I’m just going to say it. A confession, on behalf of my husband. And after many spirited discussions with friends, I know he’s not alone.

My husband watches Married At First Sight with genuine, wholehearted enthusiasm. But for the longest time? He insisted he “wasn’t that into it.”

Sure, just like I’m not obsessed after one episode… and just like I absolutely don’t think Taylor Swift can do no wrong. But let’s stay focused, MAFS is ‘the star of the show’ today. Thank you, Juliette, for Joel’s interpretation of that line living in my head rent-free.

I’m convinced there’s a large, undercover population of men who secretly love trashy TV like MAFS, but feel like they simply cannot admit it.

Like it’s written somewhere in a rulebook: Thou shalt not enjoy chaotic dinner parties and commitment ceremonies.

Watch: An unpopular opinion about MAFS’ Tyson. Post continues below.

To be clear, I’m not saying my husband would independently keep track of when it’s on. He wouldn’t know the time, the channel, or possibly even the correct name of the show. If left to his own devices, MAFS might not exist.

But once it’s on? Oh, he’s in.

Suddenly, he’s invested. He’s asking questions. He’s forming opinions. He’s looking forward to Monday through Wednesday nights, and don’t even get me started on the Sunday couch sessions. The man has thoughts.

And honestly? We love watching it together.

Because here’s the thing, men might be reluctant to admit it, but trashy reality TV is elite entertainment. It’s escapism at its finest. For an hour or two, you’re not thinking about work, the news, or your ever-growing to-do list. You’re thinking about why someone just said something wildly inappropriate at a dinner party and how it’s definitely going to unravel in 3… 2… 1.

Also, can we talk about the unexpected nostalgia factor? Watching MAFS live with ads has unlocked something in me. It takes me straight back to childhood, pre-streaming days, when timing mattered. When my sisters would yell, “Ads are over!” and I’d sprint back to the living room like my life depended on it to catch Packed to the Rafters.

It was a simpler time. A more chaotic time. A better time?

The other night, I was at a friend’s house, deep in a very serious discussion about MAFS. Specifically, the now-infamous “finger-bashing” comment. Not my words. Unfortunately, now part of my vocabulary again after years of peaceful ignorance.

We were analysing it like it was a case study. Breaking it down. Debating intent, impact, and why it somehow dragged on for what felt like several business days. At one point, it genuinely felt like we’d time-travelled back to high school, gossiping, overanalysing, reliving that slightly unhinged energy of being overly invested in things that absolutely did not concern us or really matter at the end of the day.

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And then, from the background, my friend’s partner chimed in:

“Ugh, you’re not talking about MAFS again.”

To which she immediately replied, “Stop pretending you don’t love it. You always watch it.”

He did that nervous little smile. You know the one. The ‘I’ve been caught, but I won’t fully admit it’ smile.

Apparently, he regularly “just happens” to be nearby when it’s on. Lingers in the background. Makes the occasional comment about how ridiculous it all is.

Of course it’s ridiculous. That’s the whole point.

Yes, trashy TV can be over-the-top. Yes, it may slowly murder your brain cells, “goodbye, intelligence,” episode by episode. But it’s also pure, unadulterated entertainment. The chaos? You couldn’t make this stuff up… well, technically you could, but why ruin the magic?

So here’s my message to the men standing awkwardly in the doorway, pretending not to watch:

Just admit it. We see you.

Take a seat. Get comfortable. Join us on the couch. Offer your hot takes. Point out how you would never behave like that (we know, we know, but please, continue).

If anything, it’s a great confidence boost for your relationship.

Because at the end of the day, no matter how dramatic things get in your own life… at least you’re not yelling at someone across a televised dinner table while they drop the C‑bomb like it’s a party favour, dramatically keeping ‘receipts’ like they’re life‑or‑death evidence, or desperately looking to Gia for backup only to be met with crickets and a blank stare.

And really, that’s what makes it so addictive.

But to all the “not-invested” MAFS fans, we see you. Not watching, just lurking in the background with very strong opinions.

Welcome to the dark side of trashy TV. Come, sit, join us.