I’ve always seemed to miss the point with reality TV. Watching Love Island felt like wasting my life. I never understood why people were hooked on something so well-known for its toxic impact on mental health, for viewers and contestants. But, since watching BBC Three’s wholesome new queer dating show I Kissed a Girl, I finally see what all the fuss is about. I’ve binged every episode, and now that it’s ending tonight I’m heartbroken.
If you haven’t seen I Kissed a Girl, the show begins with 10 single women entering the masseria – a fancy, villa-esque Italian farmhouse. Striding across poolside, they must greet their matches with a club-style snog. And it only gets gayer. Activities and challenges (think: lots of chat about feelings) are designed to test their compatibility. Extra girls are thrown in to spice things up. Every few days, couples decide whether to recommit in the brutal kiss-off: a back-to-back countdown, where they either turn to kiss their partner, or don’t and save it for someone else. Anyone left unkissed is off the show.
As the show’s host, Dannii Minogue, reminds us: “There’s no room for fake love in the masseria.” This makes sense, because, in fighting to live authentically, LGBTQ+ people have less room for bullshit. This means the hunt for true romance feels more genuine, with various couples voluntarily splitting for surprisingly healthy reasons, like lack of emotional availability, even if it means leaving the show alone.
The contestants also spend a lot of time lounging around the pool in bikinis, straddling each other on sunbeds, gossiping about which “girlies” they fancy. Yet, although there’s gay drama in abundance, it’s rooted in care and respect. The girl code is strong, which means any put-downs get called out, especially if they’re made behind someone’s back. And even the inevitable reality TV pot-stirring usually seems to come from the well of fierce friendship and loyalty, rather than toxic attention-seeking, as in similar shows.
Indeed, this is much more than a dating competition: really, it’s a microcosm of queer women’s culture, friendships and community, which are as important to our sexualities as our love lives. It is everything I wish I’d seen growing up in the noughties, when our representation was sparse and overwhelmingly negative. I can only recall seeing women kissing once on TV, in that infamous scene between Sky and Lana in Neighbours. Plus, bisexuality was rarely portrayed as an option. Take Carrie Bradshaw’s damning line in Sex and the City: “I’m not even sure bisexuality exists. I think it’s just a layover on the way to Gaytown.”
In contrast, I Kissed a Girl gets the nuances right. One contestant, Georgia, cries while talking about how “lesbian” has been a dirty word with negative societal connotations. In another scene, Cara, Meg and Lailah, who are all bisexual, discuss the impact of biphobia, including stereotypes around greediness and cheating, and how it comes from both straight and gay people. That resonated with me.
The cast seem to have been chosen to represent the rainbow: from lipstick lesbians to butch football types and “edgy femme” bisexuals. Collect ’em all! They discuss classic queer tropes, such as “u-hauling” (women moving super-fast in relationships), as well as other challenges, including coming-out traumas and struggling to accept themselves. It’s done with a celebratory, joyful tone that is a love letter to their queerness.
Yet don’t be fooled. You get to see women as players too – and this is also what is so radical about I Kissed a Girl. It shows women lusting after women, without it being for the male gaze. They dress up for “thirst trap” parties, compliment each other’s boobs and delight in objectifying Minogue – who plays up to it with a succession of extravagant outfits.
This is sisterhood with a sexual edge. (Straight men take note: there’s a lot to learn from our uplifting brand of objectification.) Above all, what makes I Kissed a Girl so revolutionary is the way it rebrands queerness as something aspirational: in watching a bunch of hot women obsess about each other, living and loving their sparkliest lives in gay paradise, it looks like a VIP club you’re dying to join.
I’m positive that this will make a difference for the baby gays growing up today. But I hope that their families watch it too, because it could go a long way towards destigmatising and myth-busting some of the fears that sadly still exist. Indeed, it just goes to show: when done right, reality TV can be a powerful force for good – because nothing beats seeing yourself reflected in the lives of real people. So, yes, I’m a proud convert. And if I’m still single next year? Sign me up.
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Florence Scordoulis is a freelance journalist covering LGBTQ+ rights, women’s lifestyle and travel