The most dramatic moment is when Clare projects her overwhelming anxiety on a bouquet of unsuspecting roses. It’s low-stakes and authentic. Who wouldn’t freak out about receiving the wrong flowers right before sharing vows with a stranger?

Fast-forward eight years and the dramatics are endless: gaslighting, recent break-ups, R-rated speeches, and buckets of tears. We’re still following the matchmaking process and analysing whether love could blossom, but it’s now wrapped in spectacle, subscribed to the notion that “bigger is better”.

For example, it wouldn’t take producers long to realise Tim and Sara’s recent relationship history would diminish any potential spark, yet here they are, storming away from their first honeymoon dinner after Tim tells Sara to “relax” about the budget tequila.

What could be behind this transition from its documentary-cum-reality origin to the stunt-heavy circus it is today? Social media.

A side-by-side comparison of MAFS′ first- and eleventh-season pilot clearly demonstrates the production’s “TikTok-ification”. Drama is served to us in bite-sized chunks, ready to be uploaded as sound-bites and critiqued online. Even the language seems tailor-made for TikTok, with therapy-speak like “gaslighting”, “boundaries”, “accountability” and “red flags” regularly cropping up.

“The people who were on our show early – series, one, two and three – are very different to those who are coming onto our show now because there’s a lot at stake for them,” Aiken tells this masthead. “There’s money, there’s OnlyFans, podcasting, influencing. They can actually leave their lives behind if they’re able to hit the mark with the audience.”

Though wanting love remains a prerequisite to be on the show, Aiken says those who join reality TV now are generally more interested in the spotlight than those in earlier seasons. The first shots of Sara and Tim reveal their fit bodies, packaging them as if they were already sponsored by Lululemon.

And the hens’ and bucks’ nights are like interactive fashion shows, with one person entering at a time to be judged and appraised by their fellow contestants. Just like on social media, whoever has the most noteworthy schtick stands out, whether that’s Lucinda’s “MAN-ifestation scroll” or Sara’s stance on paying the bill during dates.

Other dating/marriage shows like The Bachelor and The Bachelorette, The Ultimatum, Love is Blind and FBoy Island have also become rife with partner swapping, fights between contestants, humiliating break-ups and behind-the-scenes antics. Contestants know that the buzzier the Reddit threads they inspire, the more likely they are to remain relevant post-production.

The drama has increased not only in severity, but also in frequency, with the latest MAFS episode running for two hours compared to the first-ever episode’s 48 minutes. This is, of course, helped by the fact that extra elements like dinner parties, commitment ceremonies and partner swapping were eventually introduced to encourage the cast to collectively air their dirty laundry, and the number of couples has increased (there were only four in the first season compared to the current season’s 10).

Elements of the first-ever episode’s authenticity remain, particularly around the second couple to marry, Cassandra and Tristan. Tristan is your average mother’s boy who is so nervous to meet his bride that he literally can’t stop rambling at the altar. Cassandra is a bubbly woman who has been through immense tragedy, but is ready to love again.

There may not have been fireworks at the wedding, but audiences are bound to appreciate their down-to-earth nature, curious to see whether they are compatible rather than how they will tear each other apart.

Similarly, none of the couples show much sign of discord in the first-ever episode. Roni and Michael get along as soon as they lock eyes, smooching through photographs and behind (partially) closed doors. And once Clare shakes off her wedding-day jitters, she and Lachlan leave thinking they secured “a winner”. It isn’t groundbreaking because it’s simply what happened. It’s heartwarming and filled with palpable hope.

And yet… It’s boring. Watching dating shows has become almost voyeuristic. We want mess and heartbreak, as long as it remains safely behind a screen. The first MAFS episode understands its assignment, introducing a platform on which we can watch everyday people undergo psychological growth.

But for those of us who want a break from the mundane, who don’t necessarily want a sociology or psychology lesson when watching TV, are begging for endless mayhem.

If you believe reality TV is all that’s wrong with the world, you may be an anomaly. Last year’s season pulled in 1.29 million viewers – nearly as many as reality competitors Survivor and Australian Idol combined.

And seasons five and six, known for their cheating plot-lines and partner-swapping scandals, remain two of the highest-rating seasons of the show, with an average consolidated audience of 1.33 and 1.43 million viewers respectively, according to OzTam data.

Clearly, we are entertained. And if shows like MAFS won’t deliver the toxic goods, we’ll just scroll through TikTok instead.

*Married at First Sight is owned by Nine, which also owns this masthead.

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