Article #255746

The 10th season of Netflix’s reality TV show has given us old-fashioned gender roles, bad behavior and a dark look at what dating looks like in 2026

In this rotted year that is 2026, there are not shortage of things to depress us: domestic terrorism by federal agents, war, the predominance of AI and sports-betting ads at the Super Bowl. The Epstein files. The Fifa peace prize. Six more weeks of winter. The need for escapism, or catharsis, or both, is as pressing as ever. And yet the thing that has depressed me most, in the low-stakes, “I can actually wrap my brain around this” way, is the pinnacle of smooth-brained, escapist entertainment: the new season of Netflix’s Love Is Blind, set in Ohio.

To be clear, Love Is Blind has never been a good show, even by reality TV standards. The first season of the series, in which young, generally attractive singles form emotional connections in “pods” and then get engaged sight unseen, had the good(ish) fortune of premiering just before a pandemic that gave “pod” a terribly relatable new valence; even still, it was described as “toxic”, “revolting” and, of course, “totally addictive”. At its best, the show can voyeuristically poke at our judgments and vocalize uncomfortable feelings, bringing up issues of race, politics, weight, attractiveness and age on top of the usual alcohol-aided drama, idealized romance and classic reality TV victim and villainy. At worst, it’s boring. Generally, it’s pleasantly baffling – modern dating sucks, for sure, but getting married after six weeks? That’s unrelatable content, perfect second-screen fare. But the Ohio version, and I say this with much love and ardent loyalty for my home state, has reached new lows, both on the level of production and in the spectacle itself.