True Abandon at the Swim-Up Bar

Exploring the Deep Appeal of All-Inclusive Resorts

I recently stayed at a classic all-inclusive resort in Mexico. You know the kind—fanned-out like a low-rise cruise ship, buffets on rotation, drinks garnished with whole pineapples, and towel animals staring you down at turn-down. The interiors were not particularly refined. The clientele was not particularly design-forward. But the food was excellent. And the service was abundant, gracious, warm, and ever-present.

There’s something blissfully human about these places. They invite you to let go—not in the curated, Instagram-optimized way—but in the real, deeply restorative, perform-a-karaoke-song-during-Mexican-Heritage-night kind of way. (Yes, it happened. Pink Pony Club.) Would I have ever gotten up on that stage if the resort had been more design-minded, more “tasteful,” more me? Hell to the no.

Design, especially in luxury hospitality, often asks us to self-regulate. We happily dress the part and play along. But some of the most joyful, self-abandoning moments require a space that isn’t perfectly restrained. What would it look like to design retreats that prioritize irreverence, corniness and anonymity? Like scaling members-only clubs, perhaps it’s a fool’s game?

Because here’s the truth that is hardly a secret: a lot of very cool, aesthetically literate people LOVE these kinds of places. Not despite the lack of design credibility—but because of it. There’s a softness in being somewhere that asks nothing of your image.

As we dream up the next evolution of hotels, maybe we don’t need more spaces that look like design magazines. Maybe we need more that feel like a safe permission slip to be messy, ridiculous, joyful, anonymous, and human.

What would a design-forward hotel look like if it prioritized liberation over polish?