Why Watching Love Island USA With My Dad Is the ‘Tradition’ We Never Saw Coming

At 10 years old, I remember asking my dad about a billboard advertising The Kardashians, and whether we should start watching the show. On cue, he proceeded to give me his spiel about reality TV, and I quickly became well-educated on the subject. The characters, he told me, are often visually appealing but not very deep; they sit down face-to-face with the camera for scripted “non-scripted” interviews interspersed between snippets of carefully orchestrated “real life.” “It’s not a show for us to watch,” he told me — and then he might have even mumbled something about reality TV killing brain cells. (By way of context, my dad reads the news, and he loves literature; he handed me a copy of The Great Gatsby when I was still in fourth grade). 

Years later, as a teenager, I slowly surrendered some of my professed high-brow tastes in favor of satisfying my curiosity. My dad’s household rule — no reality TV — was one of the first tenets that I shattered. Not long ago, with a sense of shame surging through me, I checked out the genre’s latest hit: Love Island USA. When my dad entered the room, I attempted to disguise my genuine interest in the show by saying I was watching simply for comic relief and social parody, not because I was at all invested in the characters. He responded by listing everything else I could be doing with my time, not least of all, writing the next great American novel (which he sincerely expects me to do). I told him to stay just for a minute and marvel at how utterly ridiculous the premise and concept of Love Island are. Reluctantly, he stood with his arms crossed, staring at the screen. Then, after about 10 minutes, he took a seat with his arms still crossed on the couch.

An hour and a half later, we were cracking jokes at every other line the characters said. Three hours after that, my dad decided we’d watched enough for one night, so we agreed to reconvene on the couch in 24 hours. During that long respite, we were both dying to know if Huda and Jeremiah would stay together (but good luck getting my dad to admit that). Sometimes during the day, I’ll get an intermittent text from Dad musing about the fate of the night’s “re-coupling.” I respond as if we are discussing the day’s New York Times headlines — and with actual headlines being what they are these days, who could blame us? 

Every night since then, we have a standing appointment at 9 pm, both of us burning to know who’s gonna “pull” Chelley or Huda or Iris “for a chat.”  It’s become an unspoken tradition, one that we prefer not to acknowledge outright but rather to indulge quietly together with a guilty, mutual understanding. Love Island USA, a show watched by millions worldwide, is also watched by two people in our home, two people who never expected to share the couch for this particular reason, but who would now never dream of missing it.