The White Lotus was a scathing take on resort tourism, and I’m *very* here for it

If there’s one thing I love, it’s watching rich people be miserable. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, based on the overwhelming popularity of Mike White’s The White Lotus series, it’s that the rest of the world also enjoys watching rich people be miserable. 

It’s all very Rousseau ‘eat the rich’ of me, I know. Maybe the joy I get from watching a satire of wealthy people on holiday is a manifestation of my own class resentment. Or perhaps it’s just nice to get a reminder that, for the most part, money doesn’t actually buy you happiness—even if it can buy you a $3,000 per night hotel room in Sicily (real resort price, by the way). 

In its latest season, The White Lotus continues its acerbic, hilarious, sometimes exaggerated assault on resort tourism. Where the first season, set in Hawai’i, explored complex themes of colonialism, land ownership and race politics, this season takes us to Sicily where it focuses on cultural stereotypes, the unfulfilling Instagram holiday and the gap between rich and poor. And what people are willing to do to bridge it.

The thing with all of White’s resort-dwelling characters is that they share an essence of this ‘ugly Western tourist’. And that essence is a complete indifference to Italian culture and people.

Warning: contains spoilers for season two of The White Lotus.

From the first episode’s opening moments, White makes it clear we’re not on Maui anymore. The resort staff waiting at the dock aren’t putting on the same problematic ‘happy, smiling local’ face. They’re less subservient, more… what do I call it—Italian. Like when Bert Di Grasso (F. Murray Abraham), an elderly guest, arrives and Valentina (Sabrina Impacciatore), the resort manager, turns to him and says, “I’m impressed you are here, it’s a long trip from Los Angeles and you are quite old.” The Hawaiian White Lotus staff would never. 

What this season continues doing, however, is highlighting the total lack of cultural curiosity of the super-wealthy. In particular, the super-wealthy Westerner. Now, the ‘ugly Western tourist’ (description: loud, brash, exceptionally un-self-aware) is not a new concept. It’s a stereotype that’s been with us since the dawn of the jet plane, and it’s followed even the most considerate Western travelers around the world like a bad smell.

The thing with all of White’s resort-dwelling characters is that they share an essence of this ‘ugly Western tourist.’ And that essence is complete indifference to Italian culture and people. What else could explain the fact that these stupidly rich tourists eat every single meal in the resort complex? Despite being in Italy, one of the world’s most acclaimed culinary destinations, they start their days with pastries on the patio, follow it up with BLTs at the beach club and then end it with dinner and drinks at the same restaurant. It’s pseudo-Sicilian groundhog day, and not even Aubrey Plaza is immune. 

It’s like traveling the world with a private chef but never changing the menu, no matter where you’ve anchored your yacht. It’s infuriating for a couple of reasons: A) I’m unreservedly envious of anyone who can afford a private chef, and, B) using said private chef, or eating at the same resort every day, contributes absolutely nothing to the wider community you’re visiting. 

In short, it does no good. It’s not responsible or intentional travel. In fact, I’m not sure it counts as travel at all. Take the three generations of Di Grasso men, for example. They come to Italy on an adventure to—hopefully—meet their long-lost Sicilian family. And yet they arrive with exactly zero Italian language under their collective belts and seemingly no desire to learn. Then when their familial encounter doesn’t go as planned, they describe their distant relatives as “screaming Italian banshees” and move on. No questions asked, no curiosity shown, no empathy apparent. 

Newly minted tech king Ethan (Will Sharpe) doesn’t even stop long enough to have an encounter with any local people. Instead, he runs—quite literally—through town and back to the resort every morning, without stopping to smell the roses in the piazza. Cam (Theo James) ‘interacts’ with Lucia, a local Italian woman, but he has to pay for it—again, literally— afterward. Which is a comment on another tourism industry issue altogether. 

Portia (Hayley Lu Richardson)—poor, confused Portia—is the only hotel guest who isn’t technically rich. She’s in Sicily because her overbearing boss, Tanya (Jennifer Coolidge), wants her there. But instead of making the most of a free trip to a luxury Italian resort, Portia suffers—loudly and openly—from a lack of fulfillment. In her words: “I just want to be satisfied.” 

The White Lotus Sicily is ultimately a commentary on the performative aspect of modern travel. Like when Daphne (Megann Fahy) sees a palazzo in Noto on the internet and consequently hires the entire mansion for a night. Just because she can.

In one scene with Albie (the youngest Di Grasso, played by Adam DiMarco), Portia laments how boring life is. “I’ve been feeling so depressed at home, and I just thought I’d come here and feel something…And now you come somewhere like this, and it’s beautiful, and you take a picture and then realize that everyone’s taken the same picture from that exact same spot.”

What Portia is attempting to articulate is something that’s actually quite relatable. She’s talking about the social media travel curse—the constant battle between chasing an authentic experience and feeling FOMO for the curated experiences you see on Instagram. Couple that with profound disappointment when these destinations or experiences don’t meet your expectations, and you’ve got yourself in a viciously unsatisfying situation.

The White Lotus Sicily is ultimately a commentary on the performative aspect of modern travel. Like when Daphne (Megann Fahy) sees a palazzo in Noto on the internet and consequently hires the entire mansion for a night. Just because she can. Or the way Tanya, in episode two, describes her fantasy as a day spent dressing like Monica Vitti, riding a Vespa with a man in a “very slim fitting suit who comes over and lights my cigarette,” drinking aperitivos, eating big plates of pasta by the sea at sunset, and just generally being “very chic and happy and beautiful.” In reality, her husband Greg (John Gries) can barely keep the bike upright and she spends the entire trip with a mouthful of bugs. 

This overly romanticized, unrealistic expectation of an international “dream day” is common among travelers. Paris Syndrome is probably the best example. Over the years, there have been so many people acutely disappointed by the City of Love that it’s become a bonafide condition, recognized by experts. Paris Syndrome is described as a sense of extreme disappointment, a certain type of culture shock. And that’s what Portia, by varying degrees, is experiencing—she comes to Sicily expecting it to cure her existential lethargy, but instead, her romanticization of Sicily works against her.

Later in the season, Portia is sitting on a beach in Palermo with Jack (Leo Woodall), the cheeky Brit she’s sleeping with, and they’re eating gelato. According to Instagram, this is the perfect picture—international man, pristine coastline, ice cream. And yet, much like a lot of social media, the moment feels devoid of meaning. Perhaps it’s because she’s placed too much significance on curated travel moments or maybe it’s because Jack is, indeed, scamming her. Who knows. 

At the end of the day, and season, what The White Lotus does so well is make us question our own travel styles and ethics. Do we value authenticity or are we trying to be Monica Vitti? How much does social media impact our itineraries? Or even worse, are we—gulp—an ugly Western tourist?