A millennial defence of 5‑star, all‑inclusive resort holidays: predictability, safety, and not cooking for the kids now beat “living like a local” — written from a sun lounger with an Irish coffee in hand.
The Times says millennials are going the way of the luxury resort over Airbnbs and city apartments.
I see people complain that resorts have no culture, that they offer only the sterile version of the world the West is comfortable with and nothing beyond. On the other side, you get the argument that places with a single‑digit‑billion‑dollar GDP are boosted by and reliant upon our tourism.
As usual, the truth about resorts vs Airbnbs is somewhere in the middle.
At this stage of life, with kids and limited headspace, I’m firmly in the “5‑star resort over Airbnb/city stay” camp when it comes to all‑inclusive family holidays. Here are my five reasons why.
1. Safety in numbers
Not just in location, but in numbers.
A consulate may not care much about you in isolation, but thousands of Yanks, Brits, Germans, etc. in one place under siege? That becomes a problem. People pay attention to that. At the very least, there will be attention on your matter and maybe Chris Voss will negotiate your release. Exciting.
When you’re travelling with kids, that sense of safety in a family resort is hard to price.
2. No cooking on holiday
We have kids and cook for them daily. Why would we do it on a supposedly relaxing holiday?
At a resort, the horses are fed and watered with 5* service. Sure, it’s cool to see the local markets. Do it as a day out. Wander, snack, buy the spices and the fridge magnet.
But a full week’s shop? No, thank you.
I get enough anxiety doing the weekly Waitrose run. I don’t need to replicate that in the lands I’ve dreamt of. Food shopping is not part of the dream. On an all‑inclusive family resort holiday, not cooking is the whole point.
3. Chain consistency beats boutique roulette
A good friend once equated good chain experiences to Starbucks. Pike’s is Pike’s in Jakarta, Prague, and the drive‑through in North Grand Rapids. It’s not superior to the boutique experience when the boutique is done well.
The problem is that “done well” is a roll of the dice.
We’ve all been to an independent coffee shop on a Tuesday where it was a phenomenal experience, and then gone back to be served astringent battery acid. Same logo, same bar, entirely different outcome.
My belief is that the same applies to luxury hotels and resorts. Set a chain standard and you know it’s generally the same everywhere. The Savoy is a great example of that philosophy at the very top end. A good 5‑star family resort is the family version of that promise.
4. The glory of the managed beach
I can hear the tiny screams of a million “eat the rich” T‑shirts, but I love the private beach.
Not because it’s private. Because it’s managed.
Because a drink can be ordered and carried no less than a hundred paces to a seat underneath a parasol of palms. Because there are minimal stray cats and begging basenjis nosing at your ankles. Basenjis were in The Times, after all, not on my sun lounger.
A managed beach is not an act of moral heroism. It is, however, a very efficient way to relax on a luxury family resort holiday.
5. 5‑star value stretches further than you think
The 5* budget stretches much further in resort land.
At a push we’ll do a 4*, but between Michelin‑level restaurants, happy staff, and all‑inclusive meal plans, you can do a lot of five‑star resort for the price of one great stay in a prime city hotel or beautifully shot Airbnb “live like a local”** listing.
And there’s very little snobbery. If there is any at this resort, I apologise in advance.
We do love a serious 5 city hotel, but that’s for couples’ nights away or solo business trips. For family holidays, where the goal is to actually rest, I’ll take a Riu‑style all‑inclusive family resort* every time.
I’m writing this from Cape Verde, looking out at perfectly manicured grounds with a sea view just beyond the palms. The sun is overhead. A light breeze sweeps across my towelling lounge pants. My Sunspel shirt is proudly open, à la Fleming.
There’s a piping hot Irish coffee in front of me, made with William Lawson’s perfectly serviceable Scotch.
The children and my wife are at breakfast.
All is peaceful.
Back home, my new and exciting job waits for me.
Commercialising this writing waits for me.
Taxes are waiting for me.
Snowy Britain waits for me.
Let them wait.
I’m in paradise.
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