First published by The Times on 9 March 2020
Sophisticated hearts may sink at the news that a ludicrous and trashy reality show, Love is Blind, has recently been No 1 on Netflix in the UK and the US. One person’s trash is another’s treasure, however; I binged on all ten episodes over three days.
For the uninitiated, the show is packaged as a “social experiment” to test whether we can form lasting love based only on conversation. Thirty single, heterosexual Americans are sent into “pods” in which they can talk to someone of the opposite sex, but not see them. Over the course of ten days, if they hit it off they are encouraged to propose. As it turns out, six couples do decide to marry, at which point they meet face to face. They have a month to get to know each other before arriving at the altar and saying “I do” — or indeed, and I quote some of them verbatim, “I don’t.”
If you have seen any American reality TV it won’t surprise you to learn that several of the contestants are shrieking “I can’t believe I’ve found my soulmate” within days of entering this insane process. Yet what niggled at me as the madness unfolded was a sense of familiarity. Because while I may never have talked to a man called Kenny through a wall, then thrillingly betrothed myself to him without even realising that he has a horrifying moustache, I have made the mistake of getting my hopes up while talking to a stranger on a dating app.
Let me explain, although anyone who has dated online will already know. There is a period before you meet someone face to face when you are communicating via a glorified version of text messaging. You’re likely to be using something like Hinge (dubbed “the relationship app”) rather than Tinder; the latter is a swiping frenzy of gym and nightclub selfies populated by those looking for what you can euphemistically call “fun”, while the former is a no-swipe, slightly more wordy option that’s supposed to discourage time-wasters.
It can feel quite intimate, chatting away with what appears to be an attractive companion, whether you’re opening up about your religious beliefs, why you refuse to attend ceilidhs or the merits of different crisp flavours. However, beware the pre-meet heart-to-heart. Anything more extensive than an hour or so of small talk will only lead to disappointment when you meet and are faced with someone entirely different from the person you had been imagining.
Sometimes the discrepancies are physical. One woman on Love Is Blind is visibly unsettled to discover that her new fiancé is white; she is black and, as we’ll find out, her formidable father isn’t a fan of interracial relationships. You’re unlikely to face a surprise of that nature when you meet someone from Hinge, but you might find, as a friend of mine did, that someone is half a foot shorter than you had expected or that their photos make them look like a young James Caan when they’re really more of a middle-aged Art Garfunkel.
Often it’s not as superficial as that. It might be that new information rather changes the story you had written about them. Several of my friends have dated people who have belatedly revealed that they have children and ex-spouses. More often it’s that your brain has helpfully filled in the gaps in the virtual conversation to create a personality that wasn’t there. You made jokes, they made jokes back; the jokes didn’t entirely mesh, but you chose to believe you were having a great laugh together. Then you meet and they have about as jubilant a sense of humour as a US border protection officer.
The optimism of the Love Is Blind contestants in their pods is almost poignant. “Oh my God, we’re like the same person,” they wail happily on discovering that the voice they are talking to also likes snuggling on the sofa. You’re not, I want to say to them. You’re just enjoying the sense of sitting by yourself, interpreting any incoming information in a way that complements your soulmate fantasy. It’s textbook Hinge syndrome.
Once the now-engaged couples meet, the show gets gripping as reality seeps in. Not everyone on the show is unlikeable — some seem almost sane despite the situation they have put themselves in — but they have a lot of new information to compute, particularly while looking down the barrel of an imminent legal commitment.
Prince Charmings variously turn out to be mean, or dull, or in love with their mothers. “I’m never going to break your heart,” murmurs a handsome man to the woman he has just proposed to; then in a one-to-one with the camera he wonders when the best moment might be to reveal that he’s bisexual. “Before you get engaged might be the best time,” I bark at the screen, and it turns out that his fiancée agrees with me. It’s not his sexuality that makes him less loveable, however, but rather that when they finally discuss it he loses his temper and calls her a bitch.
Among the other romantic hopefuls someone turns out to have $20,000 of debt from a never-completed college degree. Another, Jessica, has a slightly too enthusiastic relationship with wine. In one unfortunate clip, during a late-night debate with her fiancé, Jessica casually offers her glass to her golden retriever. “She loves wine,” she slurs, patting the dog’s head before continuing to drink from the same glass. It’s become one of the internet’s most-discussed moments of the show, unfortunately for Jessica; she has subsequently said in interviews that she drank during the process because she was stressed and regrets her behaviour. You might think her fiancé would have taken it as something of a red flag, but in fact he took it in his stride. On the other hand, it can be hard to backtrack when you’ve declared a near-stranger to be the love of your life.
Modern love may be mysterious, but of course it’s not blind — probably not to physical appearances, but even less so to the challenging process of jigsawing two lives together until death they do part. “They yearn for the simple days of the pods,” one of my friends texted me wisely over the weekend. This is a feeling that we all grapple with as we build a real relationship, regardless of where it started. Perhaps we can grow to love the man with the appalling moustache or the woman who admits to buying $700 of make-up on credit card, but how much easier sometimes to be alone in a pod, snuggling only with our wishful thinking.