Skating on Thin Ice: Reevaluating the Intrigue of “Heated Rivalry.”
If you’re anything like me, then you spent part of your spring break compulsively rewatching “Heated Rivalry.” It’s alright, there’s no shame in admitting it. I mean, really—what’s not to like?
The 2025 show follows two star hockey players, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rosanov, as they compete against each other on and off the ice. From the outside looking in, the two strapping athletes appear to despise each other. Behind the scenes, however, Shane and Ilya strike up an illicit affair. The show time-jumps from secret hookup to secret hookup, depicting Shane and Ilya’s sex lives in graphic, nigh voyeuristic detail. There’s no stone—or bare butt cheek—left unturned.
All these gay sex scenes were a very intentional part of the show’s design. In an interview with Entertainment Weekly, showrunner Jacob Tierney admits that the cast and crew were all “very aware [they were] making a horny show.” In fact, Tierney relishes it. “Let it be horny,” he remarks. “Enjoy! That’s part of the fun of this, right? […] Sex is not supposed to be trauma here, and that was something I really wanted to avoid. I want it to be beautiful.”
And beautiful it is. Fans and critics around the world reveled in the opportunity to watch two objectively gorgeous men make sweet, heated love. Journalist Amanda Hess of The New York Times goes so far as to suggest that “Heated Rivalry” marks the beginning of “a smut renaissance.” “At a time when real-world sex seems to be on the decline,” she writes, “erotic material can assume a totemic importance.”
Despite this heavy emphasis on sex, some critics argue that “Heated Rivalry” is more than just “a horny show.” Penny Abeywardena of Forbes says that the show “reframes masculinity” by demonstrating “tenderness inside a hyper-masculine world.” Wesley Morris of The New York Times calls it “a work of utter ardor” about two men who refuse to “use tragedy as their primary romantic enterprise.” Chala Hunter, the show’s intimacy coordinator (a very busy woman, I’d imagine), argues that the sex scenes between Shane and Ilya depict “a level of passion, intensity, joy, connection, and chemistry” rarely seen on television, especially between two men. “It feels important, and it feels exciting because it’s about representation,” Hunter claims. “The story is ultimately about celebrating [representation] through these characters.” To this, I ask: Did we watch the same show?
Now, “Heated Rivalry” certainly depicts new levels of passion and intensity—no one could dispute that. But to argue that “Heated Rivalry”’s many sex scenes are about representation feels disingenuous to me. As journalist Jack King of GQ magazine writes, the sex scenes in “Heated Rivalry” “adopt a curiously heterosexual logic.” Shane and Ilya are ready to do the dirty anywhere, anytime, without a shred of preparation. They launch into their love affair without using contraceptives (or PrEP), which is a particularly risky choice for two men who know nothing about the other’s sexual history. And for being with a man for the very first time, Shane experiences little to no pain during the couple’s first sexual encounters. It’s sexy, sure—but it isn’t realistic, and that means it shouldn’t be called “representation.”
I don’t mean to suggest that shows like “Heated Rivalry” need to depict all the mundane and perhaps unsexy aspects of being in a gay male relationship. Romance TV, films, and novels exist to create an idealistic fantasy, and that requires suspension of disbelief. By that same token, though, we don’t need to pretend that all pieces of media with queer storylines are breaking down barriers or revealing the “truth” of queer life. If the claims that “Heated Rivalry” is going to singlehandedly change how gay men are treated in the world of sports seem hyperbolic, that would be because they are. We turn too quickly to words like “groundbreaking,” “pioneering,” and “revolutionary” when we discuss queer media. Television shows that depict heteronormative relationships don’t always need to reinvent the wheel or reshape the world. Why, then, do we expect this from queer media?
Like everyone else, queer people deserve media that is cliché, overwrought, and just plain sexy. “Heated Rivalry” is a silly, smutty, unrealistic show, and you know what? That’s okay! We don’t need every piece of queer art or media to address every failure of representation. Sometimes, it’s enough just to watch hockey players joyfully fiddle with their sticks—both on and off the ice.