Platform Sports ‘Love Island’ Watch Parties Leave It All on the Field

On the first Saturday in July, I was deep in that delirious “Wait, what day is it?” haze. You know the one — when you prematurely activate three-day weekend mode the Monday before the holiday, and by the time the real day off hits your internal clock is fully fried.

You’re three naps and two “Oh shit, I forgot to [fill in the blank]” jumpscares deep.

But then the real jumpscare hits. You remember you’ve got an article due, and you’re already committed to the topic: a Love Island USA watch party at Platform Sports bar in *gags* South End! The worst part? You don’t have a single bombshell to enter the villa with.

Text to bestie at 9:15 p.m.: “How bad Aerin didn’t wanna enter the chat? I’m JUST getting in my Lyft to head to Platform and the new episode already started *melting emoji* WHEN ARE YOU GONNA BE BACK OUTSIDE AGAIN?!”

If you haven’t been pulled into the orbit of Love Island USA or any of its international iterations, here are the CliffsNotes: It’s a reality dating competition where unrealistically attractive singles are confined to a villa, filmed 24/7 and subjected to a series of emotional obstacle courses. Think: surprise recouplings, “bombshell” arrivals, and Casa Amor, a mid-season temptation trap.

All of this unfolds under the guise of finding true love in six weeks and $100K to split — if you can survive betrayal, public voting and a challenge that involves mouth-to-mouth milk regurgitation. It’s giving … Very raunchy. Very incestuous. Very unsanitary.

While season 7 premiered on June 3, the real surge hit Charlotte when nightly Love Island watch parties took over the TVs at popular nightlife spots like Platform Sports — an 11,000-square-foot venue that streams episodes on all of its wall-sized screens with sound, including a towering 40-foot media wall that practically dares you to scream, “SHE’S NOT A GIRL’S GIRL.”

Add in the fact that Charlotte native Clarke Carraway entered the villa as a midseason bombshell, and yeah — it’s packed every night at Platform (except Wednesdays, the villa’s only day off).

Judge if you want, but let’s be real — the news these days looks just as unhinged but with worse lighting, fewer guardrails and it’s actually reality. Somehow, watching influencers spiral over pancakes and tonguing each other down feels like the more stable choice.

That being said, your fave easily over-stimmied, neurodivergent girlie would’ve much rather stayed home screaming her commentary from the couch while her boo rewinds for the third time because he missed the scene … again.

But there I was, tapping a digital fortune cookie on the iPad slung over the back of the Lyft passenger seat, heading to “LoSo” to watch trash TV with hundreds of strangers. Now, Gen Z, that’s what I call the “ick.“

*Fortune cookie opens* Strive for the best but don’t forget how far you’ve “came.” Encouraging, I guess?

I stood stuck, unsure of where to enter until the familiar voice of Iain Stirling, our fearless narrator and sultry islander, spilled over the rooftop patio; there was no time to waste.

An alleyway looked promising. Then I noticed the actual sign directing me to the elevators and the third floor. I followed the sounds of the commercial break to the hostess stand and stood awkwardly, waiting for direction like a deer in headlights.

With everyone focused on the TVs surrounding the entrance, it felt like open season.

Bump it, I’ll do this uncomfortable shuffle at the bar. Standing room only. Just when I started beating myself up for being late, I overheard a couple ask the hostesses about a table.

A two-hour wait?! I was late at 3 p.m.

I stared at the bar selection like I knew what I wanted while internally bracing for someone to tap my shoulder and say, “We’re at capacity.”

Instead, it was: “Ma’am. Ma’am. Can I check your ID?” Whew. Just the security guard, Tuck.

I fumbled through my bag, already rattled — not quite overwhelmed, more like visually pummeled by the sheer size of the screens — while “taking pics” to look busy.

I overheard another latecomer as he made a play for my section of the bar, “There’s lots of space on the patio still.” Begrudgingly, I stepped away from my safety net. His promise of a potentially cozy nook offered the courage I needed to brave another 100 sets of eyes waiting for me. Well, that and a large glass of Pinot Grigio.

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My nook turned out to be by the stairwell exit. And there was Tuck again, chewing chicken wings and checking IDs between bites without putting them down. Iconic behavior.

Fittingly, the only person who didn’t make me want to implement my exit strategy immediately was Tuck — unbothered, steady and casually offering me a seat on the emotional support cocktail table I was already clinging to … along with his last two wings. Green flags all around

I let my guard down and realized you could hear a pin drop. Dozens of people wildly different in demographics were all united in one shared instinct: to not miss a single shady phrase, flirty glance or cringey exchange at the firepit.

“Is it always this quiet?” I asked. “And are there always this many people?”

“It’s probably the tamest you’ll ever see this spot,” he said. “Once the music turns up…”

Feeling chatty, I asked, “Who’s your favorite couple?”He squinted at the screen, then smirked, “Well, I don’t know much. It’s only my second or third time here. But her [referring to Chelley]? … She don’t know what she want.”

I laughed out loud. Touché, Tuck. Touché.

*Spoiler alert* By the time Amaya was giddy over potential with Bryan, the crowd clapped and awww’d in unison. It was just like an IG story reshared earlier that day, “America is divided, but I’ve never seen such unity. We can all agree Amaya Papaya deserves to win, and I think that’s beautiful.”

If you want to catch a Love Island watch party, you better hurry; Season 7 wraps up on Sunday, July 13. Reservations are highly encouraged.