The Machine That Never Stops: How Travel Became an Obligation

The post-war era gave us a gift: growth. More planes, more destinations, more travelers. We wrapped dreams in glossy brochures, cinematic films, and clever advertisements, and it worked. Who wouldn’t want to explore the world?

In the 1950s, vacations were a luxury, a reward for the fortunate few. By the 1960s, they had become a trend, a symbol of modern living. By the 1980s, vacations were a right, something every family expected to enjoy. And today? Travel is a necessity. If you’re not traveling, what are you doing?

But in our relentless pursuit of making the world accessible, we created something else: a problem that we now claim cannot be stopped.

The travel industry didn’t just respond to demand; it manufactured it. By making travel cheaper, faster, and easier, we turned what was once an occasional indulgence into a constant expectation. What began as an invitation to dream became an unspoken obligation to move.

And yet, when overtourism and environmental consequences became too obvious to ignore, the industry found an easy scapegoat: It’s Instagram. The influencers made everyone want to go to Santorini. It’s social media’s fault for making destinations like Venice overcrowded. The blame shifted to the travelers and the tools they used, while the industry itself kept driving demand.

It’s not us. It is them. The people are the problem, not us.

“People will travel no matter what,” we now say, shrugging off responsibility. “It’s up to us to handle the demand.” It’s not us. It is them. The people are the problem, not us. We are not making the push the booking button. But the truth is, we created that demand.

Through flawless marketing, we sold the world: the romance of Paris, the adventure of Thailand, and the freedom of a road trip across the U.S. Airports became shopping destinations, tax-free goods part of the thrill. Loyalty points were celebrated as rewards, convincing travelers that flying more was a smart way to save.

At the same time, we eliminated every obstacle to travel. Flights are now cheaper than your dinner. Hotel rooms can be booked with a single click. Guilt-free travel is marketed with certifications, carbon credits, and eco-friendly acronyms like SAF (Sustainable Aviation Fuel) and LNG (Liquefied Natural Gas). Travel became so easy, so seamless, that it felt irresponsible not to go.

And when the consequences of overtourism and climate change appeared, the industry doubled down: “Overtourism? Don’t worry, we’ll build more airports, more hotels, better infrastructure.” “Climate crisis? No need to stop traveling, we’ve got offsets and biofuels!”

Instead of addressing the root cause, the industry simply created a new market: solutions to the very problems it caused. We profit from both the problem and the fix, all while leaving one fundamental concept untouched: growth.

From the 1950s to today, the travel industry’s growth has been unprecedented. It’s a success story we love to tell, more planes, more destinations, more travelers. But what have we lost in our pursuit of more? We’re marketing a world that is easier to visit but harder to preserve. Every step forward in accessibility seems to push us further from sustainability.

The industry insists on growth as the solution: sustainable growth, inclusive growth, green growth. But what if growth itself is the problem?

It’s time for a reckoning. The machine we built, the one that never stop, was designed by us. And if we’re serious about a future where travel doesn’t destroy the very places we love, we must stop treating endless expansion as inevitable.

The world is at a crossroads. Do we continue fueling a machine that prioritizes accessibility and profit over preservation? Or do we dare to imagine a different kind of growth, one that values restraint, sustainability, and the places we claim to cherish?

Because if we keep pushing for more without reflection, the places we love to travel to might not survive the journey. It’s time to rethink what we market and why. Instead of more trips, perhaps the next big dream is fewer, but better, journeys, to a world we still have a chance to preserve.