On a recent visit to 7 Spring, a backgammon cafe in Nolita, one thing immediately stood out. There were no open laptops, no headphones and no one was idle while they waited for their coffee. Each table was occupied by people engrossed in the game. The restaurant had given people a reason to look up. In a city overflowing with options, that specificity creates something rare: a true sense of belonging.
7 Spring’s concept and focus took a long time because hotels were grappling with the same challenge in an incredibly similar way. When everything is available, abundance ceases to feel luxurious. Keeping up with finding your niche does. For decades, the industry has defined luxury by accumulation: more amenities, more thread count, more choice. Those things are still important, but they no longer distinguish the structure by themselves. When a beautiful room becomes the price of entry, the compelling proposition is compatibility.
In turn, travelers are increasingly defined by interests rather than demographics. Age, income and nationality tell you surprisingly little about what someone wants where they live. A shared passion for wine, golf, wellness or knitting can tell you a lot, as can the circumstances in which people choose to travel.
From quantity to relevance
We see groups of knitters traveling like a pack from the west of Ireland to Florence, bound by nothing but a shared love. While interest-led travel is nothing new—golf resorts have been around for generations—the degree to which luxury hospitality is now built around interest communities rather than mainstream market segments is novel. To see this in action at The Kithmore, a newly opened golf course in Scotland, St. Andrews, where the sense of belonging is reflected in the name itself: “kith” is an old Scots word for friendship, familiarity and a sense of home.
When we set out to create the Kithmore brand, the intention was never to create a themed hotel or to fill the space with golf clichés. Quiet references—like a guest room notebook and pencil that take their cues from an old-fashioned scorecard and a small pencil run on the course—are subtle enough to go unnoticed by other guests, but noticeable to those who love the game. For them, the joy is finding that every detail has been selected, selected and considered through the lens of golf. That sense of being understood, apart from the sense of self-proclaiming, is what makes clarity sound more glamorous.
Passion-based digital communities—from Reddit to niche chat groups to social media—accelerate this change by making it easy for people to find others who share their interests, and build a journey around them. Hospitality’s opportunity is to translate that online connection into a physical experience: a place where guests not only use a service, but get to know each other as well.
Why certain details pay off
There is a clear commercial sense in this approach, too. A typical five-star hotel can be little more than an expensive base where guests enjoy the surroundings. A building with a different perspective wins most of its time, not by keeping them locked up, but by providing experiences that they can’t get anywhere else.
The Piquette, a wine-focused hotel in Oregon, is a useful example. It wouldn’t really be considered luxury in the old sense. Yet for someone who cares deeply about wine, it can feel more luxurious than a typical five-star stay. The glassware, the language staff used, the winemaking in the area, the rhythm of the tasting and the digital experience before arrival are all considered through the same lens. The visitor feels understood before he asks.
That said, designing for a small audience is not the same as designing for a few people. It changes the question “Will everyone like this?” so that “Will ours Do people like this?” That change affects more than aesthetics. It affects how visitors gather, what they do throughout the day and which places deserve the most attention. Bars and restaurants become social anchors, and retail stores become places to show who you are. Planning stops feeling like an entertainment calendar and becomes a reason to make a reservation.
The broader luxury market is moving in the same direction. The 2026 review of Bain and Altagamma found that consumers’ feelings about the luxury experience 1.5 times faster growth there is a feeling for physical goods. McKinsey estimates that travelers are already spending between $1.1 trillion and $1.3 trillion per year on experiences, and its survey found that 52 percent of Gen Z travelers spend more time on their experiences compared to 29 percent of baby boomers.
Likes aren’t just about doing more, either. Nearly 83 percent of Millennials and Gen Z respondents to American Express Travel’s 2026 global survey said prioritize a unique, authentic experience over popular tourist attractions, while 91 percent were interested in unusual accommodations. The hotels’ message is clear: uniqueness is no longer a marketing layer, it is part of the offer.
Clear doesn’t have to mean loud
But a clear point of view doesn’t have to mean a loud theme or a packed schedule. Working in the Waldorf Astoria building, we found that its target guest wanted the opposite: creativity, calm and a space to reset. Rather than filling the calendar by opening the calendar, we are designed to hold ourselves to fewer, more deliberate moments, a gentler rhythm of work and service that feels personal without being intrusive. That was as clear as a wine hotel, but “niche” was an attitude.
This can be a challenge for legacy brands. Consistency is their strength, but it can also simplify the character of each property. The answer is to give each hotel enough local relevance—through food and beverage, programming, relationships and service—so that it feels rooted in its place rather than overshadowed, without sacrificing the brand’s promise.
Build a platform, not a costume
The risk, of course, is getting it wrong. He misreads society and the idea falls flat. Push the idea too far and you collapse into pastiche. Authenticity and restraint are what separate a place that feels imagined from one that feels constructed. The best hospitality concepts are platforms, not clothes: clear enough to create recognition, but flexible enough to evolve as their communities do.
The future of luxury hospitality is not just about hotels with the most amenities, the best resorts or the longest list of activities. It belongs to buildings with a clear vision that understands what to leave, and who will notice. The greatest comfort may be just walking in the door and realizing, “These people understand why I’m here.”
