I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the "Disney-fication" of certain places, specifically those mountain towns or coastal retreats that exist primarily because people visit them for a week of skiing or surfing. We see it everywhere now. A place becomes a destination, and as soon as that happens, the very thing that made it special—the grit, the local flavor, the actual human connection—starts to get sanded down by the sheer force of tourism. It becomes a polished, sterilized version of itself designed to be consumed by people who are just passing through.
What really gets me is the hollow feeling you get when you walk through one of these towns. You see the boutiques, the overpriced coffee shops, and the high-end rentals, but there’s no "glue." There are no people who actually live there, breathe the air every single day, and know the history of the street corner you're standing on. It’s all transient. It’s a shell. It’s beautiful, sure, but it’s a stage set, not a community.
I remember visiting a place a few years back that was supposedly "up and coming." It was stunning. But as I walked around, I realized that almost every storefront was either a souvenir shop or a high-end gallery catering to people who wouldn't be there in three months. There was no sense of permanence. When the season ends and the crowds thin out, the town practically goes into hibernation. It feels like a ghost town with better lighting.
Lately, I’ve been wondering if there is actually a way to reverse this trend. How do you bake "permanence" into a place that is fundamentally built on "transience"? It seems like a massive uphill battle. You can try to incentivize local makers, or try to carve out spaces for people to actually live and work, but it feels like you're fighting against the very economic gravity that created the problem in the first place. Once land prices skyrocket because of the "destination" status, the people who provide the actual culture—the artists, the craftsmen, the service workers, the families—get squeezed out. They become the very thing the town is "fighting" against, yet they are the only reason anyone wants to go there in the first place.
It feels like a catch-22. To make a town successful, you need to attract people. But when you attract people, you price out the soul of the town.
I'm curious if anyone here lives in a place that has undergone this kind of transformation. Do you think it’s actually possible to create a sense of year-round, authentic community in a place that is essentially a tourist playground? Or is the moment a town becomes "popular," its fate as a hollowed-out commodity is already sealed?
What really gets me is the hollow feeling you get when you walk through one of these towns. You see the boutiques, the overpriced coffee shops, and the high-end rentals, but there’s no "glue." There are no people who actually live there, breathe the air every single day, and know the history of the street corner you're standing on. It’s all transient. It’s a shell. It’s beautiful, sure, but it’s a stage set, not a community.
I remember visiting a place a few years back that was supposedly "up and coming." It was stunning. But as I walked around, I realized that almost every storefront was either a souvenir shop or a high-end gallery catering to people who wouldn't be there in three months. There was no sense of permanence. When the season ends and the crowds thin out, the town practically goes into hibernation. It feels like a ghost town with better lighting.
Lately, I’ve been wondering if there is actually a way to reverse this trend. How do you bake "permanence" into a place that is fundamentally built on "transience"? It seems like a massive uphill battle. You can try to incentivize local makers, or try to carve out spaces for people to actually live and work, but it feels like you're fighting against the very economic gravity that created the problem in the first place. Once land prices skyrocket because of the "destination" status, the people who provide the actual culture—the artists, the craftsmen, the service workers, the families—get squeezed out. They become the very thing the town is "fighting" against, yet they are the only reason anyone wants to go there in the first place.
It feels like a catch-22. To make a town successful, you need to attract people. But when you attract people, you price out the soul of the town.
I'm curious if anyone here lives in a place that has undergone this kind of transformation. Do you think it’s actually possible to create a sense of year-round, authentic community in a place that is essentially a tourist playground? Or is the moment a town becomes "popular," its fate as a hollowed-out commodity is already sealed?