LUXURY LUNACY
VanityVacations
Vanishing Points: The Great Flattening of Über Luxury Hospitality Dreams
ChlorinatedChic
Luxury So Curated, It’s Lost Its Soul
Thought-provoking words by Frank M. Pfaller
It is, perhaps, only human to fall in love with illusions. The illusion that a place seen through a wideangle lens can be touched. That a destination bathed in cinematic light can be lived. And so we pack our bags with far more enthusiasm than curiosity and allow ourselves to be shepherded—courtesy of whatever show or streaming spectacle has dictated our next longing.
When Salvatores brought Mediterraneo (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mediterraneo) to the Oscars, a small Greek island became shorthand for spiritual awakening. What he offered was not merely turquoise seas but a poetic escape from modern life. Today? We crave something far less nuanced: the same pool, the same pareo, the same disingenuous butler welcome, ideally within three clicks of a global booking engine.
The latest season of White Lotus has reprogrammed our collective compass toward Thailand. Never mind that this recalibration is driven not by cultural depth but by a murder-masked comedy of privilege. The fallout? A surge in bookings, rerouted airline schedules, and a Four Seasons bursting at its seams. It’s remarkable—how quickly humans respond to a murder-mystery-slash-poolside-farce with open wallets.
But one must ask: how can you yearn for something that looks exactly like everything else? Whether it’s Koh Samui, Crete, or Costa Smeralda, the dream now has an off-the-shelf aesthetic. Smooth concrete. White linen. Oversized tubs carved from stone. The universal “meditation room” (always empty). A reception that resembles an airport terminal designed by a feng shui consultant with a Pinterest addiction.
This aesthetic monoculture did not arise overnight. It began, paradoxically, in a place of vision— Soneva Fushi, 1995. A brilliant act of rebellion against commercial tourism. Here, our dear friends and esteemed HoteliersGuild ambassadors Sonu and Eva Shivdasani carved something noble into the sand: no shoes, no news, no plastic. A place where a garden was more important than a golf cart. Where barefoot luxury was not a tagline but a lived ethos. I remember thinking: finally, someone understood that luxury is about essence, not excess.
What was once a radical vision of relaxed elegance has now been diluted beyond recognition by certain developers and new "green" brands. The original blueprint has been copied so shamelessly— and so badly—that "barefoot luxury" is quickly devolving into a dress code rather than a guiding ethos. It’s become high-margin theatre: choreographed kaftans, curated raffia, and resort wear so predictable it feels more algorithmic than authentic. Designer kaftans in the infinity pool, kaftans at the tasting menu, kaftans in the sauna. You start to wonder when—if ever—you’ll catch a glimpse of the actual person beneath all that paisley silk.
The absurdity reaches its peak when guests demand temperature-controlled pools just steps from the Caribbean Sea—as if the ocean itself were too real, too salty, too… unfiltered. It flashes me back to my days as GM of the then ultra-eco-luxury K-Club in Barbuda (later wiped out by a hurricane), when my legendary and utterly lovable owner, the late Mariuccia Mandelli of KRIZIA fame, once instructed that we heat the pool. Yes—the pool—on an off-grid island where even preparing food and providing hot showers meant hauling in massive gas canisters from Antigua once a week on a dedicated boat. Why? Because yet another über-important Italian fashion icon deemed the pool water "freezing cold" and threatened never to return. No names, of course, but the press had a field day after a guest—who’d
casually overheard our exchange—leaked my offhand, mid-eye-roll remark: "So what’s the play? Hot soup and showers for everyone—or a hot pool for… someone?"
From Bali to Maldives, the most egregious offender is not the resort itself, but the total absence of local voice. In the age of GPT-4, we could at least ask the villagers why goats, not tourists, once occupied that windy cliff. But the land is flattened, not just in topography but in soul. Infinity pools where goats once grazed. Marble where stories once lived.
What passes for "eco-luxury" is often a carbon-wrapped contradiction. Low-impact air conditioning, sustainable marble, hand-pressed juices flown in from three continents. And above it all, spa menus that solemnly propose inner peace via overpriced exfoliation. Guests emerge from “sound baths” and chakra-aligning rituals in a kind of warm-towel haze, incapable of action but full of hashtags.
I’ve watched this evolution—and I use the term generously—for decades. The same “wellness” verbiage churned out in glossy layouts, promising tranquility while delivering uniformity. They peddle detox but serve decadence. All of it framed as the ultimate escape, when it is in fact the ultimate trap: sedated sameness.
We, at the HoteliersGuild, must stand at a different frontier. One not of replication but reclamation. Of place. Of purpose. Of experience. Of the guest as a participant, not a patient. Travel should be an act of discovery, not self-reinforcement. It should challenge, not cosset. Inspire, not sedate.
A truly thoughtful host doesn't build over nature—but with it. Doesn’t smother a culture—but amplifies it. Doesn’t chase trends—but roots deep into terroir, into history, into humility.
The final irony? After five days in paradise, many guests would sell their soul for a cracked plastic lounger, a lukewarm beer, and the worn out Birkenstocks shuffle. Why? Because it reminds them they’re human—not a spa treatment away from turning into decorative driftwood.
As for me, I’ll continue to advocate—loudly, if need be—for the kind of luxury that respects intelligence. That’s culturally grounded, sensorially rich, and emotionally unfiltered. Luxury that makes you feel more alive, not just more moisturized.
Because at the end of the day, the soul doesn’t want a villa. It wants a story.
And those, my dear colleagues, are getting harder to find beneath all the sun loungers. Delighted to have contributed some "serious" alternatives in our latest BEYONDWELLNESS members mag…
