When Netflix’s Love Is Blind first premiered, viewers were captivated by the premise of someone falling in love without seeing their partner’s face, proposing through a wall, and then walking down the aisle with someone they’d never met. But behind the binge-worthy drama, the show now sits at the center of a growing labor reckoning that could transform the reality television industry.
Stephen Richardson, a contestant on Season 7 of Love Is Blind, filed a proposed class action lawsuit in Los Angeles County Superior Court this September against Netflix and the production companies Kinetic Content and Delirium TV. Richardson alleges that Defendants failed to pay overtime and minimum wages, denied meal breaks, and provided no itemized wage statements. According to the complaint, cast members regularly worked 20-hour shifts while producers exercised “substantial control over every aspect of the Cast’s lives during production” from controlling communications to limiting food access and even confiscating wallets, phones, and IDs.
At the heart of Richardson’s case is a legal question that’s been quietly shaping Hollywood’s most profitable genre for years: are reality show contestants employees or independent contractors? The lawsuit argues that contestants should have been classified as employees, since the production companies exercised extensive control over how, when, and where they worked. Under federal and state labor laws, such control often tips the scale toward employee status, bringing with it additional protections like minimum wage, overtime pay, and the right to unionize.
That argument gained traction in 2024, when a regional office of the National Labor Relations Board (NLRB) filed a complaint against Kinetic and Delirium, alleging the companies “willfully misclassified” contestants as non-employees to prevent them from organizing under the National Labor Relations Act (NLRA). The NLRB complaint noted that producers required the cast to sign “Participant Release and Agreement” contracts as a condition of being on the show and argued that these agreements chilled protected concerted activity and stripped participants of protections they would have as employees. If it is found that the cast members are employees, the decision could open the door for unionization across reality television.
Reality television’s labor problems are not new. They are baked into the genre’s modern rise. During the Writers Guild of America strike in 2007 and 2008, networks leaned heavily on unscripted programming to keep schedules full. Additionally, reality shows expanded dramatically because they required fewer unionized personnel and cost less to produce. That economic advantage helped establish a longstanding model to keep costs low, rely on non-union labor, and classify participants in ways that avoid traditional worker protections.
Today, that structure still defines much of the industry. Reality TV producers, story editors, and crew members often work long days for flat weekly rates with no overtime. One development executive observed in industry conversations that many reality producers operate on non-union, low-cost models and that “studios and networks” have historically preferred keeping productions non-union to control budgets. A producer may even work 90–100 hours for a flat weekly pay, leaving his effective hourly rate shockingly low, which illustrates the pressures behind those choices.
For contestants, the imbalance can be even more stark. Many sign contracts that strip away basic workplace protections and speech rights, while being asked to live under production rules that mirror employment control: set schedules, directed meals, restricted movement, and ongoing production oversight. Some higherups sometimes defend the classification by arguing that contestants are “living an experience,” not performing a job, but that line blurs when the production dictates nearly every aspect of a participant’s day.
Unionizing unscripted television faces practical obstacles. Unions like SAG-AFTRA, the WGA, and the DGA were built around scripted production workflows, set days, and clearly defined job categories. Reality shows vary widely—studio competitions, long-haul survival formats, docuseries, and recurring-ensemble shows all operate differently—so a one-size-fits-all union model is complicated to implement. Some showrunners worry that imposing existing union rules could hamstring the spontaneity and logistical flexibility producers rely on to tell “real” stories.
Still, many industry insiders favor clearer protections. Producers, crew, and casting staff have argued for minimum standards, meal breaks, rest periods, transparent pay practices, and safety protocols, that could be negotiated either through expanded union coverage or new bargaining arrangements tailored to unscripted production realities. For cast members, legal recognition as employees would not only mean pay and overtime but also the ability to organize, bargain collectively, and access remedies for coercive contractual terms.
The Love Is Blind litigation and the NLRB’s complaint mark a turning point for a business that has long depended on blurred lines between “participant” and “worker.” If courts or the NLRB begin to enforce employee classification more strictly, producers will face a choice to either adapt by paying fairer wages and complying with labor protections and restructure formats and budgets in ways that may reduce opportunities or move production elsewhere. Either way, as lawsuits accumulate and public scrutiny grows, the industry’s longstanding tradeoff, cheap production at the cost of worker protections, looks increasingly unsustainable. Reality television built its empire on the idea that its participants were “real people,” not professionals. But as the lawsuits mount and working conditions come to light, it’s harder to ignore that these so-called participants are doing real work. If the law begins to recognize that reality stars are, in practical terms, workers, the genre that once thrived by sidestepping union rules may become the next frontier for labor reform in Hollywood.