The ice hockey romance genre, once a niche enclave of fan fiction and self-published novels, has become a dominant force in television programming. British production companies are capitalising on a phenomenon that industry analysts call the ‘men written by women’ trend, where male protagonists are constructed through a distinctly female lens of emotional vulnerability, stoic tenderness, and physical dominance.
This trend, which originated in the United States with shows like ‘The Gilded Age’ and ‘Bridgerton’ before pivoting to colder climates, has found its most lucrative expression in the world of professional ice hockey. Series such as ‘Pucks and Prosecco’ and ‘The Fifth Line’ have achieved record ratings on both sides of the Atlantic, with UK broadcasters rushing to commission similar properties.
At the heart of the appeal is a formula that balances the brutality of the sport with the intimacy of domestic life. The male leads are typically characterised by their taciturn nature, their physical courage, and a latent tenderness that emerges only in the presence of the female protagonist. Producers have described this as ‘emotional realism’ for a demographic that feels underserved by traditional masculine archetypes.
British production companies, including Banner Television and Three Rivers Productions, have been particularly adept at adapting this formula for a UK audience. Their shows often replace the American suburban backdrop with gritty northern towns or heritage cities like Glasgow and Sheffield. The result is a hybrid genre that retains the tension of the romantic arc while grounding it in the social realities of local ice hockey culture.
Critics have raised questions about the genre’s homogeneity. The protagonists, despite their sporting prowess, adhere to a narrow romantic template: they are almost exclusively white, cisgender, and heterosexual. Working-class backgrounds are common but rarely explored with depth. Moreover, the narratives often sideline the actual dynamics of professional hockey in favour of a fantasy of masculine emotional revelation.
Nevertheless, the commissioning executives argue that the genre meets a genuine demand. Focus groups have consistently highlighted the desire for stories that centre on emotionally competent men. This is not, they insist, a rejection of traditional masculinity but a recalibration of it for a generation raised on the principle that men can be both strong and soft.
From an institutional perspective, the ice hockey romance boom reflects a broader shift in the cultural economy. Soft power now flows through streaming platforms, and the ‘men written by women’ trend is a clear example of British producers identifying a gap in the global market. The next step, industry insiders say, is to export British ice hockey romance to markets as far as Scandinavia and Japan.
For now, the numbers speak for themselves. The genre is not a fad but a structural feature of the television landscape. Whether it can evolve beyond its formulaic constraints remains to be seen. But for British producers, the immediate future looks both profitable and predictable.
