Date My Brand: MAFS
The Ultimate Brand Love Story
Loathe it. Love it. Love-love it. Married at First Sight has done what most brands only dream of—made us commit. And as another season wraps, leaving us with that empty "they've broken up with me" feeling, there's a spicy lesson in brand loyalty hiding beneath all those wine-throwing dinner parties.
Let's wind it back to where it all began
I first swiped right on MAFS in the US, but fell hard for the Aussie version. As an expat in the States, discovering these unfiltered countrymen felt like spotting a Tim Tam in a Midwest supermarket. That first date-episode delivered exactly what was promised: messy relationship chaos with zero Hollywood polish. It was instant chemistry.
The commitment phase came fast: I cleared my diary, upgraded my streaming package, and invested emotionally in strangers who were investing emotionally in other strangers.
Cut to Season 12. That's the recent season with Crazy-Eyes-Jac-Jac-Jacqui, Boganic-Lauren, Punchy-Paul, Subtitles-On-Adrian, Moreeeeena!, and so many more of my new besties. I found myself following them on socials, signing up for MAFS newsletters, sharing MAFS memes, paying for custom Cameos. I shared their antics with friends. I wasn't just watching—I was part of the drama.
Australia's Most Committed Relationship
According to Channel Nine, more than 15 million Aussies tuned in this season—2.5 million per episode, plus another million streaming on 9Now. B&T dubbed it a “ratings juggernaut,” and honestly, same. MAFS isn’t just the biggest show in the country—it’s a national obsession. It’s launched influencers, broken NDAs, and spawned more podcasts, panel shows, live events and Cameos than a Love Island villa. People even host full-blown Dinner Party-dinner parties in their living rooms. (Ours? Iconic.)
The truth is that the objective was never about matching people perfectly—that's just the pick-up line MAFS used to get us interested. The real relationship is between the show and its viewers. And like any smart partner who knows what you want before you do, MAFS delivers exactly the right balance of trash and treasure to keep us coming back.
But like any brand and relationship, there’s been some welcome evolution. These days The Experts have been relegated to mere hosts, quality relationship guidance replaced with reaction shots. Do we miss John Aiken's couple-therapy interventions? Like we miss dial-up internet. Do I need more backstory? Not as much as I need more cray-cray siblings serving up the insults at family lunch. We're here for the chaos now, baby.
The MAFS Thruple: Show, Viewers and Brands
Meanwhile, the brand hookups are getting steamier each season. KFC is in a long-term relationship with MAFS, now in its 9th year of product placement matrimony. Cocobella, HBF, Snaffle, Snooze—all sliding into the show's DMs with custom-made creative and varying degrees of success.
Most fans can smell these integrations a mile away—the wives who supposedly go to the gym daily but somehow always end up gossiping over buckets of fried chicken. Yet we accept this too, the same way Awhina ignored Adrian's obvious (as opposed to clearly articulated) disinterest in becoming a step-dad. Love means overlooking flaws.
And unlike the couples’ confessionals, the metrics don't lie. Channel Nine reported a 70% increase in awareness for partnered brands and 7% brand lift. They tell the story of Australia's strongest brand love affair.
Why Commitment isn’t Dead
But here's what the MAFS brand really gets—and why it gets me: consistency is sexy. While the show delivers fresh drama each season, the format—the essence of what we fell for—remains reliable. It’s just like a long-term relationship: you want the surprise weekend getaways, but don’t even think about changing sides of the bed.
So as another season ends and I'm left with the emptiness of regular programming, I realise I'm not just missing the contestants or the drama. I'm missing the relationship. The pattern. The ritual. Our MAFS Bitchy chat WhatsApp group text tirades. The comfortable expectation of knowing exactly what I'm getting, even when I pretend to be shocked by it.
Until next season—when like any good toxic relationship, I'll convince myself "this time will be different" while secretly hoping for exactly the same.