Hurricane Huda & How I Survived My Own Crash Outs
Love Island’s most chaotic contestant reminded me what it’s like to spiral—and, thankfully, to grow from it.
Welcome, readers, to my Substack, where I plan on treating pop culture like a pipin’ hot cup of green tea: meant to be savoured, dissected, and sometimes spilled. Let’s make sense of the madness swirling in the zeitgeist, shall we?
I pride myself on being a reality TV aficionado. I can watch hours upon hours of it—whether it’s rich, middle-aged women arguing over text messages and cheating husbands while gallivanting around the Upper East Side, horny 20-somethings hooking up on a yacht between charters, or hopeless romantics trying to find The One while only communicating through a wall.
I also watch hours upon hours of Love Island USA. And you, my friend, probably do, too. After all, it is the second most-watched streaming show, with 1 billion minutes viewed between June 6 -12. What a feat!
There are many reasons why this show is such a smash this summer and Hurricane Huda happens to be one of them.
Huda Mustafa came into the Fiji villa 🔥hot🔥—in more ways than one. On day one, the 24-year-old mom (mommy? mamacita!) paired up with Jeremiah Brown and seemed to close off a little too quickly, considering the whole point of the show is to pull different people for chats, flirt, sneak kisses, and see who you vibe with. But nah—Huda latched onto Jeremiah like a desperate bride-to-be at a Kleinfeld sample sale.
We all knew that shit wouldn’t last. Boy, were we right because by Day 10 Huda showed signs of anxious attachment, possessiveness and jealousy. When hot new bombshells entered the villa, she’d start name-calling, crying profusely in confessionals and picking nonsensical fights with Jeremiah over trivial things like pancakes.
This is when we—both viewers and islanders alike—started calling her Hurricane Huda. I remember scrolling through Reddit, seeing posts whining (with some validity, to be honest) like, “Hurricane Huda has got to go!” “Get her off the island and into therapy!” “She sucks the air out of the room—I can’t watch this anymore.”
Was I farting on my couch and upvoting all these comments? Yeah, I was. In the moment, watching her now infamous crash outs live on TV, I was very much a Huda hater.
But here’s the thing: we love a good reality TV villain. Especially when she’s a woman. There’s something deliciously unhinged about watching someone spiral in high-def while the rest of the cast recoils in horror. Think Tiffany “New York” Pollard redefining chaos on Flavor of Love, or RHOSLC’s Jen Shah screaming about how she did not scam the elderly when, in fact, she did, and that’s why she’s currently in prison—it’s messy, it’s emotional, and it’s endlessly watchable.
Such villains bring layers of ambition, insecurity, power, delusion. Huda may have made us cringe, but she also made us care enough to hit replay.
But because I don’t have a black soul, I actually started to feel sorry for her—especially after Jeremiah was voted off and it seemed like no one else in the villa would want to date her, given her unhinged theatrics. It made me think about how I behaved at 24 (I’m 37 now, by the way). I, too, struggled with insecurity and felt jealous when a guy I liked paid more attention to someone way prettier than me.
When I was 22—a little younger than Huda is now—I was dating a musician and lost my mind when I found out he had …performed a duet of a different kind… with his keyboard player. I hated her, and she absolutely knew it. Looking back, she didn’t deserve the cold glares or the venom I spat in whispers and shouts. But I couldn’t help myself. I acted just like Huda does when a new girl walks into the villa—territorial, irrational, and deeply insecure.
The thing is, that guy has a habit of shitting where he eats. I should’ve known better, but I kept my rose-colored glasses on long after they’d started to crack. And when it all came crashing down, I crashed harder than I ever thought possible—losing myself in jealousy, rage, and endless what-ifs.
If you think that was my last big crash out, then you’re sadly mistaken. 🙈
The most recent time my inner Hurricane Huda came out was two and a half years ago. I’d just separated from my partner of 10 years. I chose to stay single for a year—while he partnered up quicker than a raccoon finds a trash can on a hot summer night. While I was waiting to be bought out of the house we owned together, I realized I had a major problem with Her sleeping in My Bed.
One night at 1 am after four gin martinis too many, I stormed to his house/my house (technically!), rang the doorbell, and shouted, “She can’t be here! You’re sleeping with her?! In MY BED?! I think the fuck not! Get her out of here! This is MY HOUSE!” Honestly, I don’t remember what happened after that because I just blacked out. All I know is that the next morning, I was overcome with embarrassment, regret, and remorse.
I stopped drinking alcohol after that, I’ll have you know.
I’m sharing all this because watching Huda crash out on national television reminded me of my own crash outs and how much personal growth I’ve clawed my way through since then, even when it didn’t feel like growth at all.
Yeah, I may not have had crash outs in front of, say, 250 million people around the world like Huda, but that doesn’t make the emotional whiplash any less real or the lessons any less hard-earned.
Sure, it’s fun to sit on the couch with a bowl of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream and watch someone behave like a banshee on reality TV. It’s also fun to meme it, recap it, and post snarky Reddit comments. But here’s the thing: we sometimes forget there’s a real person behind the meltdown.
Huda’s possessive, loud, and out of pocket—but I’ve been all those things too. The only difference? No wireless mic. No camera crew.
When the villa's closed for the season, I hope that Huda watches it all back—not with shame, but with clarity. That she cringes a little, laughs a little, and grows a lot. Because I’ve been there. I’ve watched the reruns of my own chaos, and I know what it’s like to want to want to fast forward through the worst parts of yourself.
Growth isn’t glamorous. It doesn’t come with a villa, a firepit, or a $100,000 prize. But it’s still the biggest win you can walk away with.
Huda, girl, trust me.