Now that we’ve binged it all, Love is Blind: UK has shown that us Brits can hold a candle to marriage-obsessed Americans when it comes to reality TV.
We had our villain from the drop (whiney Sam throwing a toddler strop when broken up with in the pods, then attempting to thwart the true love of Benaiah and Nicole) and, thanks to the reunion, our new true villain (Steven disappointing the wonderful Sabrina and the nation by making zero effort to keep their long distance marriage alive despite living in a London flatshare while she had a mortgage on her own place). Plus, you know, some actual love matches among the drama.
While single Londoners may be pondering signing up to the inevitable second season of Love is Blind: UK, I have had to bow out. Yes, despite writing of my trials and tribulations as a single Londoner for this very publication, I have somehow managed to get a boyfriend.
It’s very lovely, very unexpected, and very new. So when my review of Love is Blind: UK got me an invitation to stay at STAY Camden, I leapt at the opportunity to turn this precious new love into content.
STAY played an important role in Love is Blind: UK, as it turns out. According to the romantic experiment format, participants meet and propose sight-unseen in pods before heading off on a romantic(ish) group holiday. Then they are sequestered away for a pre-wedding trial run at living together. This is where STAY stepped in to provide the property set-up. This is the backdrop to the nitty gritty of the budding relationship — co-habitation under pressure.
As someone who has, in the past, happily let situationships rumble on for months (if not years), going from first date to officially Defining The Relationship in under four weeks is on par with a Love is Blind-level race down the aisle for me. So this review would be the perfect experiment.
While we’d obviously stayed the night at each other’s places, we’d never gone away for the night on neutral ground. Would secret incompatibilities and disgusting habits rear their ugly heads? Would my sensibly employed new partner realise just how unserious my job is? Could we survive a night in Love is Blind?
Arriving first to scope the venue, I was immediately put at ease by the set-up. An apart-hotel, it straddles the gap between a hotel and short-term apartment lets. Both of these can have their downsides, in my opinion. Hotels are lovely, but I never feel quite at home when my front door opens straight out onto a corridor and my only kitchen equipment is a kettle.
And, like many of us, I’ve fallen out of love with the short-term holiday let market that’s dominated by Airbnb. I agree with the residents of everywhere from our own grey Westminster to sunny Barcelona that it plays havoc with the long-term rental market and makes permanent residents’ lives a misery. Plus, there’s the stress of having to clean an apartment on a hangover without locking yourself out while taking out the bins.
At STAY, you don’t have to puzzle your way to a lockbox and answer three riddles to get your key. You check in as you would in a hotel, with all the reassurances of having an onsite concierge. Then you get to swan around in an apartment that’s probably much bigger than your own. Ours was a two bed, two bath, connected via a vast hallway to a well-appointed open-plan living and dining room.
I’d managed to locate the freebie crisps, wine and an iconic set of golden continuity goblets (Love is Blind contestants drink from shiny opaque glasses so the editors can cut together scenes for maximum drama with abandon, with no tell-tale drink levels to give the game away). But I couldn’t get the sound system to work before my new beau arrived. I double checked everything before deciding to give up and pretend I didn’t want music anyway.
When he got there, he went to turn some music on. It doesn’t work, I confidently informed him. No problem, he simply whipped out his phone and somehow pushed a software update to the speaker system. I could feel the strong independent woman leaving my body. My reality TV producer senses were tingling.
Continuity goblets in hand, I pulled him for a chat on the tasteful sage-green sofa. That level of competence was attractive, but I struggle (read: would rather die) than ask for help. He said he was always happy to trouble-shoot, but didn’t want to end up becoming the on-call tech support for my extended family, like he had been with his ex. I swore I would never force him to show my mum how to find that recipe she liked on Instagram.
Great work setting expectations and boundaries. Absolutely terrible TV. I began to suspect that, if we had met on Love is Blind, our relationship arc would have ended up on the cutting room floor due to our terminal inability to conjure up any drama.
Unwatchable loved-upness continued through drinks and dinner. We sampled a tasting flight at 3 Locks Brewing Company, a funky taproom overlooking Camden Locks. I am so down bad for this man that I could listen to him talk about craft beer for hours.
Before I could ponder who I have become, we headed to The Cheese Bar to rinse the cheeseboard offerings. I live in a vegan household, so a lot of our courtship has centred on him sneaking me delicious cheeses. Could he be cancelled online for cheesebombing me? Unfortunately I conclude we’re just cheesy.
Getting to be a tourist in your own city is always funny. Left to my own devices, a night out in Camden would involve hitting somewhat scuzzier venues away from the shiny new developments that have popped up round the locks and markets. Pops (privately owned public spaces) make me feel a bit skeevy, but I can imagine that newbies to London residing in STAY might be comforted by the constant security guard presence, rather than perturbed.
When it’s not hosting Love is Blind cast members giving marriage a trial run, STAY “is the ideal choice for corporate travellers, perfect for the mobile workforce in need of stylish apartments that feel like home”, Sam Ghosh, vice president operations at STAY tells me. “Families relocating to London“ and “couples on romantic getaways” (like us!) also make up their client base.
Not having to faff around with utility bills, but having all the benefits of an actual home — a dining table that can seat lots of guests, lots of storage space, and your own washing machine — really adds to the appeal.While we didn’t stay long enough to make use of it, the kitchen would be a huge boon to the business traveler. Friends with actual jobs who have to travel for work outside of cushy press trips have informed me that the grim reality of an expense account is getting sick of rich restaurant food.
Back at our apartment, I admire the decor over more wine. While anodyne enough to appeal to anyone, the sleek lines and vaguely Japandi style make it feel trendy enough. I’d definitely choose one of the slingback armchairs for my own place.
My tastes run a lot more colourful and eclectic, something that could cause an issue if I did ever co-habit for real with my partner, who prefers a much more muted and calm living environment. But as we have no show-mandated time limit on our romance, this is very much a problem for future me.
And so to bed. The Love is Blind extended universe has been alleged to partake in that unsavoury technique of the reality TV industrial complex that is sleep deprivation. It’s much easier to prompt your human experiment participants to cry, yell or otherwise melt down if they’re running on empty and haven’t seen daylight for days. At STAY, however, it was a restful night’s sleep in the kind of quiet that is rare in central London. Despite Overground trains chugging right past the windows, the apartment was always peaceful.
Too peaceful. By check-out time, the clock was ticking as we packed up to go and still no actual drama had occurred.
Casting around in desperation my eyes alighted on an errant towel flung haphazardly over a nice, velvety bedroom chairs instead of one of our two heated towel rails. Snatching it up, I gleefully brandished it while admonishing TNB for Poor Towel Discipline. He pointed out, mildly, that there were plenty of towels in the apartment, before immediately rolling over and apologising. Foiled. Then we congratulated each other for not having to take out the bins or strip the beds.
Without producers hovering around to stir up drama, it proved impossible to stir up friction in such a frictionless environment. Perhaps when we book our first night away under our own steam is when we’ll run into trouble.
