Watch Netflix’s ‘Offline Love’ Instead of Trash Like ‘Love Is Blind’

They say the art of romance is dead. Just tell that to Netflix’s Japanese slate, which over the last three years has been single handedly attempting to restore reality TV viewers’ faith in love, and in humanity in general, via a string of dating shows entirely devoid of the usual manufactured high drama, toxic masculinity, and blatant attempts to grab 15 minutes of fame.

Premiering four days after the eighth American season of polar opposite Love Is Blind, Offline Love is the latest. Taking elements of early ’00s rom-com Serendipity and Eva Longoria’s getaway tale Unplugging, the 10-part series flies 10 young singletons over to various parts of picturesque French city Nice, strips them of all digital devices, and tasks them with finding each other using nothing but intuition, fate, and a convenient old-fashioned mailbox.

It’s a concept made even more charming by the participants, all of whom are polite, chivalrous, and—in something of an outlier for the genre—seemingly allergic to any form of confrontation. Just look at how the love triangle unfolds during a three-way dinner in Episode 2. On learning potential beau Mimi arranged a date with Aru during his bathroom break, for example, Sho sincerely tells her, “You should go.” It’s hard to imagine anyone stepping aside so valiantly on Ex on the Beach.

Two-time Olympic water polo player Atsushi and model Yudai, however, are the two contestants most likely to melt hearts early on. The former is not only the oldest member of the group at age 30, he’s also an old soul (hence the slightly questionable claims he’s from the last generation skilled in writing letters). The latter, meanwhile, is guided more by his sweet tooth than his heart. “I want to say, ‘This place has the best desserts,’” comes the answer about his ideal date. Adorably, he spends most of Day 3 shopping for candy with new BFF Kensuke.

The panel commentating on all the action, one-time idol Kyoko Koizumi and Kuruma Takahira and Kemuri Matsui of comedic duo Reiwa Roman, appear smitten with everyone. Take a shot every time they declare, “That’s cute” about a contestant’s fashion sense or tentative attempt to micro-flirt and you’d be comatose by the first end credits. The only time their feedback gets remotely critical occurs when Mimi jokingly asks Sho whether waffles or spending time with her is the bigger priority. “Oh, she’s so aggressive,” Takahira declares in another clear sign of the cultural differences between east and west.

While the two funnymen, whose brand of humor unfortunately seems to have got lost in translation, are largely surplus to requirements, Koizumi does bring some wisdom and experience to proceedings. See the observations into how this “revolutionary experiment” was just the norm in her own youth and how Gen-Z have never known a life without being glued to their devices: See the telling cafe scene where in trying to jog his memory, Yudai instinctively goes to grab his phone.

Of course, you have to willfully ignore all the nuts and bolts of the whole process. The fact that a conspicuous camera crew follows around each individual means the meet-cutes can never be as giddily surprising as presented. Then there’s the ability to arrange a group hang (sample dialogue: “I don’t mind us all being quiet forever”) which practically makes the first two days a pointless charade. Nevertheless, in an area where producer manipulation reigns supreme, these relatively innocuous short cuts can be forgiven.

While the concept may be artificial, and in the case of Episode 4’s development more confusing than a game of shogi, the people at its heart pride themselves on the utmost authenticity. There’s no one vying for attention via over-the-top catfights or contrived showmances, nor are there any influencers who’ve clearly signed up with the sole intention of boosting their profile. The likes of Nanami, Kanaka, and Tohko appear to be genuinely looking for “the one” but they’re unwilling to degrade or change themselves in the process. Refreshingly, the show never asks them to, either. It’s a naturalism that’s become the unique selling point of Netflix’s Japanese reality shows.

Indeed, Offline Love’s origins lie in Terrace House, a 2015 acquisition in which six young strangers were invited to live under the same roof while still going about their everyday lives. Although not strictly a dating show per se, the sleeper hit did pursue several love stories. And it helped introduce an international audience to a different form of the genre, one that favored the slow burn over the salacious. In most episodes, pretty much nothing of any consequence happened at all. Still, for audiences who’d grown tired of the pressure cooker approach—until its tragic denouement that is—it became a meditative must-watch.

As its title suggests, 2022‘s Love Village pushed this concept into more explicitly romantic territory, but even more subversively, accommodated a group of 35-60-year-olds instead. The results were perhaps more candid than you’d expect. It took less than 15 minutes into the series for “wildest sexual encounters”’ to become the topic of conversation. Yet its cast also had plenty of other life experiences to draw upon, whether battles with breast cancer, divorces, or body confidence issues: One of Season 2’s big wins came when a contestant plucked up the courage to bare her arms.

Admittedly, there was an element of jeopardy: Individuals were eliminated if the person they rang their bell for (not a euphemism) didn’t reciprocate their feelings. Yet even at these make-or-break moments, there was nearly always a sense of decorum. For anyone whose young adulthood coincided with the dawn of reality television, Love Village was the dating show at its most relatable. It’s no coincidence that The Golden Bachelor/Bachelorette, the Michelle Obama-produced The Later Daters, and a whole host of other shows exemplifying how romance doesn’t end in middle age have emerged in its wake.

2024’s The Boyfriend was arguably just as (quietly) revolutionary, certainly for a country where same-sex unions are still not officially legislated. Here, nine Gen-Z men on the queer spectrum are grouped together in a luxurious beach house that will leave many viewers booking a trip to Chiba. The majority of connections, though, are formed in the nearby coffee truck two castmates must run each day, with the strongest leading to proper dates that don’t involve whipping up lattes.

The stakes may be low—contestants only ever go home of their own accord—and the cast so delightfully coy it makes Terrace House look like Big Brother All Stars. But it’s impossible not to get invested in the minutiae of the burgeoning relationships and the well-earned payoffs that result. When the first kiss finally occurs in Episode 8—a wait that would be unfathomable on any western show—you’re inclined to celebrate as you would a Super Bowl touchdown.

Judging by its first half, Offline Love looks set to follow a similar path of delayed gratification. This glacial pace may take some getting accustomed to, especially for anyone raised on a diet of Bravo, E!, and the like. However, in a climate where society in general seems constantly cranked up to eleven, it’s comforting to watch a show which acknowledges the value of peace, kindness, and restraint.