In the digital age of social media wokeness and the pursuit of public image perfection, every action is a performance. Influencers fear the looming threat of cancel culture, where one slip of the tongue or even silence in the wrong moment can undo years of careful branding. Public figures walk on eggshells, acutely aware that every comment, gesture, or Instagram story will be scrutinized. This has created a new cultural norm: one that prizes agreeability over authenticity.
But what happens when this standard collides with the world of reality television, a genre built on conflict, drama, and the very pettiness that society claims to condemn? Reality TV has profited from messy storylines and interpersonal clashes, especially among women. Female friendships have historically been framed through cattiness, betrayal, and male validation. Now, in an era when being a so-called “girls’ girl” is celebrated as the pinnacle of modern feminist solidarity, the contradiction is impossible to ignore.
In this paradox, Love Island stands at center stage. Female contestants now self-proclaim their “girls’ girl” identity, which isn’t so much a reflection of their values as a deliberate strategy to earn the approval of the American public. Last season’s PPG superstardom quickly proved that the only way to praise on these shows is by embodying society’s latest standard of new stage feminism. Love Island fans expect female contestants to prioritize their female friendships over their romantic relationships with the male contestants. For contestants on a dating competition show, this is a tricky balancing act few can manage.
What we are witnessing, then, is the psychological dissonance of female influencers navigating two competing pressures: the need to be unceasingly loyal and supportive as a girls’ girl and the instinct to be genuine and honest in their friendships.
So, has the narrative of “girls’ girl” gone too far? What is the value of friendship when perception displaces authenticity? Or when superficial solidarity overshadows honesty?
Let us examine two female dynamics that took the spotlight during the Love Island Season 7 Reunion: Huda and Chelley, and Coco and Olandria:
During Casa Amor and its aftermath, Huda repeatedly reassured Chelley that her interest in Chris was as motivated by Chelley’s own happiness as her own romantic potential and survival. On the surface, these reassurances fit perfectly into the “girls’ girl” framework: selflessness, support, and loyalty to another woman’s romantic pursuits. Yet the very insistence on proving her solidarity cast doubt on her true intentions. Whether or not Huda genuinely wanted Chris for herself became almost irrelevant. What the audience picked up on and what was discussed in length during the Reunion was her need to perform friendship overtaking her ability to be straightforward. By overcompensating, Huda demonstrated how “girls’ girl” culture can obscure authentic feelings and, in turn, destabilize the very friendships it seeks to protect.
Coco and Olandria represent the flip side of the same coin. From the beginning, their connection was weak; they barely interacted on the show and, afterward, Coco admitted online that she did not feel positively toward Olandria. That honesty might have been refreshing during the Reunion. Not all women need to be friends with each other, and that’s okay! But at the reunion, Coco felt pressured to apologize and extend a hand of solidarity that she didn’t truly mean. She sent a substanceless apology DM to Olandria after making a public issue between them. This act of “saving face” epitomizes the pitfalls of superficial friendship. When women feel compelled to prioritize public image over truth, apologies lose their meaning, and relationships become transactional performances rather than authentic bonds.
This trend in behavior exposes the broader cultural problem of unrealistic expectations set for women. It seems that no matter what way a woman leans– into her authentic self or a more socially acceptable version– the public is watching and ready to nitpick and critique every move she makes.
To be “too real” risks being labeled messy or toxic, and God forbid a woman’s honesty hurts someone’s feelings, and suddenly she is labeled a “Mean Girl”. To be “too agreeable” risks being called performative. There is no winning. The standard of perfection is impossible.
In the age of wokeness, these expectations are amplified by flashy pseudo-psychological and sociological terminology that saturates online discourse. Words like “girls’ girl,” “lovebombing,” or “gaslighting” are often stripped of nuance and tossed around as catch-all labels. We whip these terms out when we want to gain some moral high ground without taking the time to understand what we are implying or the complexity of the situation at hand. The way “girls’ girl” has been used in the show feels more like weaponized misogyny wrapped up in a pretty bow than female empowerment. There is a real danger in using feminist-presenting terminology to dictate how women behave.
There is no model for the perfect friend. All we can ask of our girls is their empathy, honesty, and authenticity so that we can build the foundation of trust to give those same gifts back in return. Mistakes in friendships are inevitable. It is unfair of us to expect our friends to always make the agreeable choice. The true measure of female friendships is the ability of women to hold each other accountable, even if that means hurting feelings, for the sake of growth in character and connectedness.
You can support the women in your life without supporting their wrongs. That doesn’t make you a bad friend; it makes you a real one.