Poets are always going on about natural wonders – daffodils, trees, unpopular clouds – but just once, I’d like to read about gleaming white plates wobbling with tiny squares of pudding. One’s a mousse – somehow standing upright uncontained, inexplicably topped with a thin red line of jelly. Another is a cake packed with cream and adorned with a DNA helix made of chocolate. The best, saved until last, involves some kind of neon-green element. It wouldn’t be the same without the neon-green element.
These are the unnatural wonders of the all-inclusive hotel, and, until very recently, they were under-appreciated by poets and pop culture alike. Ten years ago, the mere idea of jetting off to an everything-everywhere-all-at-once resort was laughable, as the middle classes shunned one-size-fits-all holidays in favour of self-planned trips, with the seductive promise of “living like a local”. In 2011, all-inclusive holidays were the subject of a debate on the official BBC blog, with commenters weighing in that they “couldn’t think of anything worse” and “there’s nothing more pathetic”. But a few global disasters here, a few life-altering crises there, and the all-inclusive is hotter than ever. According to a 2021 survey, 70% of 18- to 34-year-olds would now consider an all-inclusive holiday; meanwhile, the hashtag #allinclusive has around 500m TikTok views.
I’m going to say it, because it’s finally safe to say: I never liked Airbnb. Why would I want to stay somewhere where I have to complete an escape room puzzle before I can get the keys, and where my bed sheets defy physics with the sheer tightness of their tucking in? And, apparently, it’s not just me – Airbnb hosts are reportedly “panicking about a summer slowdown”. And in June, Hyatt CEO Mark Hoplamazian announced plans for new luxury all-inclusive resorts in Europe, the Middle East and Asia.
It seems the world has finally realised that it’s not a holiday if you have to pay a £100 cleaning fee to take the bins out yourself. Experts say the all-inclusive upturn was partly inspired by Covid (travel website The Points Guy noted that cruise-lovers now seek out these resorts to avoid a floating quarantine), but the trend also predates the pandemic. Three years ago, data firm STR found that all-inclusives showed a 20% revenue growth between 2014 and 2019.
Do you know what else steadily grew between 2014 and 2019, and has soared since? Global stress levels. I firmly believe that there is no longer a single adult alive who doesn’t require a personal assistant. It is impossible for one person to work and clean and socialise and take that thing to the post office and get that other thing dry cleaned. In the past, before every single member of a household had to work to pay for heating, one person could work and another could do all the life admin. That’s not to praise our historical, often gendered, division of household labour, but now everyone has to do everything, and organising a proper eat-like-the-locals, figure-out-which-of-these-ticket-websites-isn’t-a-scam holiday is just too much.
An April poll – commissioned by a hotel, for full, neon-green dessert-topping transparency – found that 77% of people think all-inclusive trips are the least stressful way to travel. No one (except for the personal assistant we all need) can fix the stress of patting your pockets every 10 minutes to see if you’ve lost your passport, but once you’re out of the airport, all-inclusives can fix the rest. We’re talking pizza at midnight! Free booze that is either weaker than water or enough to knock you out in a single sip! Multiple pools! Chips and rice and meatballs and curry and bread and pasta and sushi and sausages all on the same plate!
Flexible working has also increased the appeal. In April, 65% of Americans polled for Wyndham Hotels & Resorts said they planned to take a working holiday in 2022, and all-inclusive resorts were their most desired destination. If you can work from anywhere, why shouldn’t it be somewhere with aircon and pools?
Critics say that all-inclusive resorts suck the soul out of visiting a new place, but I say that critics obviously haven’t nailed the ancient art of sneaking stuff from the buffet. Bring a Tupperware box to breakfast and your lunch is sorted. When staying in an all-inclusive in Cancún as a study abroad student on “spring break”, I was able to visit the ancient ruins of Chichén Itzá and the modern marvel of Señor Frog’s simply by having pockets that were large enough to house all-inclusive apples.
It’s hard not to notice the unmistakable stench of classism that lingers around all-inclusives, which were originally conceived as a budget option. For years, snobs have been too busy moaning about what they think “uncultured” holidaymakers are missing out on to realise that they’ve been missing out too. A poll last year found that 79% (79%!) of UK workers have experienced burnout, and you only need to speak with a single other human being to realise that decision-making fatigue is also on the rise. All-inclusives are the antidote. No wonder hoteliers cottoned on. Hyatt’s Hoplamazian said last month that all-inclusive offerings used to be the “purview of three-, maybe four-star brands”, but now luxury brands are increasingly rushing to compete.
And yes, of course it is important to support local restaurants and businesses, and not just throw your money at Mr Monopoly’s moustache. I love, more than anything, to immerse myself in a new place, get lost in its sidestreets, and struggle and fail to translate an unfamiliar menu. But sometimes – as the infamous office small talk goes – I need a holiday to recover from my holiday.
So why shouldn’t I, every so often, become a glamorous vulture who waits in the hot sun, moving only three times a day to swoop on an international buffet? TikTokers agree. Room tours and “What I eat in a day at an all-inclusive resort” videos thrive on the site. In one video with 1.9m views, a TikToker called Victoria shows off her recommended daily toast, omelette, smoothie, pancakes, pina coladas, lasagne, chips, garlic bread, salad, risotto, bruschetta, pastries, pasta, pizza, calzone, cheese and crackers, chocolate cake, panna cotta and apple strudel. Crucially, she does not film herself washing up a single dish.
Amelia Tait is a freelance features writer
