This summer, I, like many others, found myself tuning in almost every night to the new season of “Love Island USA.” I was absolutely hooked on the drama, the friendship fallouts, the betrayal, the “crash outs” and the controversy.
However, for me, the entire premise of the show — the love — was put on the back burner. Of course, it was interesting to see who ended up together and whose connections fizzled out, but, to be transparent, I was mostly interested in seeing how dramatic things could get.
This past season was record-breaking, with the Peacock original racking up 18.4 billion streaming minutes, making it the platform’s most-watched original season of television. But its success can be measured in more than just raw data — it also became a cultural phenomenon. During the show’s airing, bars across the country hosted watch parties, where videos surfaced of complete strangers reacting to the show together, cheering and booing as if it was a sports game.
Looking back on the show, it felt more like a game of survival, strategy and deception rather than a genuine search for love. As the islanders sat around the show’s famous firepit, deciding who to eliminate and why, I felt like I was watching the “Survivor” Tribal Council.
This season, contestants distorted the purpose of the show into one where the goal is to date as many people as possible, rather than find one genuine connection. If you weren’t “exploring connections,” meaning dating everyone, or were too “locked in,” meaning you found one person you wanted to pursue, you got dumped from the island.
Don’t get me wrong, I lapped up every minute of it, but it definitely seemed as if the islanders were more focused on airtime and good television than love, despite a lasting relationship being the sole goal of the original seasons. And there is one blaring reason for this — the promise of being a successful influencer. As long as you stay on the show long enough to gain relevance and don’t do anything problematic enough to get you canceled, you will attract followers and secure brand deals.
The islanders, post-show, are already racking up followers and brand deals with notable companies like Agua de Kefir, Victoria’s Secret, Rare Beauty and Chipotle. Their faces are everywhere, but what is real and what is a PR stunt?
Some contestants, such as Ace Greene and Huda Mustafa, already had over 100k Instagram followers before the show’s start, and most of the other contestants had at least 10k — all far more than the average person. By scouting and casting people who already have followings, even if they’re a micro-influencer, the show intentionally casts aspiring social media stars to draw more attention to it. Even an influencer with a relatively small but loyal following is guaranteed to bring somewhat of a fanbase into the streaming pool.
The lure of fame — even if it lasts only 15 minutes — has always been a powerful motivator for reality television contestants. Yet, there is an essential distinction between aspiring television stars and social media influencers. The contestant chasing television fame tends to live in the moment, performing with the immediate audience in mind, hoping to spark viral drama or memorable scenes.
By contrast, the influencer plays a longer game — every choice is calculated to maximize not just screen time, but future profit in the form of followers, sponsorships and brand deals that last long after the cameras shut off. This shift in motivation transforms dating shows from being about authentic connections to being more about strategic self-branding, effectively turning them into social experiments of performance, manipulation and personal marketing rather than genuine searches for love.
When “The Bachelor” aired in 2002, the first-ever Bachelor was a management consultant, and the first-ever Bachelorette in 2003 was a pediatric physical therapist and former Miami Heat dancer. Despite being average people previously unknown to the public, the show was still wildly successful and remains a fixture of reality television today.
Many couples from the first 10 years of “The Bachelor” and “The Bachelorette” are also still together today or at least stayed together for some time, probably because they came in genuinely hoping to get married, which is rare in dating shows today.
One of the most significant problems with building a cast entirely out of influencers is that it strips the “reality” from reality television. I’m not saying that no influencer should ever be cast, just that a cast of exclusively influencers is bound to result in a warped view of reality. Viewers often tune in to see heightened reflections of themselves — not people whose lives already exist in a curated bubble of wealth, plastic surgery and social media clout.
When contestants are detached from the everyday struggles and rhythms of ordinary life, the audience loses that crucial sense of relatability. There’s an undeniable satisfaction in watching a blue-collar man and a woman with an office job find love, because their story feels authentic, grounded and attainable. By contrast, when two influencers pursue each other on a dating show, the connection often appears manufactured, even if the emotions are genuine — what should be a love story ends up feeling more like a collaboration.
Dating shows such as the most recent season of “Love Island USA” absolutely have a place in the cultural zeitgeist — they thrive on drama, spectacle and social experimentation, and I’ll admit, I always tune in to watch. But if networks truly want to produce content that reflects the realities of modern dating, they need to rethink their casting strategies.
Continuously recruiting influencers ensures a performance-driven dynamic, where contestants are more focused on building their brands than forming relationships. Genuine stories of connection can only emerge when everyday people — those who aren’t entering with sponsorships in mind — are given the chance to participate.
Jordan Ori is a senior majoring in English and is Pipe Dream’s assistant opinions editor.
Views expressed in the opinions pages represent the opinions of the columnists. The only piece that represents the view of the Pipe Dream Editorial Board is the Staff Editorial.