Pound the *feel bad about your body* klaxon, it’s that time of year once again: where the UK’s surgically-homogenised, twenty-somethings strut into the Love Island Villa (TM) to live with us for the rest of the summer.
I’d personally been resting on my reality laurels with Married at First Sight Australia, snuggly in its geographic distance and everyone’s relative state of clothedness. But, if I want my anthropological fix of late Gen Z love, this is my next dose, and I might need to slather on some St Tropez and pop my bleach trays in while I’m watching.
