From Love Island to The Ultimatum: Queer Love, how has LGBTQIA representation changed on our screens
BY HEBE HANCOCK, IMAGE BY ITV
JoJo Siwa’s recent stint on Celebrity Big Brother UK should have been another light-hearted addition to her career – a chance to show a different side of herself, maybe win over a new audience. Instead, it became a flashpoint. Just days into the season, she was subjected to homophobic remarks by fellow housemate Mickey Rourke, who implied he could “turn her straight” and dismissed her sexuality with crude language. Though ITV issued a formal warning and promised consequences for repeat behaviour, the damage had already been done.
Siwa stood her ground with dignity, calling out the comments as homophobic on air. But for many queer viewers, the moment felt all too familiar: another reminder that reality TV often offers LGBTQIA visibility with little protection.
This isn’t new. Past Big Brother seasons have featured meaningful firsts — like Nadia Almada’s 2004 win as the first trans contestant — but also countless missteps. The mechanisms of the format haven’t caught up with the moment. Queer cast members, especially those who are trans, non-binary, or masc-presenting lesbians, continue to shoulder the burden of being both educator and entertainment.
Reality TV has long touted itself as a platform for “real people.” But for LGBTQIA contestants, that comes with a caveat: their identities are often mined for narrative value, but rarely treated with care. Whether through careless editing or failure to intervene during harmful situations, the genre has struggled to balance visibility with safety.
Siwa isn’t the first to face this dynamic. In 2021, The Bachelor franchise introduced its first openly gay lead with The Bachelorette Australia’s Brooke Blurton — a Noongar-Yamatji woman who identifies as bisexual. While the season was widely praised for diversity, Blurton later criticised the show’s decision to allow a white contestant to exploit her coming out as a plot twist. “It felt performative,” she said in post-show interviews.
In the UK, the inclusion of trans model Talulah-Eve on Britain’s Next Top Model in 2017 was another landmark moment — but came with relentless misgendering online and little meaningful on-screen support. And in RuPaul’s Drag Race UK, trans contestants like Dakota Schiffer have spoken out about the emotional toll of being one of the few visibly trans queens in the room, navigating complex identity politics while trying to entertain.
A major issue remains editing. In the pursuit of drama, reality producers often reduce queer cast members to clichés — the fiery activist, the emotional breakdown, the comic sidekick. In Too Hot To Handle, bisexual contestants are often edited in ways that erase their sexuality entirely, focusing only on heterosexual couplings for clarity and “marketability.”
Queer women especially tend to be sidelined or fetishised. Shows like Love Island UK have come under fire for tokenistic inclusions and for editing out intimate or emotional moments between same-sex contestants, especially women.
And it’s not just dating shows. In The Great British Bake Off, contestant Michael Chakraverty (a gay man of South Asian descent) faced intense online abuse during his season, later revealing how unprepared he was for the racism and homophobia he experienced after appearing on screen. Despite the show’s friendly tone, there was no real infrastructure to support him during or after the backlash.
Back in the Big Brother house, JoJo Siwa’s calm, assertive response reminded viewers that queer people shouldn’t have to defend their identities on national television. The fact she had to at all speaks volumes.
Many production companies now claim to offer sensitivity training, yet controversies like this persist — not because training isn’t happening, but because accountability still feels optional. Viewers are more engaged than ever, but also more critical. The bar has shifted. Queer contestants deserve full, complex representation — not visibility dependent on audience tolerance or social media traction.
Some formats are trying. Netflix’s The Ultimatum: Queer Love offered mess and romance in equal measure, but with a cast fully in control of their narratives. Other shows like Sort Your Life Out and Glow Up have quietly included LGBTQIA contestants without making their identity the focal point — showing that inclusion doesn’t have to be spectacle.
But reality TV as a whole still lags. Until mainstream entertainment formats are built with queer people in mind — not just dropped in for diversity points — stories like Siwa’s will keep repeating.
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