If you’ve scrolled through Netflix lately, you might have noticed a proliferation of reality dating shows promising to help singles meet their perfect match—or at least provide some entertainment in the process.
In the last few years, this genre, once relegated to guilty-pleasure status, has exploded into the mainstream. Many early hit franchises, such as the U.S. show The Bachelor or the British juggernaut Love Island, have spawned spin-offs and copycats around the world. It isn’t high-brow fare: Dating shows—whether set in St. Petersburg, Russia, or St. Pete Beach, Florida—are notoriously soapy, contrived, and seemingly more concerned with stirring the pot than helping contestants really find love.
But these shows provide an interesting view into differing global attitudes toward gender, family, and romance. These issues have become a political and geopolitical priority, especially as some leaders face steep demographic challenges. Desperate to boost birth rates, the Japanese government has launched its own dating app. Chinese officials have organized blind dating events and mass weddings. Russia, meanwhile, is urging people in certain regions to stay off dating apps, which Ukrainian women have used to lure soldiers into revealing battlefield intelligence.
In the spirit of both geopolitics and Valentine’s Day, Foreign Policy rounded up some of the world’s most revealing international reality dating shows. Together, they paint a bleak portrait of the global state of romance and the lengths people are willing to go to find it. But they also offer something hopeful. Love conquers all, right?
Jewish Matchmaking
Available on Netflix
Get over your hurdles; get under the chuppah. That’s easier said than done. Enter Jewish Matchmaking, in which a real-life yente, Aleeza Ben Shalom, helps hopeful singles in the United States and Israel find true love.
Matchmaking, or shidduchim, is a centuries-old Jewish practice that is as prevalent in religious doctrine as it is in cultural expression. But, as Ben Shalom reminds viewers, there are more than 15 million Jews in the world—and more than 15 million different ways of being Jewish. Her clients grapple with the intermingling of Ashkenazi and Sephardic cultures, as well as differing levels of devotion—whether reform, Orthodox, or, as she calls it, “flexidox.”
Jewish Matchmaking premiered roughly five months before the Israel-Hamas war broke out. The role of Israel in a Zionist context is not heavily discussed. For several of the participants, making aliyah (moving to Israel and becoming an Israeli citizen) is a central tenet of their identity, and they look for similar ideals in a prospective partner. But many of the show’s hopeless romantics seem to care more about finding love than they do about politics.
The show also steers away from progressive conversations about gender and sexuality. What is regularly discussed, however, is the pressure placed on women in marriage. Almost every woman on Jewish Matchmaking, no matter her background, expresses anxiety over her perceived societal responsibilities—namely, to have and raise children.
Of course, any reality dating show would be remiss without the exquisite drama of life’s more shallow desires. Whether it’s the behavior of “Tel Avivian fuckboys,” or the impossible task of impressing a partner’s judgmental mother, Jewish Matchmaking shows that for all the diaspora’s differences, some things are just universal.
—Alexandra Sharp, newsletter writer
The Bachelor
Available on Ukraine’s STB
In Ukraine’s most recent season of the long-running U.S. reality dating franchise, 28-year-old Oleksandr Budko is looking for love in a time of war. A military veteran and double amputee, Budko’s life is irrevocably altered by Russia’s war in Ukraine.
In the show, Budko simultaneously dates 20 single women, who are eliminated each week until one special someone receives an engagement ring in the season finale. The war is a constant topic of conversation and an ever-present reality for the Ukrainian contestants—and the producers, as rolling blackouts and Russian missiles threatened the show’s production at every turn.
The contestants vying for Budko’s heart include a war widow, a surgeon who has operated on wounded veterans, and a translator who volunteers on the front lines. Others are more predictable reality television types, including a DJ, an influencer, and a YouTuber. Some of the women live and work in Ukraine, while others live abroad and question whether they want to return to their war-torn country.
For Ukraine’s young women, the dating scene is limited as young men have been drafted to the front lines, killed in combat, or fled the country altogether—a problem that is contributing to Ukraine’s demographic crisis. This season, nearly 1,500 women applied for a chance to date Budko.
Though war looms over the show, Budko’s composure, charm, and resilience in the face of immense loss has been a beacon of hope for the millions of Ukrainians who tuned in to watch his romantic journey unfold.
—Rylie Munn, social media editor
Love Is Blind: Germany
Available on Netflix
Reality dating shows don’t need to be toxic to be dramatic—at least not according to Love Is Blind: Germany.
As in the show’s other spinoffs, heterosexual male and female contestants date each other sight unseen before deciding whether to take the leap and get engaged. Only then can they see their partner in person, which results in some awkward reveals. After vacationing together, contestants return to Düsseldorf and cohabitate for a few weeks in the run-up to their rapidly approaching weddings, where they must decide whether to go through with “I do.”
Compared to its U.S. counterpart, Love Is Blind: Germany lacks tears and histrionics. Germans are known to be direct communicators, and dating is no different. From the “dating pods” to their bedrooms, contestants discussed their sexual needs and preferences explicitly yet respectfully to make sure they were on the same page. When some participants appeared to be two-timing—a dating no-no in Germany—others called them out. For the most part, even the breakups were remarkably mature. I had to tap my remote to confirm I was watching a reality show. Where was the backstabbing?
Unfortunately for global audiences, some of the show’s discursive nuances are best enjoyed by those who speak German, which has many illustrative compound words that don’t carry the same heft when translated. One such word is Gefühlschaos, used frequently to describe contestants’ mental states. Roughly meaning “emotional turmoil,” Gefühlschaos was something to be acknowledged but overcome; in partnership, an allusion to Gefühlschaos gave each person the space to decompress before making a major decision.
This made me think: Maybe the reason that U.S. Love Is Blind contestants can’t abandon their toxic dating habits is that they simply lack the language to do so.
—Allison Meakem, associate editor
Indian Matchmaking
Available on Netflix
Looking at data alone, it would seem that the odds are in favor for Indians seeking love. India has a population of more than 1.4 billion, one of the largest diaspora groups in the world, as well as a multibillion-dollar wedding industrial complex at its disposal; surely there is reason to be optimistic.
However, in Netflix’s hit series Indian Matchmaking, Mumbai-based matchmaker Sima Taparia shows that finding a perfect match is anything but easy. The show takes viewers beyond the glitz and glamour of Indian weddings and offers a behind-the-scenes look into the centuries-old practice of matchmaking.
Taparia, who is lovingly referred to as “Sima aunty,” meets with clients and their families to understand their criteria for an ideal match. She encourages couples to actively participate in the process of choosing their spouse, instead of indulging in the time-honored tradition of waiting for the stars to align (literally). Though this exercise allows the show’s female participants to confidently voice their demands—a departure from the misogynistic narrative that surrounds arranged marriages—it often uses language that reinforces casteist and sexist norms.
Still, at its best, Indian Matchmaking blends tradition with modern dating without diluting cultural nuances to appease a global audience, allowing non-desis to experience just how supportive (or suffocating) it can be to mix courtship with familial dynamics.
—Anusha Rathi, editorial fellow
Let’s Get Married
Available on Russia’s Channel One
One of Russia’s longest-running reality shows is Let’s Get Married. In a typical episode, one “bride” or “groom” chooses between three potential matches as a tribunal of hosts interrogates them about surprisingly well-researched skeletons in their closets. Oftentimes, astrology is involved. Occasionally, contestants perform special talents—singing; acrobatics; dressage?—to woo their potential match.
Is there any actual data on the success rate of these rapid-fire matchmaking sessions? Who cares! (The Russian outlet Paper interviewed a few couples who met through the show, and most of them emphasized that their cases seemed to be the exception rather than the norm.)
Admittedly, it’s difficult to divorce the program’s drama from the Russian government’s ongoing efforts to combat falling birth and marriage rates by promoting traditional gender roles and an ever-narrowing definition of the family. At times, the show shines an ugly light on how Russian society treats its women: In October 2017, a 12-year-old daughter of one contestant was ridiculed by the hosts and harassed online for expressing feminist views on the show.
In recent years, the war in Ukraine has certainly influenced relationships in Russia. At the policy level, the state has pledged various forms of support for families of service members, providing a temporary bump to marriage rates. But there is not much mention of this context on Let’s Get Married. A man who appeared on the show in January told 63 RU that he was discouraged from mentioning taboo topics such as the “special military operation”—the Kremlin’s term for the war.
— Syd Kuntz, deputy copy editor
Love Is Blind: Habibi
Available on Netflix
The Love Is Blind universe now spans eight U.S. cities and 10 countries, bravely asking: What happens when single strangers briefly date and get engaged without ever seeing each other? As a loyal follower of the unhinged U.S. franchise, I can confidently say that the answer to that question is drama—lots of it.
Enter Love is Blind: Habibi, which aired last year. Set in Dubai, the show’s singles hail from around the Middle East—Egypt, Iraq, Lebanon, Morocco, Syria, Tunisia—and they are overwhelmingly self-described entrepreneurs, business owners, and marketers. They are glamorous and dramatic (Nour, a 29-year-old model, declares: “I don’t do coffee dates, I don’t do walking dates, I don’t do last-minute dates.”). The show feels glitzier than its U.S. counterparts in, say, the D.C. suburbs or Dallas.
In a sign that more traditional dating values reign supreme, in Love Is Blind: Habibi, couples don’t live together immediately after getting engaged, and family input factors heavily into each relationship. Rare for the reality dating universe, sex is hardly mentioned by the couples, if at all.
Like every Love is Blind cast, this one has its share of red flags. Ammar, a 30-year-old dentist with a chiseled jawline, and Karma, a 29-year-old business owner with a passion for belly dance, may have found love in the pods but struggle to keep it in the real world. Ammar doesn’t want Karma to perform publicly, ever, and gives her an ultimatum: him or belly dancing.
Don’t worry, she dumps him.
—Christina Lu, staff writer
Bae Beyond Borders
Available on Showmax
Bae Beyond Borders is a pan-African reality dating series that brings together four single South African women with the hopes of finding love among a pool of Nigerian men. After a round of online speed dates, the women choose eight men to meet in person in Lagos, Nigeria. Through a series of drama-filled group outings and intimate one-on-one dates, each woman chooses one man to return with her to South Africa before deciding if they really have a love match.
If you’re wondering why the premise is so specific, it’s because it’s personal. The show’s executive producer, Zinzi Velelo Alake, is a South African woman who fell in love with a Nigerian man. She hopes that the show will demonstrate how love and blending cultures can unite Africans.
But not unlike some of the contestants, Nigeria and South Africa have a more complicated relationship. The countries have been instrumental in promoting peace and stability across the continent—seen in their mutual support for the African Union, for instance. However, Nigerians living in South Africa have been targeted in xenophobic attacks, notably in 2019.
The potential for cultural difference is what the show’s hopeful singles signed up for. Surface-level cultural compatibility is a deciding factor as couples get to know each other and describe their ideal partner. Malibongwe Gumede, a South African woman, dismisses one suitor, Joshua, because he doesn’t speak his native language, Igbo. She emphasizes that she wants to be with someone who has a strong connection to his own culture. However, the show rarely goes deeper into the implications of what moving to another country would mean for contestants.
Does love transcend geographical boundaries? Bae Beyond Borders sets out to convince you it can.
—Claire Schnatterbeck, editorial fellow
Terrace House
Available on Netflix
I have never felt more American than when I watched the Japanese reality dating show Terrace House. Its premise is simple: Three men and three women live together in a home. They keep their day jobs. Occasionally they go on dates, and sometimes they find love. When a housemate moves out, they are replaced by someone new.
The show has a cult following in part because it seems so organic. Unlike the sexed-up, competitive shows that make up much of the U.S. reality dating show market, there are no challenges, no forced partnership, and no voting.
To some viewers, this slow-paced spectating is relaxing. To me, it is excruciating. Contestants navigate relationship milestones with extreme caution. In terms of intimacy, a week in the world of Terrace House is a millisecond in Love Island USA. It takes months to see a real date, let alone a kiss. (And when there is a kiss, it will be uncomfortable!)
Indeed, there is a waning interest in relationships and sex among Japanese young people today, which feeds into a historically low birth rate. As journalist Karina Piser reported in Foreign Policy in 2023, these developments are part of a troubling economic story in which young Japanese do not earn enough to plan for the long term, making stable relationships seem far-fetched.
But it’s also a gender story. Japan has some of the starkest gender imbalances among developed economies by nearly every measure. The pressure to both join the workforce and be a mother leaves many women feeling caught in a double bind. In the season of Terrace House that I watched, Boys & Girls in the City, the women regularly expressed anxiety about the pressure they feel to balance love, career, and motherhood.
Now that made me feel right at home.
—Megan DuBois, assistant editor
The post Around the World, Love Gets a Reality Check appeared first on Foreign Policy.
