By Kate Alfano
Content warning for mentions of domestic violence and emotional abuse. If you or someone you know needs support, please reach out to helplines such as 1800RESPECT (1800 737 732) or Lifeline (13 11 14).
Cheating scandals, property damage, verbal abuse and, somewhere within it all, the promise of (maybe) finding a life partner.
Married at First Sight (better known as MAFS) premiered in 2015, claiming to be a social experiment in which strangers deemed compatible by ‘relationship experts’ meet for the first time at their wedding, before spending a couple of months together to test whether the experts had it right or oh so terribly wrong. Its success rate sits at around 9%, but that’s hardly a deterrent: the other 91% is the foundation of the show—the messy, dramatic and downright unbelievable relationships that we don’t want for ourselves but love watching from afar.
The show is a hit among Millennials and Gen Z, with viewers in the 16–39 age-group streaming the program en masse. Recently, I found myself among the 2 million Australians invested in the twelfth season of MAFS. And as each episode ended, I jumped onto social media to listen to other young people rip into the cast and producers for the many controversies unravelling onscreen. As the season progressed, I found myself sympathising with the contestants on the show: no longer able to articulate whether I loved or hated it, I was just hanging around because everyone else was.
At the centre of this uncertainty, I had a sinking feeling that I was being manipulated—that what I was watching was far more insidious than it appeared. Was this love affair real or was it a façade for the cameras? Is it time to leave this toxic relationship behind?
This can’t be real, right?
Under the guise of an experiment with noble intentions, at its core MAFS is a reality show shaped by a team of producers who manufacture eye-catching drama for promos. And they’re doing a remarkable job—MAFS’ consistent numbers speak for themselves.
All this drama attracts a lot of attention online. Social media is rife with reality TV gossip, clogged with rumours of who did what and who did whom. On this season of MAFS, filmed a couple of months before it aired, many of the show’s ‘rogue’ stars have joined the online chorus with their own opinions, alluding to storylines that were omitted from the final product or completely warped by some clever editing.
As a result, within seconds of certain scenes airing on TV, a contradictory account begins circulating on social media. The dissonance between the behind-the-scenes glimpses we’re allowed and whatever’s being aired are too jarring to ignore—once you add some other missing pieces, the show adopts a more sinister form. Hysterical women become women genuinely struggling with toxic situations while an eager audience become unknowingly complicit.
These alleged missing pieces might be false or misinterpreted—it’s difficult to say. Still, it’s enough to make you wonder if these TV ‘realities’ aren’t just fake, but also harmful to the show’s stars and viewers alike.
An authentic paradox
When it comes to attracting Gen Z’s attention, content and marketing needs to be authentic. So, it’s no surprise that a significant portion of us watch reality TV, joining the millennials who’ve been in it for the long haul.
Shows like MAFS are supposed to be the pinnacle of authenticity, holding a mirror to society to reveal what really happens in relationships: the good, the sad and the cruel. Some experts argue that this makes reality TV, despite its flaws, a force for good—we might become better people by witnessing others at their worst, and in turn help others get better by having honest conversations about it.
While watching MAFS, I’m concerned that all I’m learning is that practising respect in relationships isn’t the norm, and that ‘alpha male’ and ‘tradwife’ are still viable descriptors of ideal partners. I’m even more concerned that MAFS is constantly missing opportunities to take meaningful action against toxic behaviour. Throughout its decade-long run, MAFS has been criticised for its complacency, presenting TV husbands gaslighting and emotionally abusing their TV wives with minimal consequences.
Even if certain comments are being taken out of context to create conflict, it’s still concerning that production are seemingly choosing to craft situations in which women are subject to ridicule for their emotions and physical appearances, while the men are let off lightly for their misogynist behaviour. You’d think if production had complete control over the narrative, they’d present something constructive rather than using real and dangerous issues as drama fuel.
Reality TV: it’s oxymoronic!
In the end, it’s up to the audience to choose what they watch and how they engage with it, but when it comes to shows like MAFS, we need to be switched on. Watch for entertainment, yes, but also watch critically; understand that what is presented as reality can still be far from it. From there, hold people and production accountable in productive ways, not by recycling toxic behaviour on social media—don’t let harmful messages slide.
And it doesn’t just end with the show’s finale. Though MAFS may be technically over for the year, the drama rages on. Accusations of cheating and abuse continue to fly on social media, as do interim restraining orders and surprise (though suspiciously timed) engagements. Contestants and producers alike are still begging for our attention, approval and atonement to protect their image. The question of what we give, why and to whom is more important than ever in the influencer age: give one reality star enough attention and they might just stick around for good.
As viewers, we have some power to decide who stays and who is banished from the public sphere. Sometimes, all we can do is trust our gut when it comes to identifying bad behaviour and knowing when it’s time to disengage. Whilst I’m not particularly concerned about whether or not a relationship is a publicity stunt intended to prolong a contestant’s relevance in the media, I’m very concerned that people who have exhibited abusive behaviour have been handed the opportunity to establish a public platform without taking accountability. Some (alleged) lies are harmless in the world of reality TV—others aren’t. It’s important to identify which is which, and to react accordingly.
For now, I think I’ll be observing the MAFS fallout from afar. I’m getting tired of actively engaging with and consequently rewarding media that prizes manipulation above authenticity, and I’m getting tired of playing this impossible guessing game. Now that my weekdays have freed up, I’ll be returning to safe and familiar comforts like The Great British Bake Off, where the worst that can happen is a soggy Baked Alaska or YouTuber Joe Sugg fainting at the sight of his own blood. Plus, there’s always ‘real’ fiction—better the devil you know than the devil editing the confessional.
Kate Alfano is currently completing her Master in Creative Writing, Publishing and Editing at the University of Melbourne. In her spare time, she can be found trying to befriend her neighbours’ cats.
Cover photo by Beatriz Pérez Moya on Unsplash. Free to use under the Unsplash License.
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