Desire Under Surveillance

Image Courtesy: Maxim Samos, Adobe Stock

On the surface, Love Island is all slow-motion entrances, steamy eye contact, and dramatic recouplings. But look a little closer, and it starts to feel less like a dating show and more like a live social experiment—one where attraction, ego, loyalty, and insecurity are all put under a microscope.

I used to tell myself I was watching “ironically.” And yet, 12 years later, I sit every year eager to meet the new islanders. I have favourites. I have villains. I’ve absolutely said out loud, “She deserves better,” as if I know her personally. That’s when it hits me: this isn’t just entertainment. It’s psychology playing out in real time—and I’m part of it.

From the moment a new Islander walks in, the halo effect springs into action. Psychologist Edward Thorndike coined the term to describe our tendency to assume that attractive people also possess other positive traits. In the Villa, “fit” quickly becomes shorthand for funny, loyal, and emotionally intelligent. The general population does this on dating apps every day. The only difference is that in the villa, everyone’s biases are magnified—and edited.

First impressions in the villa are instant and absolute. Someone walks in, and within seconds, they’re labelled “my type,” “trouble,” or “wifey material.” Before they’ve even finished their intro package, I’ve decided who seems genuine and who feels calculated. That snap judgment? It’s the halo effect at work. We tend to assume that if someone is attractive, they must also be interesting, kind, and emotionally mature. The Villa just makes that bias obvious.

Then there’s the unpredictability. Relationships feel secure one moment and fragile the next. A single text can change everything, and I feel that shift physically. Sitting up straighter when the dramatic music starts, bracing for impact before “Casa Amor”. When affection and reassurance come in bursts—sometimes intense, sometimes withdrawn—it creates a cycle that’s hard to step away from. The Islanders feel it, and so do we. It’s not that different from refreshing your phone for a reply you care a bit too much about.

What I’ve also noticed is how quickly I start reading into everything. A pause before someone says, “I miss you.” A slightly stiff hug. A delayed smile. I became a body-language expert from my living room. In doing that, I’m projecting my own experiences onto them—every mixed signal I’ve ever received, every time I’ve overanalysed a tone shift. The Villa becomes a mirror.

But the most interesting psychological aspect of the show might not be about romance at all. It’s about us.

I genuinely feel protective of certain contestants. When someone gets embarrassed or blindsided, I feel second-hand discomfort. When someone stands up for themselves, I feel proud. Even though we’ve never met, they start to feel familiar. Intimate, even. That’s parasocial attachment in action—one-sided, but emotionally real.

That’s where things shift from dating drama to something more fascinating: surveillance.

In Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell, “Big Brother” represents a dystopian world where constant surveillance strips people of privacy and subtly controls behaviour. No thought is entirely safe when you know you’re being watched. People internalise the gaze. They regulate themselves. They perform loyalty because they know they are being watched.

The Villa operates on a softer, shinier version of that same logic.

The Islanders exist under 24/7 observation. Every flirtation, every insecurity, every tear is captured, edited, broadcast, and judged.

They aren’t just dating—they’re living in a system where visibility equals vulnerability.

In Orwell’s world, surveillance produces self-censorship. People adjust themselves to survive. In the Villa, the stakes are different, but the mechanism feels similar. Islanders know the public can turn on them overnight. A single misstep becomes a storyline. So they curate themselves. They soften anger. They exaggerate loyalty. They don’t feel remorse, they perform remorse. Authentic emotion and strategic self-preservation blur together.

Even intimacy isn’t fully private. Arguments happen mic’d up. Romantic breakthroughs unfold under studio lights. The constant gaze transforms ordinary human messiness into spectacle. And we, the audience, play our part—we watch, we judge, we vote. We become the approving or condemning crowd.

Of course, it’s not totalitarian horror. But there is something quietly dystopian about love unfolding without privacy. About relationships shaped not only by feelings, but by awareness of an unseen mass audience.

Desire has always been messy. The difference is: most of us don’t have it surveilled.

Strike Out, 

Elena Trépanier

Edited by: Olivia Wagner & Sarah Franquelo

Elena Trépanier is a Staff Writer for Strike Magazine Orlando. She is a senior at the University of Central Florida majoring in Psychology (neuro track) and minoring in Journalism Studies. When she's not writing, you can find her at a concert, curled up with a good book, or teaching herself how to play the guitar- one chord at a time. Her work is fueled by connection, memory, and a love for capturing the beauty in everyday chaos. For any inquires reach out at elena.trepanier@gmail.com, or @llenaa on Instagram.