Pics or It Didn’t Happen
Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.
Where we are: We’re in that weird untethered place—between the hotel and the airport. We’re leaving Bangkok tonight after ten stupid-busy days, headed for Norway. I wrote this a couple of weeks ago, while we were chilling out and goofing off in Dalat, Vietnam.
Pics or It Didn’t Happen
This is one of the most fascinating hotels we’ve ever stayed in.
It’s a large walled property in the middle of town. Instead of being in one building, the rooms are spread out in a cluster of … villas, for lack of a better word. They’re designed in a vaguely French chateau style, surrounded by immaculately landscaped gardens. There are roses and hydrangeas and azaleas, all in full frothy bloom (not sure how they manage that, but it’s pretty).
The entire property is dotted with beautiful little spots for sitting, posing, photographing—influencing.
Everything about this place is maximized for full Instagram impact. The hotel information booklet in the room includes a guide to optimal photo spots. And the guests are all in.
I’m writing this on day seven of our two week stay, and the hotel has been at or close to full occupancy the whole time we’ve been here. And as far as I can tell, most of the guests are influencers.
Every evening I take my Kindle and sit on a bench under a vine-covered pergola, next to a particularly lovely bed of roses, and watch the show. Young women pose in evening gowns, feather boas, stiletto heels, fishnet stockings, tutus, corset-laced bodices, biker leathers, frilly miniskirts, fur hats. Couples wear matching sweaters, matching coats, matching accessories. Their friends and partners set up props and tripods and reflective shields, or just use their cell phones, and the photo shoot goes on and on. Everywhere I look, all around, posing and vogue-ing. Women hold giant bouquets, or bend over to smell the roses, or sit pensively and gaze into the distance. If I sit and watch carefully enough, I see the same young woman posing in different outfits.
Interestingly, traditional Vietnamese clothing does not seem to be the preferred look. I’ve seen one or two women wearing traditional outfits, but that’s all. The ao dai, the long flowing tunic and pants that are so symbolic of Vietnam, is the high school uniform for girls, so perhaps western clothes are more ‘interesting’ or desirable for the young people trying to stand out on social media.
When we walk to breakfast at 7 am, we pick our path carefully, trying not to disrupt the multitude of photo shoots that are already going on at that golden hour.
Every stylistic detail is optimized for photographs, to the point where some of the furniture is actually impractical (our room has eight throw pillows, but no drawers).
Occasionally there’s a family photo going on—the whole multigenerational group gathered on a picturesque lawn or staircase to commemorate their big holiday for posterity—but mostly, it’s all for the ‘gram.
I haven’t gone looking for the hotel’s account, but I have to assume all the photogenic publicity is good for business. The place seems to be very busy—on Wednesday, passing through the lobby during an unexpected downpour, I tried to borrow an umbrella and was told they were all in use, because the hotel was full.
That’s all right. I don’t mind getting wet—it’s not as if I have a social media appearance to maintain.
Take care,
Lisa
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