Recently, I have noticed a handful of travel writers referring to both outlets (that is, publications) and promotional entities (hotels, tourist boards, and other publicity-oriented outfits) as “clients.” This is interesting. And troubling. What does a client do? A client pays a provider for a service. Usually, travel writers recognize their outlets, or publications, as clients, and publications pay for completed work. In this more or less traditional set-up, the writer’s sense of responsibility is to his or her readers, filtered through the priorities of the overseeing editor.
But if the public relations firm, tourist board, hotel, or similar entity becomes the client, then the travel writer's job is indistinguishable from marketing. If a travel writer serves a promotional-entity-as-client—as opposed to working with the promotional entity to get to a particular destination or obtain a particular experience—then the job of the travel writer shifts. Instead of aiming to serve a readership, the writer comes to work for the promotional client. In the process, the traditional ethical dance between media support and journalism is sidelined entirely.
I can imagine several bloggers I know (and like) reading the above and thinking, "yeah, so what?" But this is actually a significant issue. However chummy we might get with each other, travel writers and publicists have different objectives. Let's never forget this.
My point isn’t that travel writers shouldn’t also write marketing materials for tourist boards or move into destination branding or offer advice, solicited or otherwise, to the hotels or tourist boards comping them. The point is that these sorts of assignments are essentially marketing activities (or, in the final case, friendly recommendations) and should be understood as such. Readers are not well served by travel writers who are simply filtering the marketing priorities of hotels and other promotional entities into their published work.
What’s really going on here? It sometimes feels as if a coziness with public relations firms has given way to a more intimate, boosterish relationship with hotel chains and tourist boards. In my harsher moments I’d wager that this intimacy is the natural product of an increasingly blog-driven travel writing landscape in which traditional journalistic priorities have been junked. But I wonder ultimately if we as travel writers have simply fallen in love with perks of our profession, forgetting in the process that our job should not be first and foremost to score a week at this or that insanely lovely resort.
In order to puzzle through this last theory, I’ll share two experiences—both of which involved a few nights at insanely lovely resorts.
1. In March, 2010 I flew to Barbuda to write two stories. Barbuda is a backwater delight, the sort of place that true-blue Caribbean aficionados adore. If it is known at all, it is known for its glorious beaches and its extremely expensive resorts. For one of my two publications, I was focused on how the island might be navigated on a budget; for the other, I needed to access the island’s high-end side.
I emailed the two very pricey resorts on the island. One responded within an hour. I was invited on the spot to stay for two nights. I did so. I loved my time there. The resort delivers an amazing experience. It is very expensive, granted, although its isolation, its physical beauty, and the personal attention offered to guests place it leagues ahead of your average five-star resort. I’ve since written about the resort on more than one occasion and I’ve also raved about it to luxury-minded travel writers. Why? Because the hotel is very, very good at what it does.
2. In the early spring of 2009 I flew to another very special Caribbean resort. The resort paid for my travel from New York, my accommodations, and all my meals. This was the first press trip I’d joined in almost four years. I decided to take it for a number of reasons, chief among these was the fact that the resort's stratospheric rates were so far beyond my budget that the press trip would likely be my only opportunity to visit. The PR firm organizing the press trip was really eager to get me on board and urged me to take the press trip before I was able to confirm an assignment.
My three nights went quickly and very pleasantly. Reviewing my unpublished notes just now I am reminded again what a special place it is, how much I would have loved to publish a piece about it. I also think, if you’ll forgive the immodesty, that my notes do a very good job at getting at what makes the place so extraordinary.
I had trouble finding a home for a publication. Though the resort is storied, it’s also several decades old. It’s tough to find space for a feature about a resort that’s forty years old, especially one that hasn’t had any major upgrades recently. After extensive surveys of luxury titles and dozens of query emails, I finally found an interested publication, a gay magazine. I contacted a gay couple I'd overlapped with at the resort to make sure they'd had a good experience at the resort as a couple. Satisfied that they had, I then emailed the head of the PR firm representing the resort and passed on my news. Her response came a full four weeks after my original email:
In the past [the resort] has shied away for targeting any publications that are very niche because they like the resort to have a balance of guests so my guess is they won't be keen on the gay publication. Have you had any luck with other publications?
I was pissed off, sure, but I was also flabbergasted. This was 2009. A recession was on. The rooms at this resort in high season were close to $1000 per night. During my visit at the tail-end of high season, the resort wasn't anywhere near capacity. And the concern was over a "niche" demographic? What did "balance of guests" even mean? I waited a few weeks and wrote to explain my concerns. I never got a response from the head of the firm or anyone at the resort. The last thing I felt compelled to do was continue to try to find a publication for a story. In fact, after mulling it over briefly I realized that I wouldn't have felt ok writing about the resort at all.
Here's the question, finally, that I want to ponder. Had my connection, my loyalty, my sense of client service been to the resort first and foremost, would I have felt obligated to continue searching for a publication despite its outright hostility to "niche" markets? I don't know. And I hope I'll never have to find out.
