Overtourism: What Travel Influencers Never Show You

I’ve got a bone to pick with social media influencers, specifically travel influencers. What’s my beef with them? It’s the perfectly curated photos, the filters that distort reality, and the selectiveness of what’s captured. I now live in a city that is photographed so much to the point that nearly every image seen on the thousands of accounts is a replica of the one before. There is nothing original or honest anymore, because tourists seek out ‘the spots’ they’ve seen on Instagram or TikTok to take the exact same photo. Click, post, repeat. Mindless, unoriginal, and all over in seconds without taking in the moment. I now scroll past these images or unfollow the account.

I admit, I’ve been this tourist. I was this tourist seven years ago on my first trip abroad – here to Italy. Phone out, chasing angles, more interested in proving I was somewhere rather than actually being there. I probably blocked someone’s actual holiday photo doing it, and if that person is reading this now, I’m sorry, but you should have moved faster. It’s an easy trap to fall into and it’s even more intense than it was back then thanks to the abundance of social media platforms, but these days I am aware, and I can’t look away or help being worked up about it, perhaps because I live in a place that is affected by it rather than just visiting it.

All these accounts paint a dream-like state that is all soft light, gelato, Aperol spritz and pasta.  What they overlook is reality, the beating heart and the consequence of being immersed in places that are barely surviving under the weight of overtourism. Overtourism that is encouraged by the very content they create. The perfect spots, shots and settings, all fed through an algorithm that is fuelled to turn us all into cookie cutters rather than inspire original thought.

Another byproduct of being ‘under the influence’ is that tourism these days is not slow, it’s a hit list of vacuous experiences and sights. It’s over scheduling, over consuming and surface level. It’s not staying in one place for more than one night to sink your teeth into life where you lay your head at night, it’s not leaving Google Maps turned off to wander with abandon to discover something off the beaten path.

Hit and run tourism has already overtaken cities like Paris, Barcelona, Rome, Venice and Florence. Florence is swarmed by approximately 44,000 tourists per day and up to 80,000 during peak summer months, crazy numbers for such a small city. They funnel in through the historic centre like zombies sniffing out remaining life. The centre buckles under the pressure of the influx, rubbish bins overflow with discarded gelato cups, crumpled panino wrappers and squashed plastic water bottles. Kerbs, steps, all and any surface a person can sit on become engulfed by bottoms whilst they shovel the aforementioned gelato or panino into their bulging mouths before they cram their rubbish into an overflowing bin or simply dump it on the street.

I don’t just watch this from the outside though, I live in it. Two weekends ago, a breakfast date with my delightful Kiwi friend Katrina saw us meeting at Melaleuca (Aussie-American style café). Halfway through our coffees we were talking about this very subject, how the city has changed in the seven years she has been living here, how we avoid centro as much as possible now, and how we crave the quiet after being overexposed to crowds and the effect of fast paced tourism. We settled in for breakfast, deep discussion and the occasional whinge - it was bliss.  Two hours later, caffeinated and satiated we bid farewell to each other to continue with our day before the peak 39 degree temperature made it unbearable to be outside.  

I meandered my way through the backstreets I have come to know so well, buzzed from too many espressos, a list of jobs to do, things to buy, and a fan furiously flapping in front of my face to stave off the 34 degree heat that was growing as quickly as the sweat running down my spine. It was 11:30am, surprisingly quieter than I expected it to be, it felt like it was just me, and the Comune officials cleaning up the remnants of the night before. However, after 20 minutes of speed shopping to cross off my list, I exited H&M to an apocalyptic invasion stampeding towards me from over the Ponte Vecchio, selfie sticks aloft, wheelie suitcases clattering across the cobblestones and a sea of matching lanyards marching forward. It was as if a switch was flipped during those 20 minutes and the tourists invaded on cue just before lunch.

Most of the crowd were wired in with earpieces on walking tours, oblivious to anything other than what was playing in their ear. Wandering without caution into the street, unaware of traffic or other pedestrians, at a pace akin to a turtle, all with the same entitled attitude like the city existed solely for them. I nearly collided with three of them trying to exit H&M, and I am very proud of myself for resisting the urge to push them into the oncoming taxi.

Among the architecture, the monuments, the famous bridges, and the golden light, the unpleasantries of disrespectful people who are only in the city for a short period are present on every street in centro. Yet, this is the aspect of daily life that does not appear in one of those curated images.  The overcrowding, the overflowing bins, the rubbish, all conveniently left out. I am aware that the reality won’t boost followers or reposts, but I also am disappointed that creativity to capture the ‘messy’ doesn’t exist. This airbrushing of reality distorts the impression and fuels the problem. These cities are not Disneyland, they are homes to an albeit dwindling population of locals. The effect on the quiet enjoyment for those who live in popular locations 365 days a year, has seen populations in historic centres diminish.

I live in the outskirts of Florence, about 40 minutes on foot into centro, and whilst my neighbourhood seems to be still lucky enough to be filled with a majority of Italian accents - I feel like the interloper when at the bar ordering my morning cappuccino and cornetto – I can see the slow creep of tourists starting to come out this far. On weekday mornings as I wait at the bus stop to work, I hear like clockwork the opening of shutters at the apartment opposite, the hissing of steaming milk from the bar on the corner, and I hold onto those moments as long as I can before the day gets going. If they make it out to this area, it will be a shame to see one of the last remaining neighbourhoods become desolate of local charm like so many others in centro, though I am aware I am one of those foreigners (despite the Italian passport) who lives here, benefiting from the very thing I’m complaining about, which is not lost on me even as I write this.

Image Credit: Italy Segreta