Not long into watching Let’s Marry Harry, Netflix’s knock-off version of The Bachelor in which 20 women compete for the “privilege” of getting hitched to Australian reality star Harry Jowsey, I realise that what I’m seeing might just be the most uniquely toxic show on telly.
Don’t get me wrong – I love my trash TV, especially if it involves love or dating. I’m not above mindlessly binging my way through Love is Blind, Perfect Match, The Ultimatum (the “queer love” versions are the only ones worth your time) and Too Hot to Handle, where Jowsey, now a TV “personality” and social media sensation in his own right with an inexplicable 4.8 million Instagram followers, first made his name.
Even back in his debut, I baulked at Jowsey’s supposed appeal.
This, I surmised, amounted to little more than the fact he was over-confident and tall (6ft 5in, the exact height made popularised by the infamous “6ft 5in man in finance” ideal). Aside from that, the underwhelming Aussie had a baby face like an overgrown schoolboy and a juvenile temperament to match, ranging from won’t-grow-up Peter Pan lost boy to sullen, petulant teenager.
This behaviour was excusable only because, back then, he was in his early twenties. But in the six years since, as he’s appeared in the full stable of busted Netflix reality formats, little has changed. Jowsey earned himself a reputation as a playboy after tearing through an endless roster of certified hot girls with Kardashian-worthy enhancements, then losing interest and discarding them as quickly as a toddler getting bored with his toys.
open image in galleryThis latest vehicle is meant to present Jowsey in a different light. At the ripe old age of 29, and after the death of his father brought him new perspective and clarity, Jowsey is, he says, ready to settle down as a husband and father. The natural way to accomplish this, of course, is to round up a bevy of attractive, accomplished and uniformly slim young women (presumably looking to launch their own reality careers), bundle them into a house together for six weeks, and make them vie for your affections while filming their every move – with the promise of marrying one of them at the end. Lucky girl!
If you haven’t seen it – and I pray, for your sake, that you haven’t – the women all start “betrothed” to Jowsey, a man they have never met, before being forced to remove their engagement rings and leave the show as they get eliminated in batches, initially by a trio of Jowsey’s inner circle comprising two old friends and an ex-girlfriend (Georgia Hassarati, another Too Hot to Handle alum).
The whole show feels like an inherently patriarchal, right-wing throwback
Over the course of eight tedious episodes, the field is whittled down to three women. One of these, Sam, wisely decides to eject herself from the whole ghastly experiment without even wishing Jowsey goodbye, leaving the two finalists to travel with him to New Zealand, meet his whole family, buy wedding dresses and get ready for their impending nuptials, only for one of them to be cruelly jilted on the big day itself.
This week, the no-doubt chaotic reunion episode, a stalwart feature of any Netflix reality series these days, will air to spill all the “behind-the-scenes tea”.
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There are lots of bad, ethically dubious shows being broadcast across every channel and streaming service these days. So what, you may ask, marks this one out as singularly heinous?
It’s a question I kept asking myself as I watched, becoming progressively more disgusted with every passing minute. Purposefully or not, it taps into one of the most toxic ideologies touted by the incel community in recent years: that 80 per cent of women are romantically interested in just 20 per cent of men, otherwise known as the 80/20 rule. This nonsense statistic, widely peddled through red pill podcasts and manosphere YouTube channels, causes real harm, fostering misogynistic resentment and propping up the idea that women are vapid, vacuous, status-driven gold diggers – not to mention that men are somehow owed sex.
open image in galleryThe set-up is undeniably degrading for the women involved. How can it not be, when they’re competing for the same bang-average man? It perpetuates the long-held lie that women should be in constant competition with one another, particularly when it comes to that most scarce and precious of resources: eligible men.
We see that myth play out with predictable vindictiveness: contestants forced to hijack other competitors’ dates; to possessively straddle a smirking Jowsey and write their names on his chest in paint; to pout and shimmy in a performative “sexy girl” act that can’t help but demean everyone involved.
Yes, it’s just a silly TV show, likely commissioned purely on the basis that “Harry” rhymes with “marry”. But, at a point where more women than ever are actively opting to stay single and prioritise their peace and wellbeing over putting up with subpar situationships or lacklustre dating experiences, the whole show feels so, well, regressive. Pushing marriage as the ultimate prize for any woman, and that being chosen by a man is the highest achievement we can attain, the show is airing against a cultural backdrop in which the #tradwife movement and its associated regressive philosophies quietly continue gaining momentum.
open image in galleryUltimately, the concept feels like a cheap attempt to trick us into feeling panicked – quick, must get a man, any man, there aren’t enough to go around! – and accepting less just to avoid spinsterdom.
While most reality dating shows are driven by drama, the real reason a lot of people wade through the engineered conflicts and rehearsed pieces to camera is to see something real take root beneath – a burgeoning love blossoming between two people who are genuinely looking for their happily ever after. That sparkle in the dirt is utterly missing from Jowsey’s joyless juggling of multiple women, like a Temu Hugh Hefner.
Whether or not he will even end up legally marrying the show’s “winner”, Amber Mozo, is up for debate; apparently they did some paperwork, but the production team didn’t file it to ensure the details of whether or not the couple are still together stay under wraps until tonight’s reunion episode.
Psychology tells us that creating a scarcity mindset drives up the value of a commodity. But trust me, ladies – you don’t have to marry Harry. Men like him are an all-too-abundant resource in reality (if not a reality show). As the old adage goes, it’s a good man that’s hard to find; and he would never make you join a harem of would-be brides and humiliate yourself on television to secure his affections.