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If you're suffering from withdrawals now that the high-stakes drama of MAFS is over, welcome to your next toxic obsession: Netflix's latest social experiment, Age of Attraction.
The premise is simple, yet chaotic. 40 strangers are dropped into a mountain commune to date each other without knowing the one thing that usually dictates our entire social hierarchy: the year they were born.
Watch: Robert Irwin's rebrand unpacked on The Spill. Post continues below.
The setup.
The series follows 40 singles ranging from 22 to 60 years old as they seek "chemistry, compatibility, and an undeniable spark that has nothing to do with the year they were born," according to Netflix.
It's hosted by Nick Viall (of The Bachelor Season 21 fame) and his wife, Natalie Joy. After a quick deep dive while watching, I confirmed that the hosts have an 18-year age gap of their own.
They're living the brand; they've got skin in the game, which adds a layer of 'we've done this at home' authority to the proceedings.
As a single woman in my 40s, I've certainly dipped my toe outside my own 'age-appropriate' parameters. So, believe me when I say I was watching this with a notebook and a very cynical eyebrow raised.
What struck me first was the setting. They've ditched the usual boogie Bachie mansion. Instead, they sent these people to a 'mountain retreat' that looked suspiciously like the kind of camp where you'd be forced to build a raft out of milk crates and hope for the best.
I assume the producers thought stripping back the luxury would lead to 'authenticity'. Because nothing says 'raw emotional connection' like being bitten by a bull ant while trying to flirt with someone who might be your father's golf partner.
Listen: Weekend Watch deep dives into Age of Attraction. Post continues below.
The 'free-range' dating phase.
The methodology is, frankly, unhinged. They start off around what looks like a series of trestle tables at a suburban backyard BBQ for a meet-and-greet.
It's all very free-range. The contestants just mill around the commune like chickens in the wild, allowed to peck at whoever catches their eye. The only rule? You cannot ask about age.
I highly recommend doing what my girlfriend and I did: keep a running tally in your phone notes to guess everyone's ages.
It's like The Masked Singer, but instead of guessing which C-list celebrity is inside a giant prawn costume, you're trying to figure out if that man's crows-feet are the result of 'good genes and surfing' or a genuine mortgage-related breakdown in 2008.
And the fashion? I found myself screaming at the screen, "Why are you wearing activewear and Lycra to a first date?"
I understand we're in the woods, but if I'm meeting a potential soulmate, I'm at least putting on a nice linen shirt.
The 'Promise Room'.
Once a couple 'vibes', usually after a bout of "organised fun" like tennis doubles or staring intensely into a campfire, they can choose to "commit". This leads them to the Promise Room.
Why are the names of rooms always so weird? It's giving me flashbacks to the 'Rewards Room' from the early noughties glory days of Big Brother.
In the Promise Room, they finally ditch the camping wardrobe and frock up, but importantly, share their ages. It's the ultimate moment of truth, and the results are... well, they're a lot.
Now before you go any further, I'm about to spoil some of the juiciest reveals, so read on at your discretion.
Here are my three noteworthy couples.
The first couple I became truly invested in were fan favourites 'Temu Prince Harry', otherwise known as John Merrill, and Theresa Demaria. From her interviews, we are told Theresa's eldest child is 29.
When she finally shared she was 54, and Harry-John was 27, I let out a squeal that probably bothered the neighbours.
The best part? Harry-John didn't flinch. He didn't care. All hail "Temu Prince Harry", our new King of the MILFs.
Then there's Jorge Sanchez and Vanelle Fenmou. This is where the show really tests your limits. They have the biggest age gap on the show: 33 years.
Vanelle is 27, and Jorge is 60. Now, Jorge looks incredible; he's clearly a man who knows his way around retinol, but when Vanelle admitted, "Jorge is literally the same age as my parents", I felt a bit off.
The double standard dilemma.
I'll be honest: I struggled with my own internal bias here. I was rooting for Theresa and Harry-John, but the 60-year-old man and the 27-year-old woman? It hit differently.
Maybe it's a reaction to the tired trope of older men seeking out much younger women, or maybe it's just the paternal energy Jorge gave off while Vanelle talked about "being celibate for two years."
Watching a 60-year-old man process the news that his 27-year-old girlfriend is now 'technically' a virgin again was the kind of high-velocity awkwardness I pay my Netflix subscription for.
Then there's Andrew Wheeler, a 38-year-old single dad. He chose to 'commit' to Libby Vodicka, who is 22. There's an eight-year age gap between Libby and his eldest daughter.
As a single parent to similar-aged teens myself, this sent my blood pressure into the stratosphere. I try not to judge, but the idea of introducing a 22-year-old to my kids feels less like a blended family and more like a fraternity initiation.
At 22, your primary responsibility should be figuring out how to get a kebab at 3am, not navigating the complex emotional landscape of someone else's teens.
What's missing.
What the show glosses over, at least in the early episodes, is that age isn't just a number; it's a lifestyle. At 22, you're thinking about your next festival; at 54, you're thinking about your next colonoscopy.
Finding 'common ground' in a mountain commune is easy when your only responsibility is going for a hike. Finding common ground when one person has a school run and the other has a 9am lecture is where the real drama lies.
The real fun, of course, begins when the (whittled down to six) age-gap couples hard-launch these relationships in the real world.
Telling your 29-year-old that their new step-dad is two years younger than them is the kind of family Christmas content I would pay to witness.
Age of Attraction isn't just a dating show; it's a high-octane mirror. It's messy, it's uncomfortable and it's addictive.
Who will make it? Who will realise that a multi-decade age gap means one person is planning retirement while the other is still figuring out TikTok trends?
Binge-watch it this weekend and then slide into my DMs so we can gossip about it.
Feature Image: Netflix.
Annaliese Todd
Lifestyle Producer
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