THE RISE OF ‘FAME’ FACE…
This season’s dangerous new accessory
For me, that’s how it starts, every night when Love Island’s frenetic intro music rattles my coffee table.
The reality show currently taking over your summer – in which around a dozen or so hot singles play musical beds in pursuit of true love, a cash prize, and, incidentally, thousands of new followers on Instagram – has been the small-screen sensation of the past five years. And as the contestants squeal delightedly, smiles made up of beautiful, violet-white molars, my tongue sharks its doleful way around my own teeth: average, tea-stained, and with a snaggle-tooth I thought I’d long come to terms with.
And it doesn’t stop at teeth. While the Islanders slink to the poolside, flirtily picking at the strings of their bikinis with acrylic-tipped fingers, I’ll sigh at my uninspiring oval nails, become acutely aware of my pasty, unglossed skin, or find myself hypnotised as they twirl their taped-in manes – blonde, brunette and all the balayages in between. It’s subtle and often subconscious, but it’s there: the sudden, unexpected – yet irresistible – impulse to “upgrade” myself.
For the record, save the odd hormonal wobble, my own self-esteem isn’t particularly volatile. I expend an embarrassing amount of energy trying to look different from other people, piercing metal into my nose, scouring charity shops for bizarre, unique clothes or colouring my hair tangerine and leaving it to fade to khaki. I am not Love Island’s target market, nor do I consider myself susceptible to the allure of self-reinvention. So why, when those end credits roll, do I unfailingly find myself slackjawed, intoxicated, with 20 Google tabs open in pursuit of a full cosmetic overhaul? It turns out I’m not alone in my Love Island-induced beauty binges. Last year, Britain splashed out a lot on “summer-ready” cosmetics, despite the tightened purse strings and strained finances of the millennial nation. The value of the pound continued to be throttled by Brexit. HMV and Toys R Us went into administration. The number of rough sleepers in England reached the highest level since records began, and the UN launched a special report into the effects of austerity on British people, their first investigation into an advanced European country since 2011.
But among this bleakness, summer brought a sparkle of hope, at least for the economy. Because during June and July, Britain’s GDP (the measurement used to track how well a country’s economy is ticking along) grew by 0.7% – far more than predicted. Some suggested the heatwave was responsible for the boom in spending, others, the World Cup. But one particular cultural phenomenon – the one that permeates the public psyche throughout much of these exact months – has until now been overlooked. The way I see it, sticky summers and FIFA might have been two corners of last summer’s lucrative triangle. The third? Love
Island, and its pride of perma-tanned, blowdried twenty-somethings.
Verified endorsements
“This year I’ve been as busy throughout winter as I am in summer, which is unheard of,” effuses James Harknett, known to some as the “Tom Ford of tanning”. To many others, he’s “Dani Dyer’s tanner” – which is just as lucrative .“It’s very interesting,” he tells me. “Young women come to me [and] they want to be dark like her.” He calls it “The Dani Effect”: “David Gandy, Oliver Cheshire, Emma Willis – they’ve tagged me on Instagram before, which is very kind, but I’ve got nothing from it. Not an extra follower, not a like. But when Dani tagged me? That got people visiting my profile.”
'I want her teeth'
“I feel the impulse to ‘upgrade’ myself”
Hairdresser Jaime Hunt benefitted from that same Dyer gold dust following last year’s series. Jaime was Dani’s hair stylist before the eventual victor even entered the villa, and taping in her extensions ready for the show was a responsibility she undertook with almost military precision. “We timed it so that she had [the extensions] done just days before she went in, because she wasn’t going to have any maintenance done on them during the show,” she divulges, referring to the fact that Love Island producers largely leave contestants to their own devices when it comes to hair, tanning and beauty in the villa. “Her extensions were literally on their last knockings by the time she was coming out.” Despite that, Jaime’s business skyrocketed post-Love Island, bringing in unprecedented numbers of bookings.
Samantha Trace, browologist to the stars, also saw appointment numbers soar. Business, she tells me, was “absolutely booming” last year during and after the show. What’s more, as the villa’s casting producers lean further towards scouting contestants via Instagram rather than traditional application forms, Samantha is often booked up by people chasing a stint in the villa. “They use myself and all the other practitioners to create the reality-TV look for them, so they then feel preened enough to put themselves forward to be scouted.”
Love Island is no longer just a TV show. It has transcended its twomonth time slot on ITV. It’s a well-oiled machine, with the wheels of preparation, scouting, auditions, airing and aftermath hype constantly turning. That cycle can take its toll – both financially and psychologically – on not just viewers, but the ambitious wannabes too.
One such reality-TV hopeful is Amelia Perrin, an Essex-based writer, influencer and Love Island fan, with around 11.5k Instagram followers. Amelia has a tongue-in-cheek
approach to boosting her profile and growing her social-media following, in the hope that it will bring about further opportunities, particularly in TV. A huge part of boosting that profile? Having the right look.
“I’m actually getting fillers next week,” she tells me over Instagram DM. Amelia is just one of many influencers offered fillers free of charge, a trend that has exploded since the advent of influencer advertising. Hers, she says, are courtesy of the clinic “needing guinea pigs” to trial new technology – but more often than not complimentary treatments are swapped for posts and Stories in which the clinic is tagged.
“It’s something I’ve always wanted to do because I’m not 100% happy with my lips, but I do realise that having the perfect look will make me more likely to be scouted for these shows,” she tells me.
Amelia’s ambition for aesthetic perfection is infectious, and it leaves me wondering how far I could go in pursuit of the Love Island look. I’ve already booked Dani’s extensions artist, Jaime, to thicken out my hair, Love
Island go-to nail technician Amy G to sculpt coffin-shaped acrylics, a fullbody hair removal, teeth whitening and an Isle Of Paradise tanning artist to spray every (yes, every) inch of my skin golden. Is this, I wonder, a waste of time if my lips aren’t full enough, or my nose is too wide?
Possibly sensing my curiosity, Amelia lets me accompany her to the appointment. But when I arrive at the clinic door, on a fashionable street in the heart of Marylebone, I find myself being held at arm’s length, banished to a high-ceilinged waiting room away from Amelia, while a tense receptionist makes a call.
“We can’t accommodate you today, Miss Pasola,” the receptionist half whispers, minutes later. “Perhaps you’d like a cup of tea or coffee before you’re on your way?”
It is unusual for any professional clinic to be cloaked in such mystery. Glancing self-consciously around the room, I notice three other women, waiting silently, eyes fixated on a huge wall-mounted television. Pupils dilated, palms down, they’re like synths recharging on something. It’s only when I follow their eye line to the screen that I realise that “something” is The Real Housewives
Of Cheshire on ITVBe. Such is the demand for the “Love Island face”, some practices, like SISU Aesthetic Clinic, now offer Love Island “packages”. Much like a more expensive Boots meal deal, SISU Aesthetic Clinic’s offer tempts in consumers with the promise of three areas of Botox, plus lip fillers, for around £400 – with the “bonus” extra of a non-surgical nose job, for around £300, thrown in for good measure. Co-founder Pat Phelan doesn’t feel that this is cosmetic up-selling, however, stressing that “when you walk into the clinic, you’re not a client or a customer, you’re a patient”. I wonder if it has occurred to Pat that perhaps there’s another perspective: it’s not whether the clinic sees visitors as patients, but rather how the patients see themselves – as customers on a mission, intent on a bargain.
Soaring profits
It isn’t just practitioners and stylists who’ve spotted Love Island’s ability to induce viewers to part with their pounds. Look around your train carriage, pub garden or office and you’ll notice the women around you upping their game. The tans are darker, the pony tails swooshier, the eyelashes impeccably curly. Hair-and-beauty booking app Treat well reports that after Love Island’s 2018 series began broadcasting, bikini wax bookings rose by 45%, nail extensions by 30% and pedicures by 48%. Even men’s facials increased by 40%. Eyelashes also came under scrutiny, with extensions and other treatments rising by up to 40%. Many other viewers stayed loyal to falsies; both Ardell and Flawless Lashes also saw massive growth when season four of the show aired, with sales of the latter’s strip lashes surging by 20% during the months of June and July. And that’s a drop in the Jacuzzi compared with the sales to be made from official sponsorship deals. Brands like GHD, who kitted out the Love Island villa with the latest stylers and curling wands, were inundated with enquiries from customers demanding to know which exact tools were
being used on the show. “GHD has been very happy with the results of this partnership,” a spokesperson told me.
But the clear winner of Love Island’s 2018 gold rush was its main sponsor, Superdrug, who coughed up £2.5 million for the privilege of intro credits, branded Instagram videos and Q&As with contestants discussing own-brand products. On top of this, Superdrug provided a huge haul of own-brand beauty for the villa in a mass product placement effort. An itemised list shared with Cosmopolitan featured more than 100 products – everything from deodorant to hair masks, gradual tanner to paddle brushes, and even the cast’s flannels. The most in-demand products from the cast included micellar cleansing products, SPF30, firm-hold hairspray and, of course, shimmering aftersun.
“The boys used up all of the shimmering oils and lotions,” I’m told by former contestant Samira Mighty. “Whenever we were asked to pose as couples, they were slathering it all over themselves to look more toned.”
The partnership certainly paid off. Superdrug slam-dunked the attention of 16- to 34-year-olds in a volatile retail market, opening 22 new stores against a backdrop of high-profile high-street closures, and saw online sales grow by a third. Their pre-tax profits jumped up by 16%, to £92.9 million* – much of which the beauty retailer attributes to coupling up with Love Island.
Pretty painful
“My face looks INSANE right now, and I’m having a meltdown. I’m praying they go down.” On the evening of Amelia’s fillers appointment, she sends me picture after picture of her swollen lips and cheeks. After I was told to leave the clinic, Amelia says she was offered cheek fillers, on top of lip fillers, in order to achieve her desired symmetry. She wasn’t told how many millilitres of filler she’d be administered, and feels out of her depth when it comes to aftercare. “I’ve heard so much contrary advice. Ice it, don’t ice it. Massage it, don’t massage it. Drink water, avoid water,” she says.
After a few days and panicked messages to her aesthetician, Amelia’s swelling eventually calms, leaving her to enjoy her “tweakments” – but the pursuit of summer’s most-copied look doesn’t always go as smoothly.
While hair, eyelashes and nails can all be easily stuck on and removed, there’s one signature Love Island look that can be harder to attain: the smile. A set of gnashers like Jack Fincham, who won Love Island 2018 with Dani Dyer, would set you back around £24,000 in the UK. But Jack, along with Malin Andersson and Cara Delahoyde, normalised the idea of getting your dental work done abroad. “Tooth tourism” in places like Turkey means cut-price veneers cost closer to £3,000. When the first episode of Love Island 2018 aired, on 4th June, the search term “Turkey veneers” broke search history records. Ten years ago, the number of “health tourists” visiting Turkey for things like porcelain veneers was around 75,000. In the past couple of years, that number shot up to an estimated 850,000. By 2025, the dental tourism market is predicted to hit £4.5 billion.
But it isn’t without its dangers, as teeth are often filed into small pegs in order to accommodate one-sizefits-all veneers. “Clients can fly there, get a new smile and be on a plane home three days later,” says Dr Alex Al-Shaikh at Maison Dental, a private practice that often performs work on reality-TV stars. In the UK, the process can take at least three weeks, with in-depth dental assessments, consultations and repeated visits to have custom-shaped veneers fitted. Dr Alex frequently receives panicked messages from people with poorly crafted, broken or painful teeth after substandard treatments abroad. “If we were to do that in England and complications arose, you’d lose your licence. You’d be struck off. There’s no way of justifying it.” He cites a “holiday mindset” as the reason most go ahead with dodgy treatments. “They’ve travelled all that way, they think friends will make fun of them if they come home with no veneers. It takes courage to be in that chair and say to the dentist, ‘No, don’t do it.’”
The end game
Dr Alex’s words force me to reconsider the dissatisfaction I feel with my own
“My face looks insane. I’m having a meltdown”
teeth. Healthy, plentiful and suited to their function, I’m aghast that I considered saving up to have them filed into stubs in pursuit of an ITVBe smile – especially when a two-hour whitening treatment at London’s Maison Dental does the job without anything more drastic required.
To an extent, the same could be said for the rest of my new look. With my smooth, golden tan, I’m emboldened to wear tiny co-ords, plunging necklines and skirts with sky-high slits, where usually I obscure myself in tailored trousers and boxy jumpers. My acrylic claws made me feel invincible. The make-up looks fierce from any angle. But that feeling – like I’ve climbed the ladder to perfection and rung the bell – lasts for approximately six hours. Then, the caked concealer creases and my over-lined lips wear away. I’m incapacitated by my nails, unable to undo any buttons, and already concerned about how soon I should book my next wax and top up my tan. The admin, quite frankly, isn’t worth the pay-off.
TV has always had a hand in sculpting our aesthetic aspirations, from “The Rachel” haircut of ’90s Friends to Zooey Deschanel’s revival of the fringe and black eyeliner flick in New Girl. It is far from a new phenomenon. But Love Island has succeeded where many other shows, companies, brands and people have failed, creating genuine influence that makes us want to part with our cash. Perhaps it runs far deeper than the fact we are a nation of visual shoppers. Perhaps it’s the empathy we feel with Islanders that encourages us to drink the beauty Kool-Aid and seek out potentially dangerous short cuts – especially when short-term solutions like make-up, clip-ins and stick-ons are so tiring to keep on top of. Harley Street plastic surgeon Dr Dirk Kremer says: “If I watch a show like Love Island and identify emotionally with the people, I’ll probably want to look like them. They are such role models that whatever they do becomes a trend.” And when our role models are preened to perfection around the clock, it’s no wonder long-term cosmetic options become more attractive.
But maybe that’s the problem. This look can become more insidious the further down the rabbit hole of “perfection” one creeps. Our addiction to fake tan and long talons boosting the business of beauty is one thing, but taking on riskier procedures, fillers and dental veneers without serious consideration? That’s another story altogether. When we blur the line between aesthetics and surgery, what does this mean for those blinded by the halo of their idols? If there’s something my own flirtation with the
Love Island look has taught me, it’s that the slope into the world of fillers and Botox is effortlessly smooth. If this is the new summer “norm”, where before a pedicure and tinted moisturiser sufficed, what does the end point look like? It’s normal to feel pressure to look perfect, especially under the spotlight of the sun. But as the Love Island look becomes ever more iconic, could that expectation of perfection become dangerously permanent? ◆