Tiny European villages. Solomons. Matching activewear. A suspiciously photogenic picnic. Maybe a GRWM before a four-hour hike. 

Every year, TikTok seems to crown a new “it” destination. But lately I’ve been wondering; is TikTok reflecting where we want to travel, or actually deciding it for us? 

Because TikTok has quietly become one of our most useful travel search engines. Instead of Googling “best things to do in the Dolomites”, you can see the trail, the hotel room, what someone ordered for lunch, what they wore hiking and whether the view is actually worth getting up at 5am for. 

Nearly half of Gen Z now use TikTok for travel inspiration. And TikTok clearly knows its influence extends beyond inspiration: in the US, it recently launched TikTok GO, allowing users to discover and book hotels, attractions and experiences directly through the platform. 

See it. Want it. Book it. Post it. 

The destination is becoming the aesthetic 

The interesting thing about the Dolomites isn't just that they're suddenly everywhere. It's why they feel particularly right for the internet right now. 

Gorpcore made hiking gear fashionable. Running clubs made cardio social. “Touch grass” became both an insult and a lifestyle. Fitness, wellness and the outdoors have all become increasingly wrapped up in how we present ourselves online. 

So perhaps it was inevitable that the mountains would get their main-character moment. 

And with that has come the backlash. TikTok is now full of commentary about “performative hiking”, with people poking fun at the perfectly coordinated outfits, pristine hair and elaborate photo shoots happening thousands of metres above sea level. 

But I also find the backlash a little funny. 

Why can't girls hike in cute outfits that they’re excited about? People have been dressing for the occasion since the beginning of time. Wearing a nice outfit doesn't make the mountain less mountainous. 

The more interesting question is what happens when an aesthetic becomes so desirable that thousands of us start wanting to experience the exact same version of it. 

The algorithm has real-world consequences 

Because unfortunately, the For You Page doesn't have a capacity limit. 

Last summer, around 8,000 people reportedly visited one famous trail on Seceda in the Dolomites in a single day. Local landowners became so frustrated by rubbish and damage that they installed a €5 turnstile on the trail as a protest. 

More recently, a mountain hut in the Dolomites found itself overwhelmed by visitors after its €4 krapfen went viral on social media.

Japan has been dealing with its own version of the same problem. The places we've seen over and over again on our feeds — Kyoto, Mount Fuji, the very specific Lawson with Mount Fuji behind it — are also some of the places experiencing the greatest pressure from overtourism. 

And that's the strange power social now has over travel. An algorithm built to decide what video you watch next can influence where thousands of people physically show up. 

So, would you still go if you couldn't post it? 

I'm not convinced we're all suddenly travelling just for content. People have always wanted to see beautiful places, take photos of themselves and come home with evidence of a great holiday. TikTok didn't invent that. 

But it has collapsed the distance between seeing and wanting. 

We don't just discover a destination anymore. We see how other people experienced it. What they wore. Where they stood. What they ate. Which angle they photographed. And then the algorithm serves us another person doing almost exactly the same thing. 

Eventually, a place stops feeling like somewhere you've discovered and starts feeling like somewhere you're supposed to go. 

Maybe that's why the debate about “performative hiking” feels bigger than a few girls wearing cute outfits in the Dolomites. 

The most photographed trails in the world aren't just destinations anymore. They're stages. And increasingly, we're travelling with an imagined audience coming along for the hike. 

So no, I don't think we need to stop posting our holidays. 

But it might be worth asking ourselves every now and then; did I want to see this place? Or did I just see it enough times that I started to want it?