Love Island: Sex and Entrepreneurialism

Womanhood is, and always has been, a weapon: An experience shaped by the ammunition society happens to load it with and which areas of a woman's identity it chooses to put under fire. It's the twenty-first century, and woman's grasp over her own "dignity" has recently become a matter of public debate, with shows like Love Island posing the question of whether the woman that embraces a set of sex-fuelled beauty standards is a victim or an emblem— empowered or exploited?

In the form of a reality TV show, we've been brought face to face with women who are unabashed in their taking of ownership over not only their bodies, but the wealth their appearances have the potential to generate. It could be argued that these women have recognised their predisposition, as not only sexual entities, but sexualized entities, to profit from selling just what it is society associates their bodies with— and that careers are being forged in the process.

With the rise of the internet, establishing oneself as a brand has become mainstream practice. The rising popularity of online platforms such as Instagram, Facebook, YouTube and Twitter have given us, as a society, the capacity to monetise ourselves – broadcasting whatever aspect of our person we've chosen to market to the world at large. Living in a time where this is becoming an increasingly viable reality, there are grounds to believe that the women of Love Island are merely taking this venture to the next level. Through commandeering their sexualities as assets, these women are commercializing the conditions that arise from their objectification. They're reaping fame and fortune from society's X-rating of the female body and claiming control over the outcome of their sexualisation, all whilst profiting from a system they would've been subjected to regardless.

All of this begs the question: Just where does the moral quandary lie?

In adopting its principles to aid their own succession, could it be said that these women are not only condoning a system of oppression, but serving as its conduits? Is their commodification of the female form before thousand strong followings paving the way for a culture of objectification and victim blaming to emerge from this series both substantiated and fortified – with the idea that a woman is always in control of, and responsible for, her own sexualisation being spoon-fed to audiences of over three million a night?

Is it fair to approach the monetization of sexuality with such an inconsequential attitude? To prioritise what gain there is to be reaped on an individual scale above the ripple effect it could induce? Our severing of a woman's appearance from her humanity is a reality we're interacting with on a daily basis— experienced in the contortion of our judgments to only ever accommodate what aligns with our hyper-sexualised expectations. With this in mind, we have to question whether, as viewers, we can really shield ourselves with the passivity of outsider status— what could better prove our involvement than our literal tuning into it? Than our perpetuation of these standards for our own entertainment?

When we look to the rumours rearing their heads on tabloid magazine covers, alleging contestants of this year’s hit reality TV show to have invested five figure sums into slews of cosmetic enhancements, what do we see? Is it a world in which our appearances have been assigned the purpose of verifying our worth, of qualifying our capability, or of propelling us into new realms of financial independence and entrepreneurialism?

As viewers and boy-cotters alike, we have a duty to uncover just what it is our participation, or lack of, is serving: Is it the innovative reclaim of the female experience, or the breathing of new life into ideals that’d ought to be bearing our boot-prints?