'As an Asian woman, this season of Love is Blind is unwatchable.'

As we well know, reality TV is not typically an accurate source of reality. But every once in a while, you'll catch a glimpse of something on screen that precisely reflects the world we live in — and never in a good way. 

The most recent season of Netflix's Love is Blind has just kicked off and already, it's a mess. I'm talking about out-of-touch comments about a woman's weight, archaic views on homosexuality, and a deeply uncomfortable moment where a male contestant repeatedly pressures his fiancée into having sex despite her clear discomfort and boundaries. It might be the worst season of the show yet.

But amongst the arguably more problematic scenes that had my blood boiling, there's one moment in particular this season that hit very close to home for me.

Watch: Patrick opening up about this ethnicity on Love is Blind. Article continues after video.

When the season first aired, I was pleasantly surprised to see — not just one — but two Asian American contestants: Patrick Suzuki and Anna Yuan. Because, listen… in an industry and a sub-section of entertainment that frequently dismisses Asian faces and stories, this was a win. And I was intrigued, to say the least. 

But after sitting down to watch the first episode, I found myself sorely disappointed. 

In episode one, during a pod conversation between Patrick and Anna, the conversation quickly turns to dating preferences and reveals some uncomfortable truths. 

"What about ethnicities?" Patrick asks Anna about her type. 

"White guys," she says simply. 

"I typically date white girls," Patrick responds. 

They both go on to acknowledge that they would be open to dating other ethnicities, but as an Asian woman myself, I knew exactly what those words really meant.

"Growing up, my parents definitely hoped for me to find someone who looked like me. A nice Chinese man," Anna explains in a confessional. 

"And then each time I brought home a guy, they just looked less and less Chinese. I think they realised really quickly that probably wasn't going to happen with me."

Image: Netflix

And it gets worse. During their second conversation together, while acknowledging the connection the two of them have, Anna admits that typically she would eliminate an Asian man for just being, well… Asian. 

"Typically, if I knew some guy was Asian, I would eliminate them. With you, I'm almost more attracted to you," she says. 

And while I love the connection that forms between these two people at that moment and will acknowledge that it's progress for these two to be open to dating other Asians, I can't help but wonder why it took a reality show where you literally cannot see the person you're talking to in order to allow them to consider their own race as potentially attractive. 

And there's only one word for it: internalised racism. 

When you're a minority and grow up — as I did — in a predominantly white community or are frequently surrounded by white counterparts, there exists a very complex dynamic when it comes to your relationship with your own identity and what it really means to be beautiful. 

"I grew up as the only Asian kid in class. I grew up as the only Asian friend in the friend group," Patrick says in a confessional. And it shows. 

Image: Netflix

Often — as was the case with me — you begin to internalise the beauty standards and social hierarchies associated with predominantly white spaces, where difference is subtly — or not so subtly — marked as "other" or less desirable.

So what happens then? Well, if the community you're in tells you that the features associated with your culture are less attractive, you find a way to distance yourself from that — a way to avoid the discrimination and othering that comes with being visibly different. 

And sadly, this self-hating mentality eventually trickles into your own dating preferences. I know it did for me. And I was not the only one. So many other Asian Australians and other minorities I knew would often express a reluctance to date within their own ethnic groups. Which, in retrospect, is, well… messed up. 

As the season progresses, Patrick eventually forms a connection with another contestant, Kacie, and things just get worse from there.  

What's particularly heartbreaking to watch is Patrick's initial hesitancy to reveal his ethnicity to her — you can feel his discomfort through the screen as he navigates that conversation. It's painful because this is a man who clearly feels inadequate because of his race, and that insecurity is written all over his interactions.

Image: Netflix

This reluctance isn't uncommon, particularly amongst Asian men who've grown up watching themselves be systematically emasculated in pop culture and mainstream media. They're so rarely the leading man, the romantic hero, the object of desire. When you're constantly fed these messages about your worth and desirability, you might hesitate before revealing the very thing society has taught you makes you "less than."

Since then, there's been LOTS of drama online about how Kacie allegedly ghosted Patrick after the show. People aren't happy that Kacie was clearly telling producers she wasn't attracted to him while seemingly leading him on screen. And while I can't speak for her motivations or definitively say it's because of his race, I know that's exactly how it will feel for Patrick. 

Because I've been there — that crushing moment when you wonder if your ethnicity was the dealbreaker, if all those insecurities you've carried about not being "enough" were justified after all. They are not.

Now, none of this falls purely on the shoulders of two contestants on a reality show. If anything, it was a very human moment between two people who are experiencing things that we — as a community — have been grappling with for years. 

But when these conversations happen on one of the world's biggest streaming platforms, they carry weight beyond the pod.

They carry the weight of countless communities that are still unlearning the self-hatred we were taught.

Feature Image: Netflix.