have you ever been told you have bad breath? As if anyone on national TV – or off it, for that matter, is going to admit the truth. Can you imagine someone chirping, “Oh yes, absolutely – both my morning breath and gas could peel paint.” Not a chance. They lie through their teeth, trying to spin some romantic nonsense, as if there’s a sexy way to say, “Any fumes you encounter, babe, are really just a compliment to your exquisite home cooking.”
And calling each other, Babe? These people throw it around like it’s a magic spell guaranteed to get them laid. They use it so often, I’m shocked Netflix hasn’t added a drinking game warning.
My thumb is permanently hovering over the fast-forward button. I’m not here for the speed-dating, the “tell me your deepest trauma” parts, or the faux-soul-searching. I’m here for the moment – usually around Episode 3, when the guy gets down on one knee through the wall and proposes to a woman whose last name he probably had to write on a Post-it note.
Then comes my favorite part: the big reveal. They stand on either side of a door that opens like an elevator door and I’m perched on the couch waiting to see their faces. Most of the time they run to each other and look genuinely pleased. But every season there’s at least one couple where you can practically hear the internal screaming. They can barely hide their disappointment as they force a smile. One person is hugging and kissing like they’ve found their soulmate, while the other has both hands on the others’ chest trying to keep them at arm’s length. We can all see the disappointment. Why can’t they?
And then – because Netflix is Netflix – they are shipped straight off to Mexico to live together as an engaged couple. No pressure.
I’m cringing for the couples who are utterly disappointed. I feel especially sorry for the guy whose fiancée says to him just after they get under the covers, “I hope you understand, but I don’t believe in sex before marriage. “ This was followed by telling him he’s “kind of the nerdy type.” Where’s that woman who just days before, wanted to jump his bones and please him in every imaginable way? Sorry buddy. No beautiful music for you tonight. Tomorrow’s not looking too great either.
After Mexico, we follow them through apartment life, family introductions, and finally wedding dress shopping. Then it’s off to the altar where they decide if love really is blind – or if they’ve simply been drunk on free margaritas for three weeks.
And now… my pet peeve. This show shouts it at me in almost every episode. It makes me squirm. It makes me want to yell at the TV. It’s when someone says:
“I’m 1000% sure.”
“I’m 110% committed.”
“I’m a million percent in.”
No. No you’re not. You cannot go more than 100%. One hundred percent is it. It’s all of it. That’s the whole pie. There is no bonus pie.
But there she is, standing in her tight little, short-knit dress, squealing, “YES, I’ll marry you! I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life! I’m 1000% certain you’re my person!”
Girl… you have never seen this man. He could walk out looking like your ex, your cousin, or your tax auditor. Unless you have your notes in front of you, I’m sure you don’t remember his last name. And yet, you’re 1,000% sure he’s your soulmate?
Maybe it’s my age. Maybe it’s common sense. But every time I hear it, I’m shaking my head thinking, “Oh, you sweet little dummy.” And then, because I’m apparently no better – I keep watching.
Somewhere between the proposals, the awkward reveals, and the tequila-fueled meltdowns, the show taps into something universal: people desperately want to love and be loved. Apparently, these contestants haven’t had much luck in the real dating world, so they’re willing to speed-date behind a wall on national television.
And Netflix? They’re footing the bill for apartments, rings, wedding dresses, tuxedos, endless cocktails, Mexican resorts and full wedding receptions just in case someone says yes. How do they afford all this?
People like me.
People like us.
Hopeless romantics with remotes in hand and popcorn in lap, tuning in for the 47th time because we remember what it felt like to fall in love – and because watching other people do it is strangely comforting.
I have no doubt part of the draw is watching these men unload every romantic line they can possibly string together and have most likely googled and memorized before going on the show. All while the women fall for it – hook, line and sinker. Face it – very few of us ever hear that kind of romanticism from our actual partners, if we ever did. We know it’s all blarney, but it’s the kind of blarney women will happily marinate in, because for a few hours (or several), the fantasy feels a whole lot better than reality.
Humans want to love. Humans want to be loved. It’s what keeps the world spinning and the babies coming. Without it, we’d eventually become extinct.
I’ll end here with a toast: To the universal, undeniable, slightly embarrassing truth: we all want to love and be loved.
To the couples who try it on TV, to the romantics who watch from their couches, and to the math teachers everywhere cringing at 110%.
May we all keep laughing, keep loving, and keep believing – just enough to keep the world spinning.
Cheers. – I think Season 6 is about to start!
