If you have never seen the phenomenally successful ITV reality show Love Island, which returns for a new series tonight, the premise is this: a group of young, honed, single people are put in a villa in Mallorca, where wearing more than swimwear is considered overdressed, and attempt to “couple up” with each other to win the show. But it doesn’t end there. The show’s contestants often turn a summer on TV into a career: they build huge followings on social media, they appear on other reality shows, and brands throw money at them. Not everyone becomes famous, of course, but those who do sometimes find the pressure too great.
Last June, a contestant from the 2016 series, Sophie Gradon, who had been diagnosed with depression three years before she appeared on the show, killed herself. In March, Mike Thalassitis, who appeared on Love Island in 2017, also killed himself.
The dating show has become part of the wider debate around the effects of reality TV on mental health. Last month, Steve Dymond was found dead a week after he appeared on ITV’s The Jeremy Kyle Show. Dymond had “failed” a lie-detector test, a regular feature of the show, to try to prove to his partner that he hadn’t cheated on her. The programme has since been cancelled, but Dymond’s death has renewed the focus on how people are used for entertainment, and the effect that taking part in such shows, combined with newfound celebrity, has on them.
The news about Thalassitis, in particular, was shocking for Alex Miller, who appeared on Love Island in 2018 and had been struggling with his mental health. “It’s very hit-and-miss when you go into a show like that. You can come out of it and get the world thrown at you, or you get thrown back into reality straight away. I didn’t go in there searching for any sort of fame, like a few people did, but thinking what could have been put me in a bit of a place. It was messing with my head.” He says he didn’t have particularly high expectations. “I’d seen the previous series and what people were getting out of it.” The difficulty, he says, is “coming to terms with the amount people use you after you’ve been in that environment. People were coming out of the woodwork. They want to give you stuff – and as soon as you’re done, they’re nowhere to be seen.”
At his lowest ebb, he would drive to work every day and think about how he might kill himself. A post Miller put on Instagram caught the attention of a producer from the show, who put him in touch with the show’s psychologist. They had a long session via Skype. It helped, he says. “We got a plan of action in place during that session: plan out the next few months, get what I wanted to get done, job-wise and relationship-wise.”
He understands why other reality stars can experience ill health long after their shows are broadcast. “A lot of people will say: ‘They’ve chosen to go on TV,’ but you don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for. Nothing will prepare you for that.”
In January, Leonie McSorley – who appeared on the MTV reality show Ex on the Beach in 2017 – posted on Instagram claiming what life was really like after appearing on a reality show. “My biggest regret in life is ever going on TV and trusting people telling me it was the best thing for me ... when all it’s really turned out to do is close many doors instead of open them,” she wrote, adding that reality TV is about being made to “humiliate yourself for the sake of other people’s entertainment”. Ex on the Beach has similarities to Love Island, but seems more extreme – people are put on the show with former partners in the hope there will be conflict and sex.
Filming the show was stressful, McSorley says. “They definitely sell you a dream and put a lot of pressure on you, like: ‘This is your one chance and if you don’t do what we’re suggesting then there’s no point in you being on this show, you’re probably going to get sent home.’” McSorley appeared on the show with her twin sister. “If my sister wasn’t acting up as much as she should have, or having sex or whatever, they were saying to me: ‘Your sister’s not doing well, but you could do so well if you did certain things.’ They don’t outright tell you: ‘You have to do this,’ but it’s a manipulative atmosphere.”
A spokesperson for MTV said: “Contributors’ welfare across our programming is of paramount importance to us. We work with our production company partners to ensure a support structure is in place for contributors, including access to a trained psychologist before, during and after production.”
Unlike The Jeremy Kyle Show, programmes such as Love Island and Ex on the Beach are supposed to be aspirational, with cast members hoping for fame and careers long after their appearances are broadcast. However, there is a growing sense that reality shows of all kinds can be catastrophic for the mental health of their contestants – and that the industry isn’t set up to deal with this.
“I think what it highlights is that there are no regulations in the TV industry for anybody over 18 to have any duty of care, and that aftercare – even in excellent production companies – is pretty minimal,” says Jo Hemmings, a behavioural psychologist who has worked on reality shows.
Cheska Hull, who appeared on the E4 programme Made in Chelsea between 2011 and 2014, has claimed that “depression and anxiety were the price I paid for reality TV fame”. She left the show after a therapist, who assessed the cast members on behalf of Channel 4 (which owns E4) before each new series, said she was unfit to continue. Earlier this year, Jonny Mitchell, who appeared on Love Island in 2017, launched a petition demanding a more robust duty of care for reality TV contestants. He claimed many “were hit with depression following a baptism of fire that they never anticipated, were not properly warned about, and then were left to their own devices to deal with when the sun set on the season”.
Alex George, an A&E doctor who appeared on Love Island last year, has spoken about the regular counselling sessions he has had since being on the show. Before this year’s Love Island, the show hired Paul Litchfield, an adviser to the government on mental health issues, to review its aftercare procedures. New measures have been taken for this series, including more intensive preparation, with a focus on managing expectations and dealing with social media attention; the provision of a minimum of eight therapy sessions for each contestant after the show; and proactive contact for up to 14 months after the conclusion of the series.
Miller says these are good developments. He had very little preparation – he only knew he would be in the show two days before he flew out. Afterwards, he says: “They can’t keep an eye on everyone 24/7, but they can put a system in place where they check up on you regularly. I think they could have done that a bit better.” How long should the aftercare last? “I’d probably say 18 months, to cross the period when the new series starts, because that can hit people as well.”
McSorley had a mental health evaluation before she was cast on Ex on the Beach, but she was wary of being too honest, she says. “You probably don’t open up as much as you should, because there’s a worry that if you say the wrong thing then you’re not going to get on the show.”
When her series started broadcasting, she started to get abuse on social media. She said she expected it – and had been warned about it – “but not in the volume I got. People were saying all this horrible stuff, then it was like: ‘OK, I need a nose job, they’re right.’”
On a programme such as The Jeremy Kyle Show, it is easy to see how people’s lives are upended when they are presented with devastating information. On other reality shows, one of the biggest issues is contestants’ high expectations of their career prospects, says Hemmings. “Some of them want that level of fame, but don’t have the skill or talent to back it up and don’t have a plan B,” she says. When it doesn’t materialise, “sometimes they feel like a failure. There is anxiety about money and they often have to continue to feed their social media platforms with posts about how marvellous life is, when they may not be feeling like that.”
Many reality stars are picked up by agents to exploit their personal brands, but some are less responsible than others. Gladeana McMahon, a psychotherapist who has been involved in reality TV since the early series of Big Brother, says: “A good manager needs to keep an eye on the emotional and mental health of the people they’re managing.”
Reality stars often take advantage of their huge following on Instagram, doing paid posts, promotions and collaborations with brands. “You had to be doing something to keep the momentum going after the show,” says McSorley. “You panic, thinking that all of what you did on the show was for nothing. They basically sell you a dream and say you’re going to be famous and it’s going to be great, but they don’t really emphasise enough how that’s a slim chance.”
McSorley says she “got really depressed. At the time, all you care about is doing well on the show, but you don’t realise that, when you come out, more serious jobs are not going to hire you; a lot of people have an opinion on you now.”
She says there have been “some good parts” of appearing on reality TV, but mostly she has regrets. “I feel like the younger generation think these reality people live the life and there’s nothing bad that happens. They don’t get how awful it can be.”
In the UK and Ireland, Samaritans can be contacted on 116 123 or by emailing jo@samaritans.org or jo@samaritans.ie. In the US, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is 1-800-273-8255. In Australia, the crisis support service Lifeline is 13 11 14. Other international suicide helplines can be found at befrienders.org
