It’s difficult to picture a British person on Love is Blind, a reality dating show that has been running for six seasons in the United States. It works like this: producers cast 15 men and 15 women and have them all “date” in the course of 10 intensive days. They do this in “pods”, which means that, although they can speak, they cannot see one another. They’re not permitted to describe their physical appearance at all. At the end of the 10 days, if any of the couples have hit it off, they get engaged and are able to meet face to face for the first time. Then they go on a holiday together, move in together, meet each other’s loved ones, and decide at the altar, a mere two months after speaking for the first time, whether or not to say “I do”.
The reason I find it hard to imagine a Brit undertaking (what the show insistently calls) this “experiment” into finding love is because the format feels suited to a certain kind of American temperament. The ideal Love is Blind contestant is earnest, idealistic and, crucially, able to sell themselves to another person verbally. I don’t associate any of these traits with my countrymen. And yet this year, for the first time, there is a Love is Blind: UK.
The US version of Love is Blind has firmly lost its way by now. In the first season, before it was known that the format would reach astronomical success, the contestants seemed more sincerely on the hunt for a partner rather than a route to the spotlight. In season six, which aired earlier this year, the focus had veered from the so-called experiment and settled firmly on drama between the contestants. So with Love is Blind: UK, I saw an opportunity to revisit an old pastime.
My favourite “reality” show has always been First Dates. Its premise is to have two people to go on a blind first date, in a restaurant, and at the end of the date each person has to declare whether they would like to see the other again. The stakes are pleasingly low, and there does seem to be a genuine attempt by the producers to unite like-minded people. Widows and widowers commiserate on their grief, young weirdos seek someone to match their freak and single parents tiptoe their way towards a partner who might want to blend their families. Gorgeous stuff. Moving, even.
I went through a phase of liking First Dates so much (it was during the pandemic—don’t judge me too harshly) that I sought out other countries’ editions of the show. My boyfriend at the time was Irish, so we watched a lot of First Dates Ireland. We enjoyed watching the British and Irish versions alongside each other because, although the formula didn’t change, there were cultural differences that amused us. For instance, we both agreed that the British one was a better watch because of the greater volume of eccentrics. We decided that there are simply more—and more varied—oddballs in the UK than in Ireland.
The British one was a better watch because of the greater volume of eccentrics
There are, in fact, many international editions of Love is Blind now. Japan, Sweden, Germany, Mexico and Brazil all have their own shows, in addition to the UK. Most are on Netflix. Now that I’m thoroughly jaded by the American Love is Blind, could a bit of light anthropological TV tourism reinvigorate the format for me?
Some versions are better than others, but all have their own flavour. Love is Blind: Brazil, perhaps unsurprisingly, is more fiery. Love is Blind: Sweden is more sexually frank. The Japanese contestants are generally more respectful to one another than the Americans are.
As for the UK? I found that some Brits can indeed talk about their innermost desires and traumas on camera—and even go down on one knee in front of a wall. They are a little more reserved than their US counterparts, a little more self-effacing. But I was struck by how, across all the versions, the results of the “experiment” are conclusive. You might be able to strike up an initial bond with someone by voice alone, but true love is not blind, wherever you are in the world.
Why would it be? Physical appearance is one of the major elements that attract people to one another. All Love is Blind does is facilitate a particularly intense and labour-intensive version of what dating apps already do: give you a bunch of options of people, to whom you may or may not feel some kind of connection before you meet.
But despite my having fallen out of love with the US version, there is something about the format that does continue to tickle my heartstrings. Not because love is blind, or because of the exhilarating way some couples tap out the moment they see each other (though this happens less than you’d think). It’s because of the real and painful ways the partnerships founder as the season goes on. As real life intervenes, as priorities reveal themselves, lifestyles and values clash. True love is complicated, difficult and rare. It cannot be engineered for television. There’s something beautiful in the proof of that.
