Love is Blind & The Hot Mess of America
Guilty, your honor. Since its 2020 premiere, the Netflix series Love Is Blind—a farce of a social experiment—has captivated and kept me as an avid watcher. I’ve tuned in for the authenticity of Lauren Speed and Cameron Hamilton, the fallout between Marshall Glaze and Jackie Bonds, and all the drama in between—but I’d be lying if I said the show wasn’t on a downhill spiral.
In the name of Roxane Gay, I’m about to be a bad, messy, Pan-African Black feminist. From Season 3 onward, I’ve been skipping between episodes to evade fluff, using season summaries to get straight to the drama, and sitting jaw-dropped as I fast forward through the reunions. Most seasons, there’s nothing too special going on—I just quietly indulge in my guilty pleasure curled up on the couch while periodically pausing to gabb. But the latest debut has got me feigning for some cultural analysis on the Season 8 crop of Midwestern men in Trump’s hot mess of America. The ignorance fueling the Trump regime is not only young, white, and fiscally conservative but Black, God-fearing, and clueless about sexual identity.
I’ll keep it quick. In Season 8, Episode 4, about 1 minute in, Ms. Sara Carton stands on business and asks her future fiancé, Ben Mezzenga, his thoughts on politics, Trump, and George Floyd. After passing the “I’m Christian but support the LGBTQ+” community test with flying colors, Ben admits that he didn’t vote in the last election and is ignorant when it comes to that stuff. Racial and cultural context: Sara is a white woman, and Ben is a white man from Minneapolis, Minnesota.
When asked about his thoughts on Black Lives Matter, Ben says he’s not one way or the other and mostly tries to stay out of it. After critiquing Ben’s non-answers and stressing the importance of having an opinion, Sara returns to her pod for a deeper discussion with friends. Meanwhile, Ben recounts the exchange to his primarily white pod brethren, which falls quickly and awkwardly flat.
Flash forward to just a few weeks before the nuptials. Forty-five minutes into Episode 10, Ben is seated across from Sara’s sister, Lisa, and her partner, Kelsie, a powerful lesbian duo. Sara kicks off the dinner-time happy hour with a discussion about raising LGBTQ+ children and finding an accepting church for Ben, who is actively religious. Kelsie expresses distaste for the term ‘acceptance,’ noting that as a gay woman, she ‘accepts’ heterosexual people every day—but she makes clear she isn’t criticizing Sara.
When Ben jumps in to ease the tension by declaring himself ‘fiscally conservative and, oh yes, socially liberal,’ Kelsie clarifies if Sara identifies similarly before quickly noting that others who do may vote very differently than Sara does. Before long, King Benjamin reaches his diversity quota and retreats to grab drinks. Lisa advises Sara to proceed with caution while simultaneously expressing deep love for her slightly sloshed sister.
This was precisely when I paused, ran it back, and made my boyfriend a witness. There’s so much to unpack, but I’ll leave it at this till we circle back at the end: What are we okay with as a culture when it comes to compromising our values for romantic relationships, and how do the choices white women make with their love impact their activism and me as a Black woman? Good on Sara for starting the conversation, but let's re-read bell hook’s timeless book ‘All About Love’ before settling for Midwestern mediocrity. Vows have yet to be exchanged, but I fear that’s not the point. More on that later.
Up next, in these United States of ‘Merica, we meet Ms. Brittany Dodson and her potential match, Devin Buckley, around 35 minutes into Episode 4. Racial and cultural context: Brittany is a Black woman, and Devin is a Black man from Minneapolis, Minnesota.
A few weeks in, just as their relationship gains momentum, Devin shares how a devastating basketball injury reshaped his life, deepened his faith, and strengthened his bond with God. Brittany responds with compassion and reassurance, powerfully validating his experience and affirming that this truth is part of what makes him who he is.
Moved by Devin’s vulnerability, Brittany opens up about her past relationships with women—something she has often been conditioned to feel ashamed of. Noticing Devin’s hesitation, she clarifies that she values monogamy and ultimately envisions marrying a man. Devin admits it’s reassuring to know she’d be solely committed to him, but he also finds the new information a lot to process. Although he still thinks Brittany is an amazing person, he asks for time to reflect, wraps up the conversation shortly after, and denies Brittany the validation she had offered him just a few moments before. Brittany ends by expressing that she has never been this vulnerable with anyone before and that it would have been reassuring to hear that her sexuality didn’t matter.
Hold, please. Now, I’m not saying Devin shouldn’t be able to love in a way that works for him, but I do think this encounter perfectly demonstrates commonly confused assumptions about bi-sexuality. Bi-sexual people shouldn’t have to appease others by saying they lean one way or another for the sole benefit of being easier for others to sexually categorize, and furthermore, their sexuality is independent of monogamy and polygamy. The question I offer here is: what are the avenues for discourse with Black men on sexuality, and how can we make it a more common conversation in Black communities?
I think it’s fair to say that ignorance is always telling and rarely discriminates whether you’re white and have never had to do your homework on Black culture or heterosexual and never had to learn about anything else. Brittany was denied the validation she deserved, not because Devin needed space but because he didn’t have the language or understanding to honor her in the same way she graciously honored him when he offered vulnerability. You owed that man nothing queen <3 Onwards.
In the end, Devin moved on with another love interest, Virginia Miller, who, like Sara, had some political questions for her fiancé just a few weeks before their wedding. Episode 10, 40 minutes in, Ms. Virginia is snuggled up in bed next to Mr. Devin when she asks about politics, and he admits he’s not really into it. Racial and cultural context: Ms. Virgina is a Black Midwestern woman.
Probing further, she emphasizes the importance of voting and abortion rights and that she believes gay people should have rights. When Devin asks if she votes with her faith in mind, she proudly declares herself a Christian and a Democrat before posing the real question—will they vote the same? Devin responds that it depends on the candidate, revealing that his father, a Black Republican, votes conservative because that’s the side most aligned with religious values.
Now, please tell me where yapping about grabbing *** on national TV aligns with the holiest of books in the land. When those words came out of his mouth, I. Was. Hollering. Tune in, run it back, and let me clarify: I intentionally didn’t link the Instagram accounts of any of the Season 8 cast members because this post has little to do with individual people and a lot more to do with American culture. If you’re reading this solely to tear someone down, you’ve got it twisted. Everyday people who sign up to air out their business for quality entertainment are not your punching bag, and when it comes to reality TV, I think it’s wild to actively bash a person you’ve never met. Meaningful discourse, on the other hand, sign me up.
Cultural analysis serves as the bedrock of social movements. The next time you're traveling, and someone asks you what’s going on in America, you can say check out Love is Blind Season 8, Episodes 4 and 10. There has never been content so ripe for the social worker, academic, or teacher. Snippets from this season hold magnifying glasses into the future, reverberating questions we need answers to now more than ever. Where are the young Black men in our lives consuming their media, and how is it shaping their values? What are the real-life implications of ignorance that we allow from the very people we love? And most importantly, what is the cost of being apolitical but God-fearing or spiritual but culturally clueless?
I rest my case.
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What are we okay with as a culture when it comes to compromising our values for romantic relationships? What is the cost of being apolitical but God-fearing or spiritual but culturally clueless?
Comment & share with Mimi below <3
