Some of the best places I’ve been weren’t in any guidebook. They were just places someone couldn’t stop talking about.
Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to the overlooked and oddly specific corners of the world—where dahlia growers swap tips at roadside farm stands, or people drive hours out of their way for a pie that only exists on one diner menu, in one town, during one season. What used to be a handful of TV channels and local radio networks now looks more like a kaleidoscope: podcasts for mushroom hunters, newsletters for vintage motel fanatics, TikToks for people who only travel by train. Niche communities are thriving.
But what does that have to do with tourism? Everything.
These aren’t mass-market travelers anymore. They’re following their instincts, their tastes, their obsessions. And that’s where destinations have real opportunity if they’re willing to take a chance and speak to someone specific, instead of trying to fit in with the crowd.
We’re all a little tired of sameness.
The picture of the perfectly poured latte on a windowsill or the wide-brim hat by the overlook. These are becoming the kind of travel photos that look like it came from a template. Then it’s off to the same five places you’re supposed to go if you want your trip to “count.” Somewhere along the way, travel content started feeling like an assembly line. It’s beautiful, sure, but sometimes soulless. It’s starting to feel like a mass-produced wanderlust.
Real people don’t travel like that.
And sure, people are still following influencers but they’re not all following the same ones. That’s the shift. Anyone can have a travel account now, and with so many voices out there, there’s no longer one “right” way to see the world. People gravitate toward creators who reflect what they love, not what they’re supposed to love. That changes everything.
What used to be about hitting the biggest landmarks is now about chasing the most personal moments. A quirky neighborhood bakery that makes ube croissants, a vintage garden store run by a fourth-generation florist, or a trail that’s not even on AllTrails but someone’s cousin swears by it.
We’ve officially shifted from checking boxes to chasing interests and the polished, copy-paste influencer aesthetic is fading. People still want inspiration—they just want it to feel like it came from someone with similar tastes and a real point of view.
And that shift isn’t just about how people travel, it’s also about how we market to them.
Tourism used to rely heavily on demographics. “Women aged 31–35.” “Millennials with pets.” And yet somehow, we’re still surprised when not every 33-year-old woman wants the same thing. One might be into antique malls and punk shows. Another might be planning their next Jane Austen pilgrimage (trust me, people do this). Or they might be the same person.
People contain multitudes. Our marketing should too.
For a lot of travelers, the destination isn’t the starting point anymore—the interest is.
It’s not just “Where should we go this year?”
It’s “Where can I go for the thing I love?”
Food. Fandom. History. Tattoos. Lighthouses? Yes, lighthouses. The rise of interest-driven travel is shaping entire itineraries. Just look at the popularity of “set-jetting” (traveling to filming locations), or the people flying across states—or continents—for themed festivals, bookstore crawls, or one legendary sandwich.
Just a few weeks ago I flew across the Atlantic Ocean to go to Bath for Jane Austen’s 250th birthday. And
I wasn’t even close to being alone. At the same time, others like me were at one of the 2005 film adaptation’s most iconic locations, walking the same gravel path Darcy once did, waiting for him to “do the hand thing” (if you know you know). It was niche and completely magnetic.
I’ve been writing professionally for over a decade now, and this intersection—between personal passion and place—is what excites me more than anything else. We don’t just go somewhere, now. We go for something that feels like a part of ourselves. And those are the stories worth telling.
But the best part is that nobody knows what any of us will chase next.
Someone like me might—okay, will—make a micro-tourism trip this fall to visit local flower farmers and source next year’s seeds and tubers. Others might hop states to see a favorite band’s hometown, take a niche history tour, or follow a new hobby all the way to another time zone.
In fact, the last several trips I’ve taken weren’t sparked by major landmarks or travel deals. They were sparked by something smaller, and far more personal.
Why did we go to Paris?
Because my best friend loves croissants. Like, really loves them. So we planned a croissant tour. We didn’t see the Mona Lisa. We saw the inside of 14 different bakeries. And it was amazing.
Salem?
That one was for my husband. He’s a Halloween guy. And when we were weighing our fall getaway options, we found a walking tour of historic haunts and legendary sandwich shops—and that sealed the deal. We really leaned in. Costumes, candy, local lore. I guess we really like themed snacks with a side of story.
I’m not saying we didn’t want to go to those countries anyway.
But what tipped the scales—what finalized the city and solidified the trip—was never the “if you don’t see this you basically didn’t go” list. It was the oddly specific stuff. The stuff that felt like us.
If people are traveling for their interests, your job as a destination is simple: attract the people who want to find you.
That means leaning into who you actually are not trying to shape-shift into something you’re not.
So no, you don’t need to pretend to be cooler, quirkier, more adventurous, more luxurious, more whatever. You just need to be specific, honest, and curious about what you already are.
That’s how you cut through the noise.
Not by offering the most, but by offering something authentic.
It’s time to stop trying to fast-track your way into mass appeal and start getting clear on what makes your destination resonant for the right people.
Instead, start asking questions like:
These are the starting points for real connection.
Want to attract interest-driven travelers? Start here:
When you help someone say, “That’s so me,” you’re gaining a loyal customer instead of a visitor.
People aren’t waiting to be sold the idea of a perfect trip. They’re chasing something that feels like it fits—something that lines up with who they are, what they love, and how they want to spend their time.
So your job isn’t to be the loudest or the most followed. It’s to show up clearly enough that the right people recognize themselves in what you offer.
Invite them in.
Let them see your treasure shops and your diner pies. Your weird history and your corner bakery. Your version of beauty, charm, and curiosity. Because when you do that, you build connections.
And in tourism, that’s everything.
