Observations on Love Across Cultures from Reality Television

'Terrace House Tokyo 2019 - 2020.' Image courtesy of Netflix.

Times can seem dire for television addicts such as myself during quarantine. Sometimes it feels like I've already watched every drama, comedy, and documentary out there, but one of the magical things about streaming services is they give you access to reality television from around the world. I won’t pretend I started watching Love Island and Terrace House out of some academic curiosity about their takes on romance and sex, but I can’t help but notice that these shows reveal quite a bit about their respective cultures’ attitudes towards gender, relationships, beauty, and identity. 

For the uninitiated, Love Island is a U.K. show where contestants spend the summer in a villa abroad in search of love. The final couple, chosen by the public, leaves with 50,000 pounds. To win, the islanders are subject to all sorts of challenges, elimination votes, and other carefully designed drama throughout the summer. The Japanese show Terrace House takes a slightly different approach to a similar concept — the participants move into a beautiful house, where they hope to meet a potential partner, but they continue to live their normal lives, going to work and hanging out with people from the outside world. There’s no winning or losing — it’s just a voyeuristic glimpse into their day-to-day.

Watching the two shows back to back, it’s interesting to see how interpersonal relationships unfold in each culture based on societal values. Of course, these are both constructed scenarios created for entertainment, so I don’t presume that either one is a true glimpse into ordinary life in Japan or the U.K. The contestants on both series are carefully chosen: every single person is attractive, and on Terrace House, they also tend to choose people with interesting professions or aspirations (a pro basketball player trying to make the Olympic team, an illustrator trying to take her art to the next level, a manga artist publishing his first series). Both shows are set in beautifully designed homes that the average person couldn’t afford. This is television, and there has to be some level of illusion, but human nature inevitably shines through. 

The most striking difference between the shows is how the contestants spend their days. Love Island is one big vacation, where the islanders spend their days lounging in the sun (I’m pretty sure they’re contractually obligated to be in their swimsuits until the sun sets), and then they get ready in full hair and makeup to spend the night drinking or participating in challenges. There’s a focus on showing off the bodies of the contestants, and the challenges are typically salacious — simulating sex positions, kissing other contestants, and for some reason, making cocktails by passing the ingredients from mouth to mouth (I have to fast forward through this one — just the idea of it makes me want to throw up). Conversations between contestants are almost always about what’s going on in the couples, and we rarely get to hear much about their lives outside of the villa, their professions, or anything unrelated to dating. 

The most fascinating thing for me about Terrace House is that contestants continue to navigate their careers and work toward their personal goals. Yes, they’re in search of a romantic connection, but a lot of their time and energy is actually spent on learning about themselves and seeking inspiration from their housemates. For these contestants, the most important questions when getting to know a potential partner are “what do you do for a living” and “what are your goals.” While Love Island contestants often answer “what’s your type” with “tall, dark and handsome,” Terrace House contestants typically go for someone who is driven. Work ethic is the measure by which they tend to judge each other, and we see them struggle with their own self-doubt, impostor syndrome, and disappointment when they perceive themselves as failing or undisciplined.

Beauty is central to both series, although the definitions of what beautiful means are quite disparate. The idea of being thin and in shape permeates throughout both cultures, but the women of Love Island have to do a lot more than just have a socially acceptable body — every day they put on full makeup, contouring their faces into whole new shapes, highlighting this, hiding that, and flat-ironing their hair just to go spend the day by the pool. I certainly don’t judge these beauty rituals, as I participate in many of them myself, but they’re interesting to see juxtaposed against the women of Terrace House, who wear little makeup in comparison and whose beauty is judged on their natural features. 

As you might expect, the attitudes toward sex are vastly different as well. Almost every situation is designed to be sexually suggestive on Love Island. Islanders are expected to sleep in the same bed as their couple, even if they just met that day, and every couple hopes for the chance to spend a night in the Hideaway, a private room usually equipped with blindfolds, feathers, whipped cream, and other stereotypical sensual sundries. The challenges often lead to revelations about how many sexual partners each islander has had or what fetish turns them on. While couples rarely confirm if they’ve had sex in the villa, we get a lot of nighttime shots of feet entangled in bed and comforters rustling rhythmically. 

I’m about nine months into the Tokyo 2019 - 2020 season of Terrace House and have yet to see a single couple kiss. The decision to “date” someone is an important one in this society. The housemates seem reluctant to take that official step unless they see themselves marrying that person. Just telling someone you like them is a huge event on Terrace House. The most intimate moment I’ve seen all season is when Ryo places his arm on Emika’s knees while they’re having a casual conversation with the group. The panel of commentators on the show spent a long time analyzing this interaction, and they all felt sure that they must have had sex to be able to touch each other so comfortably.

The allure of these shows is the same — enjoying the drama of interpersonal relationships, stylized for the visual pleasure that only television can offer. But their different approaches offer insight into how our ideas of romance are shaped by the culture that surrounds us. The Western values seen on Love Island are steeped in an obsession with one’s appearance and the overt sexualization of female and male bodies, while Terrace House displays an idealization of discipline and respect. One commonality is there’s not much room to deviate from traditional ideas of masculinity or femininity on either show. These words are often used as value judgments: men who don’t exude masculinity are unattractive, and women who perfectly perform femininity are more likely to get men’s attention.

I’m not here to suggest that binging reality shows about love is the best way to learn about relationships, but for me, they’ve turned out to be fascinating glimpses into how our preconceptions about love, sex, and success are shaped by our culture. Plus I’ve picked up a ton of fun U.K. slang and a handful of words in Japanese. Kawaii! Or maybe that’s just how I justify staying up all night swooning over what an angel Peppe is. Either way, I’m off to watch five more episodes before I go to bed.