A screengrab from Episode 1 of Eternal Love as the female contestants raise a toast.

Iran International

Strict cultural restrictions by the Islamic Republic have helped pave the way for the runaway success of Eternal Love, a bawdy Persian-language dating show filmed in Turkey and streamed online into Iranian homes.

The YouTube-based reality series, launched in April 2025, shows young Iranian singles in a luxury villa competing for love and money—formats banned by Iran's theocracy but now flourishing beyond its reach.

“This program is an insult to Iranians, an insult to women,” said conservative Iranian film critic Massoud Farasati. “This show is so vile that one feels ashamed just watching it.”

Filmed in Bodrum, Eternal Love features flirtation, alcohol, designer fashion and physical intimacy—routinely censored in Iranian media.

While host Parastoo Salehi mentioned a company named Yapım during an Instagram Live, the word is a generic term in Turkish meaning production. The specific production company behind the show has not been publicly disclosed.

Given that the show is filmed in Turkey and features Iranian participants, it is likely produced by a Turkish-based firm specializing in reality television formats.

Cultural red lines push audiences, creators abroad

The Islamic Republic has long banned or restricted dating shows, romantic drama, and portrayals of relationships outside marriage.

The state regulators' red lines mean much of contemporary life especially for younger people is absent from official screens.

Two recent examples highlight the scope of the restrictions.

The series Tasian was suspended over brief scenes of dance and alcohol consumption. A film adaptation of Savushun—Simin Daneshvar’s acclaimed novel—was also taken off a domestic streaming platform on Thursday after its first episode featured women dancing, touching men, and sharing drinks at a gathering.

Some viewers said the excessive control explains the reality show's success.

“When domestic shows are banned over a few seconds of dancing, people turn to Eternal Love, where at least they can watch without censorship,” one user wrote on X.

The online newspaper Faraz drew a direct link between the two events. In a report titled From Savushun’s Ban to Eternal Love’s Rise: Censorship in the Age of Choice, the paper wrote: “The sudden halt of Savushun, coinciding with the undeniable surge of Eternal Love on YouTube, is a fitting moment to re-examine how the official system deals with social, emotional and cultural narratives.”

“Today’s audience no longer waits for the approval of regulatory bodies; they make their own choices and follow content on platforms that speak the language and rhythm of real life."

“In such a context, censorship and bans no longer act as deterrents—they become triggers for attention and, in some cases, forms of indirect advertisement.”

Yet some analysts voiced concern. “Eternal Love targets the weaknesses of Iranian culture and has presented itself on social media by riding a wave of illusion,” sociologist Alireza Sharifi Yazdi said in an interview with the Hamshahri newspaper.

“Such cultural engineering leads to the weakening of deep and healthy relationships among young people.”

Other viewers were less harsh. “Maybe it’s shallow,” one Instagram user commented, “but at least it shows something that exists in society—something no one dares to talk about.”

State silence meets public curiosity

Though Iran’s state media have remained silent on Eternal Love, its reach has grown rapidly. Within weeks of launch, the show topped Persian-language viewership charts on YouTube.

Host Parastoo Salehi (above), once a fixture of state television, dismissed the silence during a livestream: “When you attack something, people want to see it even more.”

She emphasized that she had no hand in developing the show’s format or selecting contestants.

“I just show up and talk,” Salehi said. “I'm not a psychologist. I'm just gabbing.”

Yet criticism persists. Actress Shohreh Soltani described the show’s name as an affront to classical notions of love. “Calling this ‘eternal love’ is a disgrace to the concept,” she said, referencing Iranian literary archetypes like Layla and Majnun.

Farhikhtegan, a conservative daily, called the show “filthy lust marketed as freedom.”

Gozare 24, in a separate editorial, argued: “It’s a mix of superficiality, vulgarity, and a distorted view of love and commitment. Yet its massive viewership, despite sharp criticism, shows how sensational and contrived content still captures attention.”

Revenue rises despite VPN access

Eternal Love has released 27 episodes on YouTube as of June 3, 2025. The first episode alone reached approximately 7 million views, while subsequent installments have each attracted between 3 and 4.5 million views.

YouTube compensates creators based on Cost Per Mille (CPM), with rates ranging from $2 to $12 per 1,000 views.

But because much of Eternal Love’s audience accesses the platform via VPNs from Iran—where ad targeting is limited and advertiser confidence is low—the effective CPM is likely near the lower end of the scale. After YouTube’s 45% share, creators typically retain 55% of revenue.

Conservative estimates would put their total YouTube revenue for the show from around $210,000 to $520,000, far below unsubstantiated guesses online of over $1 million in profits.

Mirror for a suppressed generation

As Iran’s cultural bureaucracy tightens its grip on domestic production, Eternal Love offers something different—not depth, say critics, but visibility.

For a younger generation raised under pervasive censorship, the show appears to reflect a version of lived experience, however stylized or exaggerated.

“There is a hunger for real representation,” wrote one user on X. “And if it cannot be created inside Iran, it will be created outside.”

Whether Eternal Love represents social reality or market-driven spectacle, its rise signals a shift.

In trying to silence depictions of romance and lifestyle, the Islamic Republic has not eliminated them—it has simply handed the narrative to others, filming abroad, funded by unknown parties' sponsors and streamed into Iranian homes via VPNs.