Netflix's 'Too Hot To Handle' is a regressive, sex-negative disappointment

• "Too Hot To Handle," Netflix's newest zeitgeisty reality show, appeared primed to explore sex and dating in an interesting, forward-thinking way.
• Disappointingly, its premise dissolved into tired tropes, heteronormative ideals, and sex-negative attitudes.
• The end result is a snooze at best and impressively archaic at worst.
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Warning: this story contains spoilers for "Too Hot To Handle."

In the week leading up to the premiere of "Too Hot to Handle," Netflix's new dating reality show, I frantically texted a few friends, ordering them to watch it.

The premise — a horny horde of micro-influencers desperately tries to avoid getting it in so they can win a pile of cash — was precisely the level of chaotic nonsense my brain finds soothing these days.

It seemed far more interesting than the staid marital goals of so many other contemporary dating shows. Plus, what could be more relatable than 1. Trying to save money and 2. Not letting your lust for hot strangers sabotage you?

More tantalizingly, a reality show directly about sex had the potential to stand out, considering the rapidly changing mindsets around gender expression, polyamory, sexuality, and BDSM. While I wasn't expecting the most culturally resonant or kinky reality programming from a show that refers to sexual activity as "naughty," the quick flash of bondage in the trailer (and presumed talk about consent) gave me hope.

So imagine my disappointment when, two or three episodes in, all the contestants who previously hinted at sleeping with hundreds of people suddenly started to care about defining the relationship.

As it turns out, the show isn't just a fun, dumb challenge to see who could last the longest without rubbing one out

It came loaded with messaging no one asked for around "changing for the better," which was really just code for "wanting a relationship." The worst thing about these people, the show seemed to suggest, isn't that they're mostly raging narcissists. It's that they're upfront about having sex with lots of people.

Once the official rules of the competition were announced — if they touched any of the other contestants, or even masturbated, the pool of prize money would decrease — their personalities seemed to shapeshift overnight.

The same men who only moments ago said which woman's top half would look best with another woman's butt miraculously got hung up on one prospect at a time. And women who recently bragged about their sexual confidence anxiously hoped a guy would like them.

For a group defined by their collective wandering eyes and commitment to ab workouts, they were all inexplicably trying to find love. The aspiration, then, wasn't really to dodge hooking up. It was to end up in an exclusive partnership, and in the most cliché, heteronormative way imaginable.

My interest faded like the sad, softening hum of a dying vibrator. I kept trying to make myself excited, but in the end, I was more bothered than anything. Why is the end goal of shows like "Too Hot to Handle" — not to mention "Love Is Blind" and "The Bachelor" franchise and spinoffs — still always monogamy or marriage?

Even if the premise of a show is to find love, there are ways to explore the subject without reverting to predictable gender roles. Season eight of "Are You The One?" which featured a sexually fluid cast, successfully navigated this by featuring deeper relationship talks and a fivesome.

The "Too Hot to Handle" contestants didn't mention wanting relationships or love in their opening interviews. It's unclear what they were told this show was going to be, but one can perhaps assume they signed up to party on camera and boost their social media clout.

Which is fine! Watching people squirm as they resist the urge to have sex is a funny and ridiculous concept on its own — if it's only about that.

There are plenty of valid reasons to put off sex that you want: playfully boosting sexual tension with a partner, or treating it as a physical reset if you feel bored in your sex life. As long as it involves consent, sex is a morally-neutral activity and each person's relationship to it is highly personal. But "Too Hot To Handle" has none of this nuance.

Monogamy isn't the only vector for regression

The one same-sex kiss is designed to make a guy jealous, and it portrays bisexuality in the same damaging, hypersexualized way that's been the norm for decades. Conversations about race — like when Sharron expresses disappointment at no longer having a competitive edge as the only black man — are cut short.

Even the act of sex itself is tiptoed around in the same way you'd find in a high school health class. Topics like consent, STIs, orgasm gaps, and even basic pleasure are barely touched upon, if at all.

The entire premise is about rewarding abstinence, which, contrary to the show's reputation, makes it pretty sex-negative. At one point, contestants are given armbands that glow green if they've been "good" — which is to say, if they've formed a deeper bond without having physical contact. The light lets them briefly make out without penalty, framing sexual activity primarily as a reward for emotional intimacy.

The whole thing feels even bleaker when surface level chats and bare-minimum commitment are equated with emotional depth. In this universe, sharing a remotely personal anecdote is "opening up a lot," and admitting vague feelings for a near-stranger is "torture."

Like in "Love Is Blind" and "The Bachelor," the couples on "Too Hot to Handle" are built up to believe that a few amiable conversations in a luxury setting make them worthy of long-term relationships or lifelong commitment. But do these people, who have presumably dated another human at least once in their life, actually believe it? And more importantly, do we?

It would be easier to set aside the bizarre definitions of romance and formulaic overproduction if these alternate realities produced dialogue with a pulse. But the show is a snooze at best and impressively archaic at worst.

The end result isn't adventurous sex or even a whisper of decent relationships

It's people we know next to nothing about, claiming they've changed for the better, performing a version of love so hollowly reduced that it isn't even fit to keep us entertained through a quarantine.

Reality TV isn't actually reality. But we still primarily watch it to self-compare, whether to feel better about our own messy lives or to text our friends about how Barnett from "Love Is Blind" is just like the dick who broke our heart in college. That's why who gets the girl or walks down the aisle isn't nearly as compelling as the conversations along the way.

Relationships are more freeing, confusing, exciting and frustrating to navigate than they've ever been. Even those of us who want monogamy know it isn't as simple as a string of pleasant dates and a passive declaration of commitment. It would be nice if the most mainstream dating shows did, too.

Julia Pugachevsky is a freelance writer living in Brooklyn. Previously, she was a sex and relationships editor at Cosmopolitan and a love and relationships editor at BuzzFeed. Her work has also appeared in VICE, Forge, and the New Yorker.