Traveling beyond the algorithm

Perhaps you caught this piece in the New York Times today?

They’re Rich, They Travel and They Love to Complain

A Birkin bag overnighted to Capri. A pink Brabus sports car for a Gen Z birthday party. Olivia Ferney, a travel agent to the ultrawealthy, has heard it all.

Scrolling through Olivia Ferney’s TikTok—yes, TikTok, the platform where your attention span goes to die—one thing becomes clear: luxury travel is officially in the influencer industrial complex. Ferney curates ultra-exclusive trips for clients with money to burn and no shame in broadcasting it. And honestly? It’s… hilarious. But also a little sad. Let me explain.

Travel is supposed to be messy. Unpredictable. Full of gut-sinking, hair-blowing-in-your-face moments that make you feel alive. Ferney’s trips—gilded, Instagram-ready experiences—are the opposite. It’s travel for people who want to experience a place without actually experiencing it. The city, the culture, the weird little bar where the bartender gives life advice? Forget it. Those moments don’t fit neatly into a TikTok sound bite. (Also: fun fact, sometimes the bartender’s advice is weirdly life-changing. But good luck squeezing that into 15 seconds.)

I get it—there’s always a market for curated perfection. But travel is meant to unsettle you, surprise you, maybe even embarrass you. When everything is pre-packaged and filtered to perfection, you end up with… a very expensive slideshow. And let’s be real: you could scroll through someone else’s slideshow for free.

There’s also a certain loneliness baked into this kind of travel. When your itinerary is designed for photos, not memories, who are you really traveling with? Companions might be friends—or other carefully selected, equally photogenic people curated by the same service. You’re not exploring together; you’re performing together. And yes, performance is fun. But is it living? And here’s a tip: if everyone in your group looks like they could star in a fragrance ad, the city might as well be a museum.

I think back to a trip along the Oregon coast, with Ella at my side. Michael was working. No TikTok sounds, no curated influencer moments, no guarantee of virality. Just fog, cold coffee, wet sand, and a street dog who absolutely loved running at every seagull she could find, purely for fun. I got lost. I fell in the surf. I ate a cold breakfast burrito on a driftwood log while Ella gleefully chased birds. That trip stuck with me far longer than any glamorous sunset photo ever could. That’s travel: messy, unpredictable, alive. (Also, note: dogs are better at living in the moment than humans. I may have mentioned this before.)

There’s joy in unpredictability. A delayed train, a random conversation with a local, a meal you didn’t know you’d love—these are the moments that stick. They don’t fit neatly into a TikTok clip, but they fit neatly into memory. Memory, not content, is what sustains you.

And yes, Ferney’s trips are beautiful. Perfectly aligned beach chairs. Golden-hour photos. Matching outfits. But beauty alone doesn’t make an experience meaningful. A staged infinity pool doesn’t teach you about the struggles, the history, or the real people of a place. It teaches you how to pose convincingly. Fine, if your goal is viral content. But if your goal is human connection? Not so much.

Paying thousands to be pampered, photographed, and entertained—does it make the experience richer, or remove you from it entirely? I’ve met people who chase luxury for thrill, and that’s fine. But there’s a hollow ring when your entire journey can be summarized in a caption: “Living my best life.” Sometimes, that’s the only proof you were there, and maybe that’s the problem. Being present shouldn’t need proof. (And yes, I see you, friends who post 40 photos from a 24-hour trip. We know.)

There’s a subversive pleasure in uncurated travel. You’re not just resisting the influencer machine—you’re saying, “I don’t need a TikTok soundtrack to validate my adventure.” You’ll come home with sunburn, sticky shoes, and a story that makes your friends groan—but also richer in ways no algorithm can measure.

Travel is raw, messy, occasionally mortifying. It’s laughing until you cry with a stranger on a train. It’s getting lost and stumbling on a tiny café that changes your day. It’s the small, unpolished moments that leave the deepest impression.

Ferney’s TikTok is funny, flashy, a masterclass in selling desire. But maybe the real luxury isn’t curated or algorithm-approved. The real luxury? Not knowing what happens next. Not needing approval. Not shaping your journey to fit a soundbite. The real luxury is walking into a city without a plan, letting it unfold, and coming home with stories you can’t post, because some things are too good—and too human—for fucking social media.

At the end of the day, if you’re chasing perfection, you’re missing the point. If you’re chasing content, you’re missing the world. Your memory, your experiences, the small, unexpected moments—that’s what sticks. Not the likes. Not the algorithm. Not the perfectly curated slideshow. That’s real travel. That’s the one worth taking.

And for the record: leave the filters at home, let your shoes get sandy, and bring a dog who chases seagulls. They’ll remind you that the best moments are messy, fleeting, and entirely yours. (Plus, they’re way more fun than any golden-hour selfie.)