
Young Britons are reluctant to engage in sexual activity, with one in eight 26-year-olds remaining a virgin—a conclusion reached by University College London following a major study. Channel 4 set out to address this situation by launching the show Virgin Island in 2025, featuring 12 participants aged 20 to 30 who claimed never to have had a serious relationship. Under the guidance of experts, they were tasked with overcoming the fears and insecurities hindering their personal lives. From the very first episode, the project faced a barrage of criticism; viewers were repulsed by the methods sex therapists used to help the young people open up. The program was accused of manipulating participants, exploiting their struggles, and even promoting prostitution. Read more in this Lenta.ru article about how the show—in which young men and women lose their virginity on camera—caused an uproar in the UK, and why, despite the public outcry, it managed to gain a following.
“What have I gotten myself into?”
“I want to lose my virginity—it’s now or never,” declared Tom, a 23-year-old drama student and Virgin Island participant. Tom says he is often mocked for his thin frame and large glasses. He hopes that having sex for the first time on the show will give his detractors one less reason to bully him.
Another participant, 26-year-old manager Jason, seems to face an even greater challenge: he hates being touched. “I’m afraid I’ll remain a virgin forever,” he admitted. Emma, a 23-year-old fast-food worker, dislikes her appearance because she doesn’t look like the stars she sees on social media: “It’s so easy to say, ‘Don’t worry about how you look in the mirror.’ But it’s very hard to actually believe that.”
She and nine other participants were set to spend two weeks on a Mediterranean island paradise attending a sex retreat where, the show’s creators promised, they would lose their virginity.
Their illusions about a relaxing getaway were shattered during the very first session with the experts; hard work lay ahead. The meeting began with breathing exercises that required loud moaning. Some participants eagerly joined in, while others preferred to hang back.
Next, they were taught how to say “no”: they paired up and asked each other questions that required a negative response. Most participants asked harmless questions—like “Can I borrow some money?”—but Jason’s questions were alarming. “Can I hit you in the face?” “Can I throw you into the sea?” “Can I feed you to a lion?” he fired at Emma one after another.
The session culminated in an intimate scene performed by a guest couple: the man touched the woman’s breast and pinned her against the wall, prompting her to moan. As they simulated passion, the experts closely observed the participants’ reactions. Most felt awkward and looked away. “It’s like watching a sex scene with my parents, only a hundred times worse,” said Ben, a 30-year-old civil servant, describing his reaction to the spectacle.
Leaving the session, some of the young people made no secret of their dissatisfaction. “What have I gotten myself into?” “It’s like I’ve ended up in a cult,” Jason exclaimed indignantly.
The next day, efforts to help the participants open up continued: they were asked to come up with an erotic story and read it aloud to the group. Jason, for instance, imagined himself as the lord of a castle leading a woman to his chambers, where they would have “incredible sex.” Ben, meanwhile, wanted to watch a football match with Hollywood actress Angelina Jolie, who would be wearing the jersey of his favorite team, Aston Villa.
Loud applause greeted the candid and highly detailed fantasy shared by 28-year-old driver Zach, involving a red-haired warrior and a maiden “whose bodies became one.” Emma shared a more modest yet touching story. “My ideal fantasy involves a man who enters my life unexpectedly—an honest, caring, and kind man… We are happy together and moving forward as a couple,” the participant explained.
“I managed to have my first orgasm.”
The program’s lead experts were sexologists Celeste Hirschman and Danielle Harel, who developed a sex therapy method called “Somatica.” It combines psychotherapy sessions with practical exercises. “Our deepest wish is to help create a world where intimacy is no longer a source of fear and shame, but a source of joy and strength. Virgin Island is one step toward that goal,” they emphasized.
The show’s exercises often made the participants blush. One exercise, designed by the experts, aimed to help them learn to love themselves. Two guests—a man and a woman—stripped naked and revealed their bodies to the group. “I feel like I’m seeing something I shouldn’t be seeing,” admitted Ben, who, like many others, was flustered by the situation. However, the sexologists countered that if he wanted to have sex with …sex, he needs to be prepared for the sight of a naked body.
Next, each participant had to undress, stand in front of a mirror, and say, “This is my body.” As the young men performed this task—most with great difficulty—the experts offered plenty of encouragement. “I see a sexually attractive man,” Hirschman said, complimenting Dave, a 24-year-old accountant who had mentioned he didn’t own any mirrors at home because he was self-conscious about his body.
A separate anatomy lesson was held for the men, apart from the women: a woman was brought in, undressed, and showed them her genitals. “I believe it’s crucial to both show and tell, because when you look at a real vulva, you realize it’s actually different from the ones you see in textbook illustrations,” Hirschman explained, justifying the approach.
“Did anyone take notes?” Dave asked the other participants after the anatomy session. “No,” several guys replied, and they all laughed. “I was listening intently. I didn’t have time to take notes!” Zach added wryly.
Meanwhile, the women were being taught how to pleasure themselves using sex toys. While most of the participants were already familiar with them, Emma—who had never experienced an orgasm—was unsure. “Is this right for me? Can I get pleasure from this?” she asked the expert, who assured her she could. The participant spoke with the sexologist, then went into her room and locked the door; an hour later, she emerged—beaming.
“I think I managed to have my first orgasm. It’s such a strange sensation because you can’t predict it, and it’s hard to explain. I was even speechless for a moment. It feels like everything is falling into place. That sounds strange. I just feel much calmer. (…) Why haven’t I done this before?” “I’m now looking forward to the next one [orgasm],” Emma shared.
The most explicit scenes unfolded during sessions with “sex surrogates”—a term used in therapy for partners who teach physical and emotional intimacy. They may caress the client, give massages, and even engage in sexual intercourse. Of the 12 participants, only one—Dave—lost his virginity to a sex surrogate. He stated that the experience boosted his self-confidence and that he is now ready to look for a girlfriend for a serious relationship.
“It’s the exact opposite of therapy”
British psychotherapist James Esses slammed the new show, deeming the sex experts’ methods unacceptable. “Channel 4 is airing a program called Virgin Island, in which virgins (…) work with a surrogate partner-therapist. The therapy culminates in the therapist taking their virginity. It is the exact opposite of therapy and, from a safety perspective, an absolute nightmare,” he wrote indignantly on X.
Many users agreed with him. “It seems like most people working in television are a bit unhinged,” “This sounds like the seduction and manipulation of vulnerable people, and the cruel treatment of their feelings,” and “It looks like terrible exploitation; plus, it spreads the myth that you absolutely must have sexual experience by a certain age, and that lacking it makes you inadequate,” were some of the comments made about the show.
“Virgin Island is a completely insane show; I am convinced that these sex experts are perverts, because there is no such profession.” Teaching someone how to have sex, and then having sex with them yourself? — X user Ciara
Some were also unsettled by the age of the sexual surrogates, noting that many were over 40, while most program participants were under 30. “Is anyone watching The Virgin Island on Channel 4? I can’t shake the feeling that this is some kind of pedophilia, with virgins being seduced by older women calling themselves experts,” one user stated.
Some viewers labeled the surrogates’ work as prostitution. “So, someone pays a sex therapist for a sexual experience? That’s prostitution by another name,” “Prostitution, no matter what you call it!” they wrote. “Good therapy doesn’t make for good TV. There’s no drama, no scandals, no emotional blow-ups. But bad therapy? That’s great material for a show,” another commenter mused.
Are surrogate therapists really allowed to engage in sexual relations with vulnerable young clients? It seems highly unethical, especially given that the therapist holds all the power. What if the client falls in love with the therapist and is then ruthlessly dumped? — Reddit user SocieteRoyale
At the same time, the show had its defenders who enjoyed watching it. They noted that many of the young men and women changed for the better during their time on the project. “At first, they were like turtles wanting to hide from the world in their shells. By the time they left the program, they looked really self-confident,” “Our world needs shows like this. (…) The experts radiated…”…so much love and care,” they said, praising the project.
American journalist Allora Dannon, who claims she didn’t have sex until age 32, was also pleased with the show. While she admitted feeling uncomfortable at times due to the provocative exercises, she appreciated the honesty and courage of the young people eager to learn more about sex. “I found myself rooting for all the participants,” she confessed.
“When it comes to sex, I won’t be afraid.”
Addressing viewer backlash, Harel noted that everything in the show took place with the participants’ consent. “As with any practice, people could say whether or not they wanted to participate, to what extent, and whether they wanted to take a step back,” she clarified.
“As the practices deepened, the consent process became more rigorous—for instance, consent was requested three times,” Hirschman added.
Despite the criticism, Virgin Island became a major hit, drawing an average of about 1.4 million viewers per episode. The show continued beyond the first season: a second season aired in 2026, and a third is currently in development.
Harel stated that she understands why the show has so many detractors. “I think people aren’t used to seeing intimate scenes. It makes them uncomfortable,” the sexologist suggested. She believes programs like Virgin Island are necessary because they help destigmatize the topic of sex in society. Furthermore, she pointed out that the project helped many participants overcome their insecurities and finally relax.
The participants also confirmed that the show benefited them. For example, Emma began traveling extensively and now wears short skirts, whereas she used to be self-conscious about her long legs. After filming wrapped, Jason signed up for a dating app. “I’m much more confident now. I can hold a conversation. And when it comes to sex, I won’t be scared anymore. Dating is still a challenge, though—I’m working on it,” he said.
Dave—the only participant to lose his virginity during the show—had a harder time than the others. After having sex, he developed romantic feelings for his surrogate partner, but it was made clear to him that maintaining a relationship with the professionals outside the program was forbidden. “It’s not easy to switch off your feelings, but I think experiencing those emotions and then letting them go is an important lesson,” he admitted.
“I thought losing my virginity would be an intimate moment. I imagined it happening between me and a wonderful woman. But now, it’s between me, a wonderful woman, and all the Channel 4 viewers. It’s strange. It’s very strange. But I don’t think it’s a bad thing.” — Dave, Virgin Island participant