It’s not the MAFS AU season we need, but perhaps it is the MAFS AU season we deserve.
Just when you think MAFS AU can’t possibly get any worse, along comes geezer Danny justifying why he wouldn’t be comfortable moving into his wife’s house. “I suppose everyone looks at it differently,” he tells the dinner party. “But it makes you feel like a bit of a bitch moving in with a woman.” Some at the table gasp, the experts hold their heads in their hands, but not everyone is shocked by such a flagrant admission of sexism and insecurity. “I do agree with Danny,” says Gia. “He wants to feel like the man, and he has every right to feel like that.”
Danny’s bitch-house theorem goes largely unchallenged, and is in fact supported by most of the group – “I’ll be honest, I couldn’t go to hers,” says Scott, gesturing vaguely in the direction of his wife. It’s a typical scene in a season of MAFS AU that seems hellbent on eroding whatever tiny shred of faith in humanity the audience has left, giving men the floor to say the most nonsensical manosphere guff they want and leaving the women to tear apart each other’s “ratchet hair extensions” and “stripper boots” while also insisting they are a “girl’s girl”.
Like Danny, I’ve been working on a theory of my own – that this is the MAFS AU season 2026 deserves. Every year, the season purports to hold up a mirror to society, and every year that reflection is looking worse and worse. We used to have comic relief like cackling Collins and teeth-brushing Troy, and human sunbeams like Lucinda Light, but now the show feels relentless in its pursuit of destruction and drama. The storylines are incoherent, the people in charge can barely keep it together, and everyone is furious and scared. Sound familiar?
Speaking of the decline of civilisation, another thing that’s struck me this season is the brutality of the language thrown around at dinner parties. Sure, MAFS has always had yelling and conflict, but at least past insults have boasted a bit of flair, such as Cyrell saying “you ain’t King Dingaling” or Sam calling Bryce “Gonzo” due to his resemblance to the Muppets star. In 2026, everyone on MAFS is calling each other a “dumb cunt” or a “rat bitch”. I blame AI for this creative hollowing, and certainly never need to hear the term “fingerbang” ever again.
After reading Alice Neville’s brilliant analysis of the Covid-19 inquiry post-truth spin, I realised MAFS is also firmly in its post-truth era. Never have we seen so many participants brazenly lie about things that we have all just witnessed, like when Juliette accused husband Joel of yelling “I AM THE STAR” in an argument, despite us all knowing full well he actually said the much, much, funnier quote “you don’t see the star in me”. On the retreat, Bec accused Rachel of “going off her head” while we all watched her sitting quietly on the couch with Steven, head firmly intact.
And then there’s all the manosphere business, brought front and centre by the casting of Trump-loving groom Tyson. He wanted a submissive woman, hated “green-haired” wokeness, and preferred that gay people were kept “behind closed doors”. Alarmingly, it’s not just the men spouting putrid masculinity rhetoric either – Alissa accused husband David of being a “weak man”, Stella called Filip “feminine” because he was too tired to go out, and Bec relishes in calling men “pussies” on the daily. Don’t even get me started on Joel’s teddy bear gate.
Maybe this is all because we are addicted to watching shows that stress us the hell out, chasing any kind of experience that feels even a modicum more anxiety-inducing than real life. But every day I read headlines filled with egomaniacs causing unprecedented destruction for no reason, and every night on MAFS I watch egomaniacs causing unprecedented destruction for no reason. Maybe I’m a green-haired wokester, but I miss the love stories, I miss the eccentric weirdos, I miss the joy. To borrow a phrase, I miss when MAFS used to see the star in us.
Married at First Sight Australia airs on Three Sun-Wednesday and here on ThreeNow
