Netflix Needs to Divorce Its Obsession With Marriage From Its Dating Shows

When the season finale of Let’s Marry Harry dropped on August 12, 2026, the Netflix Reality Universe entered a new phase. Pop culture fans didn’t wonder which lucky lady the bachelor in question—in this case, notorious dating-show player Harry Jowsey—chose, as is typical of reality finales. Rather, they wanted to know whether he had actually gotten legally wed at all. They got their answer days later: Jowsey himself admitted the answer was no.

But the reveal didn't feel all that surprising. It simply proved the fundamental paradox behind Netflix's hit reality slate is catching up with the streamer: Dating shows shouldn't involve marriage.

The pursuit of love on reality TV has always been a conundrum, but Netflix takes dissonance to the next level. Since Love Is Blind became a cultural phenomenon amid the COVID lockdowns, the streamer has fashioned its most popular unscripted shows around the notion that marriage is the ultimate prize. Despite its abysmal success rate, each Love Is Blind reunion boasts at least one married couple to espouse that the show can bring contestants love. The most recent season of The Ultimatum: Marry or Move On—another toxic show from the same production team behind LIB—ended with the NRU’s first reunion wedding. (Fear not: The happy couple signed the marriage certificate on-screen.) And it’s not just the Lachey-hosted shows: Temptation Island and Age of Attraction both touted engagements. Never mind that the age-gap series notably included commitment ceremonies rather than proposals; the couples still exchanged promise rings.

So why did Let’s Marry Harry, which came out less than a month after The Ultimatum’s impromptu nuptials, end with a wedding but not a marriage? According to a production source, the lack of a signed certificate was to avoid spoilers. This choice meant that the competition ended with an empty prize, if not for the contestants, then for viewers lacking media literacy who took the happy ending at face value. Jowsey spends the entire series expressing that his father's death was a wake-up call that made him long for commitment. During the finale wedding, he dons his father's glasses while reading his vows. When he never truly had anything on the line—unlike his contestants, who subject themselves to social-media scrutiny for the chance at a husband—all of those assertions of growth ring hollow.

Only Jowsey himself knows his true intentions, but after the LMH reunion, it seems that he didn’t take the symbolic lifetime commitment very seriously. He and his “ex-wife,” Amber Mozo, broke up less than two months after the wedding. Amber has accused Harry of cheating on her while they were together, with both runner-up Dannelle Davidson and an influencer who he’s now dating.

Over my five years covering Love Is Blind and other shows, I’ve become increasingly cynical that these marriage-pilled dating shows are anything other than a new frontier of the outrage economy. Each season has presented more “fairy tale” pod love stories; more jaw-droppingly toxic men; more controversies that reach new levels of horror when you realize that the unwitting party (usually the woman) may be legally bound to the cheater, gaslighter, or misogynist at the end. The entire dating-show genre was built on a foundation of indignation; however, many of Netflix’s predecessors—from Joe Millionaire to Flavor of Love to the best seasons of The Bachelor—gave a self-aware wink to the audience that contestants saw love as more of a “would-be-nice” prospect compared to fame, financial security, or a free vacation. Even in the most misanthropic LIB season, there’s at least one person (typically a woman) who was earnestly looking for a life partner and ends the show genuinely heartbroken.

At a time when many young people (myself included) are trying to build lives outside of patriarchal norms, it’s hard for me not to see these shows as preying on a universal desire for partnership, at a time when marriage is on the decline. The producers—with married hosts like the Lacheys, the Willises, or the Vialls as their mouthpieces—ascribe marriage and babies as life’s biggest goal and then instill a scarcity mindset, via public humiliation, in women desperate to reach that next stage in life. Forget trad wives—these dating shows are the most effective way to reinforce gender norms to viewers trying to escape politics.

The dating show that proves marriage isn’t needed for high stakes or swoonworthy romance is the same one that threatens Netflix’s reality supremacy. Love Island USA’s endgame is much less dramatic; becoming boyfriend and girlfriend is the highest level of commitment the contestants make. LIUSA is not without its flaws (and is inevitably an influencer talent incubator), but proves that you don’t need an on-screen marriage or engagement to create a can’t-miss season of television and a pop-culture phenomenon.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem that Netflix is lightening up on its marriage-pilled reality shows any time soon. The streamer recently announced Netflix, Will You Marry Me?, an interactive dating competition where subscribers will vote live on a potential wife for a to-be-announced bachelor. The announcement promises, “The thrill of swiping on friends’ dating apps just got amplified”—a telling pitch, considering dating apps have arguably destabilized modern dating culture. I’m expecting Netflix, Will You Marry Me? to take over social media when it comes out, as it spurs the latest monocultural argument of heterosexual mating norms. I’m also praying that viewers will look beyond the urge to argue which of the contrived, edited relationships are marriage-worthy. Instead, we should all question why marriage is seen as a measure of worth, and why reality TV wants women to covet it.