The concept of The Boyfriend, Japan’s first same-sex reality show, is not unfamiliar: a group of nine gay men live in a house together for a month. The goal? To forge lifelong friendships and to find the man of their dreams.
Unlike other shows, the guys (ranging from ages 22 to 36) aren’t stuck on set with no access to the outside world—there are numerous occasions where work and other obligations mean that some guys leave the house for days at a time. That’s a small detail that’s more about Japan’s strict working culture than anything else, but it adds a dash of actual reality to the mix, delivering an idea of what life would be like dating someone with a busy job.
There are no eliminations or alliances. The closest thing to a traditional reality TV “challenge” is that they all run a coffee truck together. Each day someone new is in charge and gets to choose one of the other guys to work with them, in a bid to forge a stronger connection.
That came as a shock to me, as someone whose understanding of Japanese shows comes largely from parodies of their game shows on American shows like SNL, Family Guy, and The Simpsons. But I was blown away by The Boyfriend, which feels so lived-in and natural that it makes most American TV look like the most outrageously overproduced nonsense you’ve ever seen. Honestly, you’ve never experienced anything quite like The Boyfriend—it’s like the coziest, most wholesome television you can’t stop watching.
Though it’s a reality show, it lacks a lot of the familiar hallmarks of the genre. The most immediate difference is the lack of music. You won’t find a heavy dose of pop music and an endless buffet of musical cues to whip up tension and steer your emotions. The Boyfriend is more invested in the everyday lives of the guys on the show than whipping up drama.
In fact, it doesn’t feel particularly engineered at all—even if, by virtue of being a reality series, it obviously is to some extent. There are, of course, produced elements: new guys slowly trickle into the house, and there are twists that force the guys to anonymously profess their feelings for someone else in the house. But it feels more like an examination of how gay men live openly in Japan and what their lives look like as queer people than anything else, and it’s a joy to behold.
What’s most remarkable about The Boyfriend is the show’s approach to sex and love. There’s a relentless horniness to popular dating shows like Love Island, whatever the hell MILF Manor is doing, and Netflix’s own Perfect Match and Too Hot To Handle. While the desire for love is certainly key to The Boyfriend, the sex aspect is massively dialed back. In fact, after three episodes, there hasn’t even been a kiss on the show, let alone anything racier.
This is hugely refreshing. There’s nothing wrong with sex—it rules!—but as hook-up culture and dating via apps become more and more prevalent, it’s charming to see something so defiantly different. There’s nothing wrong with a one-night stand or jumping right into sexual activity. Still, there’s something to be said for getting to know someone before jumping into the physical aspects of a relationship.
Also unlike the majority of reality dating series, it doesn’t seem like anyone on The Boyfriend is on the show to launch a career as a celebrity/influencer. These boys are here for a reason: to make connections and find a home in the queer community, and ultimately a man to love. Nobody is here to intentionally stir things up, flip tables, or turn people against each other for attention. There’s an earnestness to everyone’s intentions that makes this feel like nothing else on reality TV.
This goes a long way to making the slow, lived-in pace of The Boyfriend feel natural. There’s something enticing about taking your time and figuring out who the right match is for you. These guys are in a house together for an entire month, there’s no need to rush! There’s a calmness to the conversations, which are refreshingly genuine as the guys open up about past loves, their expectations and reasons for being on the show, and what they’re looking for in a relationship and partner.
The key relationship in the first three episodes is between Shun (23) and Dai (22). There’s a mutual attraction, but things are complicated when Shun accidentally sees Dai’s nudes on his phone. It makes Shun question Dai’s intentions: Is Dai just a “player,” or really here for love? That feels surprising—having nudes on your phone is incredibly common—yet also reveals a sort of innocence that we don’t witness on most reality shows. When you accidentally see something you don’t want to see, how do you navigate those emotions?
The Boyfriend successfully captures that electric feeling of falling in love for the first time. The show is full of that familiar kinetic nervous energy; there’s just as much excitement that comes from a brushing of the knee or a hug as there would be in more explicit acts. The focus through the first three episodes of The Boyfriend is on forging meaningful connections, which surprisingly makes for some seriously spicy television. It’s a reminder that love doesn’t have to start with a hookup—though hey, it certainly can!
Netflix is smartly rolling out The Boyfriend in weekly installments. And after the rather shocking end of Episode 3 (I won’t spoil it here, but please go watch!), I can’t wait to see how the rest of the series turns out.
The post ‘The Boyfriend’: Japan’s First Gay Dating Show Is the Best Reality Series on TV appeared first on The Daily Beast.
