But of course, no discussion of Love Is Blind is complete without making sense of the worst couple, Abhishek (“Shake”) and Deepti (“Deeps”), two Indians who have somehow made it to their 30s without having dated any other Indian people. Is it self-loathing? Is it internalized racism? Is it a way to date without worrying about it ever getting serious, because you’re probably not going to bring a white girl home to meet Amma? WHY NOT ALL THREE? Improbably, and yet very probably, these two end up together, an ill-fated romance anchored by not one other similarity. Shake spends most of their courtship calling Deepti his “best friend” while also admitting he has zero sexual interest in her, then Deepti leaves him at the altar, refusing to marry someone who still seems to need convincing that she’s a catch. Great.
(Okay, hold on. I cannot in good conscience continue to call him Shake. It doesn’t make any sense, least of all the spelling. I don’t begrudge anyone a nickname, but Abhi is right there. Is that, somehow, still too ethnic for him? And instead of even going by Shek, or Sheik, which could conceivably make sense, he chose… Shake? What kind of critical thinking is this? I don’t generally advocate for snap judgments, but when a red flag is drawn so clearly, how can you deny it?)
Anyway, where was I? Right. Some brown people need to go straight from the womb into therapy. It somehow takes an experience as radical as Love Is Blind for Abhishek to realize that, hey, maybe being so superficial that you only date white women is holding you back. And that, perhaps, asking the women in the pods whether he would be able to lift them proves that he’s not a well-rounded person. He could have saved so much time in his life if he’d talked to the school counselor once or twice in the eighth grade. I suppose there is one fringe benefit of watching this couple with the chemistry of friendly subway commuters — he literally says that hanging out with Deepti is like being with his aunty — is watching their Indian parents try to understand whatever freakshow their children have dragged them through. They’re polite, but I have Indian parents too, and I know what the internal monologue was even if it went unsaid: Forty years of striving in America just for my loser kid to get her ass grabbed by a guy who says his own name wrong and thinks “DJ” is a vocation.
What’s really strange about Season 2 is the show makes no compelling argument for why any of these people should end up together. There’s no chemistry between any of them, and the couples seem cosmically unsuited for one another. Half of them still seem like total strangers even after they live together. I know Nick and Danielle end up getting married, and certainly there’s some fondness between them, but they also interact like half-siblings who only recently found each other on 23AndMe.
If the argument of Season 1 is that you could indeed fall in love with someone, devoid of all physical context and the trappings of the outside world, Season 2 is about why maybe all that context is important. It’s important to know what your partner looks like. It’s important to like how they look. It’s also important to know what kind of family you’re getting into, what political ideology your partner has, and whether they like yellow or white gold. (A white gold ring for a brown girl? Sal, come on, do a little research.) There’s a reason dating doesn’t happen in a vacuum.
I always thought television had all the answers. It’s never led me astray before. But after this season of Love Is Blind, I’m starting to doubt that reality shows with convoluted premises really can show me the way to find love. If isolation pods aren’t the way to find a partner, what is? Going on dates? With people?? Talking about our past lives and lived experiences??? Privately???? Without cameras or the promise of an opulent and embarrassing wedding at the end????? No, thank you. I’d rather die alone. ●
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“Love Is Blind” Makes Me Want To Live Alone On The Moon - BuzzFeed News
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