It was 2014. Fox was riding high on the weirdness of reality TV, and someone in a boardroom decided that gaslighting twelve American women was a solid business plan. They called it I Want to Marry Harry.
The premise was simple. Cruel, but simple. Take a group of single women to an English estate, surround them with royal-adjacent pomp, and convince them they were competing for the heart of Prince Harry. Except, it wasn't Prince Harry. It was Matt Hicks, a regular guy from Hertfordshire who happened to have red hair and a decent enough jawline to pass as royalty if you squinted hard enough—or if you were legally barred from using Google for six weeks.
Looking back, it’s honestly hard to believe this actually aired. It feels like a hallucination. In an era where we’re hyper-aware of "fake news" and ethical production standards, the sheer audacity of a major network dedicated to a massive, weeks-long lie is staggering. It wasn't just a dating show; it was a psychological experiment in how far people will go to believe a fantasy.
Why the World Obsessed Over I Want to Marry Harry (and Why It Failed)
Social media wasn't exactly what it is today, but the buzz was deafening. People were outraged. They were fascinated. They were mostly just confused how anyone could fall for it. Matt Hicks wasn't a professional actor. He was an environmental consultant who got a spray tan and some posh etiquette lessons.
The producers did the heavy lifting. They used a "security" detail that looked more intense than a G7 summit. There were helicopters. There were elaborate dinners. There were endless hints dropped by host Kingsley, who acted as the "royal liaison." The show banked on the "halo effect." If everyone acts like this man is a prince, the brain starts to ignore the fact that he doesn't actually look like the guy on the cover of People magazine.
Ratings were abysmal. Like, historically bad. Fox ended up pulling it from the air after only four episodes, dumping the rest onto their website. It turns out that while people love a good prank, watching a group of women get systematically lied to for entertainment felt a bit too "cringe" even for the mid-2010s.
💡 You might also like: Greatest Rock and Roll Singers of All Time: Why the Legends Still Own the Mic
The Man Who Wasn't Prince Harry
Matt Hicks is the unsung hero—or villain, depending on how you look at it—of this whole mess. He had to maintain a lie 24/7. He had to learn Harry's history, his interests, and his mannerisms. But there was a catch. He couldn't say he was Harry. If he explicitly lied, the legal ramifications would have been a nightmare. Instead, he just never corrected anyone.
He’d say things like, "My brother is getting married," or talk about his "grandmother." He was a master of the half-truth. He told the press later that he felt a massive amount of pressure. Imagine trying to fall in love while worrying you might accidentally mention your actual life as a consultant in England.
The Fallout for the Contestants
What about the women? Kimberly Birch, the eventual "winner," had to deal with the aftermath of being the girl who "fell for it." But if you actually watch the show, it's more nuanced than that. The women weren't stupid. Many of them had doubts from day one.
The environment was controlled. No phones. No internet. No contact with the outside world. When you’re in a bubble where every authority figure tells you the sky is green, you start to doubt your own eyes. It’s a classic case of sensory deprivation and suggestion. Kimberly eventually wrote about her experience, clarifying that the producers were incredibly manipulative.
The Ethical Nightmare of 2010s Reality TV
We have to talk about the ethics. I Want to Marry Harry sits in the hall of fame of "Shows That Could Never Be Made Today." It shares a zip code with Joe Millionaire, where women thought they were dating a billionaire, but it felt even more personal because it used a real public figure's identity as the bait.
📖 Related: Ted Nugent State of Shock: Why This 1979 Album Divides Fans Today
Reality TV has always been about "the edit." We know that now. But this was different. This was a structural lie. It wasn't just editing a conversation to make someone look like a villain; it was building an entire physical world based on a falsehood.
- The show relied on the "Prince Harry" brand without his permission.
- It exploited the contestants' genuine desire for a relationship.
- It created a power dynamic where the "lead" held a secret that invalidated every interaction.
The psychological toll on the contestants was real. They weren't just losing a game show; they were being mocked by a global audience for being "gullible." That's a heavy price to pay for a few weeks in a manor house.
Where Are They Now?
Matt Hicks went back to a relatively normal life. He didn't become a Hollywood star. He didn't lean into the "Prince Harry" lookalike circuit forever. He mostly just became a trivia question.
Kimberly Birch moved on too. She’s done some acting and stayed out of the toxic reality TV cycle for the most part. The show is now a relic, a weird time capsule of a period when networks were desperate to find the "next big thing" and didn't care who they stepped on to get there.
Interestingly, the real Prince Harry eventually married an American woman, Meghan Markle. The irony isn't lost on anyone. While Fox was trying to manufacture a royal romance with a lookalike, the actual Prince was eventually going to find his own American "contestant" in a much more traditional (and less deceptive) way.
👉 See also: Mike Judge Presents: Tales from the Tour Bus Explained (Simply)
How to Watch It Today
If you're looking to punish yourself or just witness the madness, it's hard to find. It’s not on the major streaming giants. You usually have to dig through sketchy YouTube uploads or find old physical copies. It’s almost as if the industry wants to forget it ever happened.
Lessons from the "Harry" Experiment
There's a lesson here about the "suspension of disbelief." We want to believe in fairy tales so badly that we’ll overlook red flags. The women on that show saw a man who didn't quite look like Harry, didn't quite act like Harry, but he had the stuff of Harry.
- Trust your gut. If someone says they’re a prince but they’re on a Fox reality show, they aren’t a prince.
- Context is everything. The producers used the setting—the servants, the estate, the clothes—to create a reality that didn't exist.
- The "Winner" usually loses. In shows built on lies, the prize is usually just a bit of temporary fame and a lot of explaining to do at Thanksgiving.
The legacy of I Want to Marry Harry is one of caution. It's a reminder that "Reality" in TV is a loose term. It’s a genre built on the bones of truth but dressed up in the costume of a prince.
If you're ever approached by a redheaded man in a tuxedo who claims he can't tell you his last name because of "the crown," just keep walking. Or at least check if there are cameras in the bushes.
Actionable Insights for Reality TV Fans
- Research Production Companies: If you're ever tempted to join a reality show, look at the track record of the producers. Shows like Unreal (though fictional) give a very accurate look at the manipulation involved in productions like I Want to Marry Harry.
- Media Literacy: Use this show as a case study in how "social proof" works. When everyone around you acts like a lie is true, it becomes very difficult to hold onto your own reality.
- Digital Footprints: Remember that anything you do on a show like this lives forever. The women from 2014 are still answering questions about Matt Hicks in 2026. Always consider the "ten-year rule" before signing a talent contract.
To understand the full scope of this TV disaster, look into the 2003 show Joe Millionaire. It was the spiritual predecessor and explains the "deception" trend that led Fox to greenlight the Harry experiment a decade later. Comparing the two shows reveals how the industry's approach to "The Big Lie" evolved and eventually became unsustainable.