A philosophical inquiry into fake tan, fire pits, and the fever dream of televised desire.
By Brian S. Brijbag, Esq.
It’s not that Plato would have liked Love Island.
It’s that he would have understood it.
Because beneath the veneers of lip filler and neon mesh lies an eternal truth:
We do not love the person – we love being chosen on camera.
Cue the slow pan. Cue the soft-focus betrayal. Cue the soft whisper of Socratic irony under the Mallorcan moon.
I. The Symposium, But Make It Essex
Plato’s Symposium is essentially an ancient wine-fueled dinner party where philosophers compete to define love, using metaphors, awkward oversharing, and at least one story involving porcupine people.
It is, in essence, a re-coupling ceremony with fewer abs and more dialectic.
In one corner, you have Phaedrus declaring that love makes men noble.
In another, Aristophanes insists we were once fused beings cut in half, now stumbling around trying to find our other symmetrical torso.
And then Socrates, that chaotic gremlin of insight, shows up late, says desire is a ladder, and ruins everyone’s night by being devastatingly correct.
Now swap to Love Island.
The same arguments unfold, but with more glitter and fewer vowels:
- “I just feel like we vibe, y’know?” – Modern Phaedrus
- “We complete each other, innit.” – Aristophanes, now from Kent
- “I need someone who challenges me emotionally.” – Socrates, but with a six-pack
II. Lucinda Is Eros
Not the god.
The concept.
In The Symposium, Socrates (via Diotima, who is tragically never a bombshell) describes Eros not as a god, but as a daemon – something between human and divine. Always desiring, never fulfilled. Hungry, clever, hot in a chaotic way. Sound familiar?
Lucinda walks into the villa like desire personified. She doesn’t know what she wants – but she knows how to make you want her.
She floats between boys like Diotima floats between truths, asking only, “Do you think I’m your type?”
She is not looking for love.
She is looking for the moment before love, when everyone still believes they have a shot.
III. Tyrique Is Unexamined Desire
Tyrique, bless him, is Plato’s early dialogue incarnate: bold, charming, confident—and completely unaware of the inner world.
He knows what he wants until someone hotter walks in.
He says “I’m closed off” as if that’s a noble act, not emotional constipation.
His journey is not from player to partner—it’s from appetite to introspection.
He is the very thing Socrates warned us about:
Desire without examination is just a gym membership with good lighting.
IV. The Fire Pit Is the Cave
Let’s talk about the allegory of the cave.
Prisoners, shackled in darkness, mistake shadows for reality. One breaks free, sees the sun, learns the truth, and comes back to tell the others—who promptly call him mad and cancel him in the comments section.
On Love Island, the cave is the villa.
The shadows? Everyone’s curated persona.
But the fire pit – oh, the sacred altar of confessions and eliminations – is where the illusions flicker.
You sit next to someone under fairy lights and say, “I’ve caught feelings,” even though the producers handed you a script made of hormones and hope.
When Maya Jama walks in, dressed like vengeance dipped in satin, she is the philosopher returning with news of reality.
You will be dumped.
Your connection was a shadow.
And your journey ends… now.
V. Epistemology with Abs
Plato believed we could not trust the senses.
He’d be delighted to learn that half of Love Island involves people saying, “I don’t trust what I’m seeing.”
She says she likes me, but is she flirting with someone else?
He says it was just a game, but why did he kiss her like a haiku?
There is no objective truth in the villa.
There is only confession, reaction, and a deeply biased edit.
VI. Love as Aspiration, Not Possession
The highest form of love, according to Plato, is not romantic.
It is philosophical – the ascent from physical attraction to the love of wisdom, truth, and the beautiful itself.
So when two contestants stand in front of each other and say, “You’ve helped me grow as a person,”
that’s not just TV filler.
That’s Plato.
Badly tanned, emotionally erratic Plato, finally understanding that love isn’t about winning –
It’s about seeing someone, and being seen, without the need to win.
Final Thought:
Plato walked so Iain Stirling could narrate.
And in that sacred villa, where nothing is real and everything is recorded, we find ourselves not in mockery—but in myth.
A myth where desire is a character, the heart is a storyline, and love…
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Brian Brijbag 