Figure 1: Sexological Bodyworker, Thomas, with participant, Emma, on Virgin Island

“It’s like putting two insects together in a jar and seeing what happens…” (Hill, 2014: 3). When we are asked to define reality television this is often the analogy that comes to mind; it is a spectacle, rooted in the unscripted, unknown and unfiltered, tapping into the viewers deep psychological need for escapism, guilty pleasures and—most importantly—entertainment (Clark & Moeslein, 2017). Its raison d’être thus being to create a ‘moment’, a shot so unexpected or shocking that it will permeate popular culture and be talked about beyond its viewership. This proverbial ‘moment’ becomes a “priceless cultural zeitgeist” and is arguably what makes reality television such a pervasive staple of contemporary popular culture (Hill, 2014: 5). This is perhaps why over the past decade we have seen an exponential rise in the production of reality shows premised around intimacy and dating, a subject matter which inevitably produces these ‘moments’ in abundance. It is also a likely contributing factor to the success of Channel 4’s latest creation, Virgin Island, which has become its most-streamed new format since 2023 (Channel 4 Press, 2025).

For those who are not familiar, Virgin Island is a six-part reality series which follows a two-week “unique intimacy course for adult virgins” (Channel 4, 2025). Throughout the series we see the group partaking in a number of workshops and one-to-one sessions with a team of self-identified sexologists, the ultimate aim of which we are told is to “help the [virgins] take their first steps towards sex” and eventually to “lose” their virginity (Double Act TV, 2025). Presented as a social experiment, Virgin Island is guided by the framework of sex surrogate therapy, a controversial practice established by William Masters and Virginia Johnson (1970) in their work Human Sexual Inadequacy. Despite the series borrowing the discourse of therapeutic intervention, and presenting it as a transformative experience for participants, the reality of its format and final edit raises deeper questions about consent, representation, and the ethics of commodifying intimacy for the purposes of entertainment.

Perhaps the earliest insight into these tensions is the choice of Virgin Island as a title for the show. Produced by Double Act TV, the series has been in the making for over a year and was originally named Intimacy Retreat before its final rebrand as Virgin Island (Heritage, 2024). This name change feels particularly significant given that the (re)constructed concept of virginity is both culturally and temporally contingent. According to Hanne Blank (2007) it is not possible to define virginity because it does not exist; rather, it is a human construct, mediated through particular circumstance and sociocultural or religious norms. This construction is significant, it is “not merely a philosophical exercise” but defining virginity is instead an exercise “in controlling how people behave, feel and think, and in some cases, whether they live or die” (Blank, 2007: 9). As Averett and Price (2014) note, it is also embedded within a primarily heterosexual history. The choice of Virgin Island as a title gives the show commercial appeal, but in return, reinforces a problematic narrative around sex and intimacy that feels both simplistic, heteronormative and confined to penetrative sexual intimacy. For example, many of the participants describe having had intimate experiences prior to going on the show, but nonetheless they are perceived and presented as being ‘virgins’. This issue is not addressed within the six-part series and thus reduces the representation of virginity into a binary narrative which feels both regressive and potentially restrictive for the contributors and audiences alike.

This problematic approach also extends to the relationship between the stated aims of the show—which is to allow the participants to ‘take their first steps towards sex’—and what its televised final edit presents (Double Act TV, 2025). There is, throughout, a clear tension between the therapeutic framework and its entertainment-driven delivery. One of the main issues here is that Virgin Island relies wholly upon the framework of sex surrogate therapy as a means for supporting and guiding the participants through the experience. Sex surrogate therapy is an incredibly complex practice and is currently unregulated within the UK, yet this is not addressed at any point during the series. Alongside this, research into safe sex surrogacy practices makes clear that a triadic relationship between client, surrogate partner and clinical therapist is needed throughout the treatment to address possible safety and attachment concerns (Emelianchik-Key & Stickney, 2019). Whilst this triad is briefly explained within Virgin Island, we, as viewers, do not see many sessions between the participants and a clinical therapist, nor does it feel like the production places much significance on this part of the process. Instead, airtime is given much more readily to the erotic activities between participants and their surrogate, something both Emelianchik-Key and Stickney (2019) and Poelzl (2011) assert is not actually the focus of time spent with surrogate partners. For example, in episode five, we learn of Pia’s struggle with vaginismus, but instead of educating the audience on the symptoms, causes and various treatment plans for this complex condition, airtime is only given to close up shots of Pia receiving a ‘sensual massage’— we are then told by the narrator that this one, seemingly brief, session was enough to provide ‘successful penetration’ and the show provides no further discussion on the topic nor does it acknowledge whether other treatments could have been more clinically appropriate (Channel 4 Documentaries, 2025). This potentially reduces the content of the show to one which focuses on the voyeuristic spectacle of physical activity rather than allowing us to see more therapeutic encounters, which could have offered a broader discussion on why different types of sex might feel uncomfortable or performative.

Figure 2: Sex and Relationship Coach, Dr Danielle Harel, with participant, Taylor, on Virgin Island

Further to this, research suggests that full and active consent, addressing significant trauma or distress and preparing in advance what each session will entail is the only appropriate format for sex surrogate therapy to be used (Freckelton, 2013). However, in Virgin Island, many of the moments we see on camera between participant and surrogate feel fraught with distress, discomfort, and a sense that the participant was not made aware of what would be happening next. For example, in episode one, Emma is shown in her first session with a sex surrogate, the aim of which we are told “is to see how Emma reacts to escalating touch” (Channel 4 Documentaries, 2025). Following this session, Emma is shown on camera saying, “I pushed myself to my limits…I don’t think I was fully ready for it…I feel a bit upset” (Channel 4 Documentaries, 2025). This suggests to the viewer that Emma was unaware of what would be happening within the session prior and also that she felt she was pushing her consent boundaries beyond their reasonable limits. Discussing their experience in an interview with Glamour Magazine, Emma also states “some of the workshops I probably didn’t want to do completely…it was very nerve-wracking submitting myself to [them]” (Walters, 2025: para 12). A similar situation is also presented in episode two when we see Jason partaking in a touch exercise with another ‘sexologist’; the narrator states during this interaction, “for Jason, just a few seconds of touch is all he can handle…but Celeste [the sexologist] isn’t finished with him yet” (Channel 4 Documentaries, 2025). Again, this gives the impression that sex surrogate therapy is about pushing boundaries even if this falls outside of what feels comfortable and, possibly, consensual. It also gives the impression to the viewer that certain aspects of the ‘intimacy course’ were unexpected for participants. This is particularly problematic given that, in 2020, Ofcom were prompted to revise their duty of care guidelines to ensure that informed consent would become more prominent for participants of reality television. These new provisions state that participants must now be “informed about the potential risks arising from their participation which may affect their welfare and [how the] broadcaster and/or programme maker intends to take to mitigate these” (Ofcom, 2020: 2). In other words, participants of reality television should not be met with any surprises whilst filming, particularly if they are “at risk of significant harm” (Ofcom, 2020: 2) when the content is emotionally challenging or sensitive like that of Virgin Island.

Despite these examples, most of the participants from Virgin Island have been positive about their experiences whilst filming the show; speaking on This Morning, Jason and Taylor described the process as being both transformative and safe, a direct contrast with how their experiences are presented to the viewer. Alongside this, in an interview with Cosmopolitan, two of the show’s ‘sexologists’ said “the whole time there’s consent…you might not see all that on camera, but that was absolutely happening as part of the duty of care” (Henry, 2025: para 3-5). Taken together, these examples underscore how important issues, which needed to be core to the ethos of Virgin Island and may well have been discussed during filming, end up being potentially replaced within the final edit in favour of more ‘entertaining’ material. This can also be seen in how the series brushes over weighty and complex topics such as Emma’s account of child-on-child sexual assault, Pia’s struggles with vaginismus, and Tom’s desire to explore gender fluidity. As viewers, we are left without any significant exploration of how or if these issues were explored during filming; instead, more screen time is dedicated to the stripping off of clothes, close up shots of the participants being touched by their surrogate partners and extended sound bridges of participants enjoying off-camera and intimate sexual moments. The choice to potentially have edited out important discussions around consent and safe intimate practices in favour of more voyeuristic content, even whilst using a therapeutic framework which necessitates careful considerations around care, is questionable. It feels as though Virgin Island had the potential to act as a turning point for reality television premised around sex and intimacy, but its final edit ultimately reifies—rather than challenges—the format’s tendency to exploit and commodify intimacy in the pursuit of producing a commercially appealing spectacle through a collection of entertaining ‘moments’.

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Poppy Irwin is a PhD student currently studying at Aston University. Her research explores reality dating shows, intimacy coordination and informed consent. The research is attached to ReCARETV: Reality Television, Working Practices and Duties of Care at Aston University.

References

Averett, P., & Price, L. (2014) Virginity Definitions and Meaning Among the LGBT Community, Journal of Gay & Lesbian Social Services, 26(3), pp. 259-278.

Blank, H. (2007) Virgin: The Untouched History, Bloomsbury USA: New York.

Channel 4 (2025) Virgin Island, Available online: https://www.channel4.com/programmes/virgin-island [Accessed 25/06/2025].

Channel 4 Documentaries (2025) 12 British Virgins Sent To Island To Rethink Intimacy Issues | Virgin Island Full Series. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=reng1jPRoUg [Accessed 25/06/2025].

Channel 4 Press (2025) It’s got the national talking, and now the viewing figures are in for Virgin Island, [X], 20 May. https://x.com/C4Press/status/1924858729855398226 [Accessed 03/06/25].

Clark, M. & Moeslein, A. (2017) Reality TV and the Murky Issue of Consent: A Timeline. Glamour Magazine, June 16.

Double Act TV (2025) Virgin Island, Available online: https://doubleact.tv/portfolio/40/virgin-island [Accessed 25/06/2025].

Emelianchik-Key, K., & Stickney, K. (2019) Using Surrogate Partner Therapy in Counselling: Treatment Considerations, Journal of Counselling Sexology & Sexual Wellness: Research, Practice, and Educationm, 1(2), pp. 105-113.

Freckelton, I. (2013) Sexual Surrogate Partner Therapy: Legal and Ethical Issues, Psychiatry, Psychology and Law, 20(5), pp. 643-659.

Henry, G. (2025) Revealed: Virgin Island’s sex experts on the key detail left out of the edit, Cosmopolitan, 19 May.

Heritage, S. (2024) Virgin Island the bizarre dating show where celibacy is at risk, The Guardian, 23 May.

Hill, A. (2014). Reality TV, 1st Edition. Routledge.

Ofcom (2020) Statement: Protecting participants in TV and radio programmes, Ofcom, 13 March. Available online: https://www.ofcom.org.uk/tv-radio-and-on-demand/broadcast-standards/protecting-tv-radio-participants [Accessed 07/07/25]

Poelzl, L. (2011) Reflective Paper: Bisexual Issues in Sex Therapy: A Bisexual Surrogate Partner Relates Her Experiences from the Field, Journal of Bisexuality, 11(1), pp. 385-388.

Walters, M. (2025) Virgin Island’s Emma on the stigma of virginity: ‘I knew there was more for me that just being a virgin’, Glamour Magazine, 27 May.

 

Image References

Figure 1: Channel 4 (2025) Virgin Island [Screenshot]. Available online: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=reng1jPRoUg

Figure 2: Channel 4 (2025) Virgin Island [Screenshot]. Available online: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=reng1jPRoUg