A Postcard From... The Love Island Villa!
Some of the wildest (and sweatiest) 48 hours of my life
When your mom says she wants to hear more about your summer trip, you get your butt back in gear and write another post (probably overdue since I’ve been slacking over here…). That being said, a bit of context before I dive in.
I don’t watch much TV, and when I do, it is NOT reality shows. I know there’s a huge fanbase for The Bachelor and The Real Housewives of wherever, but it’s just not for me. That being said, Ami got me hooked on Love Island (only the UK version) the first summer we lived together, and we’ve been avid fans ever since. So much so that Ami had a Love Island-themed birthday, and we have a neon “Casa Amor” sign hanging in our house… so yeah, big fans.
If you haven’t already guessed, we made our way to the Love Island villa as guests for the live final of the summer 2024 season. How we got there was an adventure in itself.
For those not as well-versed in the show, there’s a winter season that airs from January to February and a summer season that runs from June to July. While watching the winter season final from our home in San Diego last February—both still employed, with not a single summer travel plan in sight—we started wondering: how does someone actually get into the villa for the final episode?
Cue a deep internet dive, which led us to an application to apply for… an application? Yeah, confusing. But we filled it out anyway, guessed the final episode date, and said we’d be in Mallorca for two weeks around that time and would love to attend. Were we actually going to be in Mallorca then? No. Would we figure it out if the opportunity arose? Absolutely.
Jump to mid-May. I’m just a couple of weeks shy of leaving for the Camino, planning to meet up with Ami afterward, and still no word about the Love Island final. But just in case, we booked a random hotel room in Mallorca that was cancelable up to 24 hours in advance for a few nights at the end of July. Love Island doesn’t announce the final episode date until a week beforehand, so we were completely shooting in the dark.
I hiked the Camino, headed to Ireland, and while I was there, I got an email about how to actually apply for the Love Island final. I immediately called Ami, and we found ourselves frantically WhatsApping a random phone number with our contact details and photos (apparently required), hoping we might score a couple of tickets. At this point, the final was only a few weeks away, but there was still no official date. We also realized we hadn’t watched any of the season since it had been airing while I was hiking, and Ami hadn’t kept up either.
We took off for Norway, watching as much Love Island as possible on the plane at double speed, trying to catch up. During an afternoon in Oslo, I got a text that read:
"Hi Lauren. Congratulations! You have successfully secured 2 tickets for the Love Island Final Show on Monday, 29th July."
Ami and I screamed louder than I thought humanly possible—part excitement, part shock. The good news? We had actually booked our hotel room for the correct dates. The bad news? We hadn’t thought ahead, had absolutely nothing to wear, and now had to figure out how to rearrange our Portugal trip to squeeze in a spontaneous 48-hour detour to Mallorca. But we figured—we can always go back to Lisbon, but we may never be invited to the Love Island villa again.
After the chaos of our lost luggage in Portugal, we finally made it to Lisbon Airport and were off to Mallorca.
We stayed at an all-inclusive hotel in Magaluf, which is essentially if Las Vegas and Atlantic City had a baby—but it’s filled with drunk 18-year-olds. I’ll let your imagination run with that. Yes, it was as awful as it sounds. However, since this was where we had to board the bus for the villa, we opted to stay put, not leaving the hotel unless necessary.
Since we hadn’t brought any hair tools for the summer, we figured it would be a good idea to get our hair done that morning so we’d look nice for the event. The islanders always look flawless, so we were wanting to look our best. We booked a salon in advance with good reviews and took turns getting our hair done. Ami went first, and I honestly don’t have words to describe what happened. I watched as tight curls were wrapped around rollers, teased, doused in volumizing spray, and transformed into what can only be described as some sort of 80s perm gone horribly wrong. It was all I could do not to burst out laughing.
I actually cannot think about her hair without laughing out loud at how truly awful it was. It got to the point where I couldn’t even make eye contact with her because I would have lost it completely. The worst part? Because we had to pretend her hair looked great, we didn’t even take a photo—but that horrifyingly voluminous mess is forever burned into my memory.
When it was my turn, the stylist asked if I wanted the same thing, and I somehow had to respond with a straight face that we didn’t want to match too much—so maybe something with a bit less volume.
Luckily for Ami, the humidity had her curls falling by the afternoon. In hindsight, it was probably a complete waste of money—but it was also one of the funniest moments of my life, so I’d say it was money well spent.
Once we were ready—dressed in the €12 dresses we’d panic-bought at a questionable shopping mall in England during our 24-hour layover between Norway and Portugal—we headed to a local bar to meet the other guests attending the show. From there, we were boarded onto large charter buses, driven about an hour away, and had our phones confiscated before being transferred into panel vans that took us to the actual villa. I realize that sounds way more sketchy than it was, but because it’s a live show and for security reasons, they couldn’t risk anyone being on their phones—which is also why this post is seriously lacking in photos.
When we arrived, they spread us out around the villa in different areas. As much as we hoped for seats, we ended up standing for the next few hours. It was brutally hot and humid—everyone was sweating like crazy—but we were so thrilled to be there that we didn’t care. It was surreal to be standing in the villa after joking about going just six months earlier. At one point, all the ex-islanders who had been voted off earlier in the season walked in, and we got to say a quick hello as they passed by—which was wild. We’re not the type to get starstruck, but apparently, tonight was an exception.
Seeing the behind-the-scenes of how everything worked was so cool. We got to see the hidden screens and teleprompters and were told exactly when to cheer, which felt bizarre. Also, the villa itself is way smaller than it looks on TV—those fisheye lenses really do their job. As fun as being on the show seems, I actually cannot imagine being stuck in that tiny space for up to eight weeks.
The live show went on, we got to see the winners crowned, and then began the multi-hour journey back to Magaluf. By the time we made it back at three in the morning, the excitement and adrenaline had completely worn off, and we were exhausted. As much as we would’ve loved to join the drunk 18-year-olds at the 24-hour strip club… we headed straight to bed.
Magaluf—both day and night—was not exactly somewhere we wanted to hang out, but luckily, our hotel was nice enough to let us lounge by the pool all day before our flight that evening. The hotel had events happening at the pool nonstop, so we had the option to participate in things like water aerobics, water basketball, bingo, and more. It was highly entertaining and a perfect way to relax after such a chaotic adventure.
Going to the Love Island villa was easily one of the biggest highlights of the summer. The fact that it was such a spontaneous, far-fetched plan—one we genuinely didn’t think would happen—makes it even crazier that it actually did. It still doesn’t feel real.
This Mom loves this Love Island story and especially the $12 dresses!!