I’m stretched out on a sun lounger, trying to beat the heat under one of the white pergolas on the balcony of Lo Scalo in Puglia. But instead of admiring the view of the Adriatic Sea in front of me, I find myself watching the older man to my right. He’s around 60, wearing sunglasses, and has just finished smoking a cigarette. Now he’s casually eating olives, popping them one by one and washing down each salty bite with sips of white wine. He looks like he’s lived a full life—a bit too tan, a few questionable tattoos, and a soft belly that suggests he enjoys life without holding back. What really catches my attention, though, is how free he seems. He’s completely relaxed in his own body, as if he doesn’t notice or care what’s happening around him.

And it’s not just him—it’s almost everyone around me, mostly older people. They have a certain ease that has almost disappeared among my Millennial peers, and even more so among younger generations. None of them have their phones out. No one is endlessly taking pictures of themselves or the view. There isn’t a selfie stick in sight. I can’t help but think that maybe their sense of ease comes from actually being present, right here, instead of imagining some future where they post European summer thirst traps on Instagram and watch the likes roll in.

It’s almost funny to think about how out of hand this has become, and how travel has become so tied to image. It used to be about the culture first, with the traveler coming second—you went somewhere to be changed by it. Now it seems the opposite: the traveler is the main focus, and the culture is just a backdrop. Who needs the Adriatic Sea in focus when your tiny waist and plump ass are the stars of the show? And who cares if you have to use FaceTune to get the perfect proportions, right?

But none of this is actually very funny. With all the blessings of being a Millennial—a childhood without cellphones and social media, but also growing up with these platforms and the knowledge they’ve given us—the trap of comparing ourselves on social media seems to be one of our curses. It affects everyday life, of course, but also travel.

It turns out we’re no longer traveling at all; we’re traveling inside an image of ourselves.

What I used to think were normal, casual comments from me and my friends—about feeling bloated, missing our workouts, or worrying about eating too much sugar while traveling—have become more frequent and intense. I noticed it on this trip to Italy, which was made up of several girls’ trips stitched together, letting me see multiple friends in different places. Staying at dream spots like Borgo Egnazia in Savelletri di Fasano, Don Totu in San Cassiano, and Palazzo Daniele in Gagliano del Capo certainly shaped a lot of the experience, but at almost every stop, the same thing happened: either me or one of my friends would get triggered and pulled out of enjoying the trip, and almost every time, it was about our bodies.

According to the Mayo Clinic, this kind of talk borders on body dysmorphic disorder, a mental health condition where someone can’t stop thinking about one or more perceived flaws in their appearance—often something so minor that others don’t even notice. Research shows that body dysmorphia affects as many as 1 in 50 people, and vacation culture fueled by social media may make it worse. A Forbes Health–OnePoll survey of 2,000 U.S. adults found that 51% of Gen Z and 42% of Millennials feel pressure to look a certain way before a trip, and 56% have avoided vacations because of body image concerns.

I’ve never skipped a trip because of how I feel about my body, but the thought crosses my mind almost every time I travel. My struggle isn’t that I necessarily feel ugly. It’s that I can never fully shake the feeling that my body isn’t quite right.I don’t quite match the version of myself I think I should be—a hot girl on vacation, effortlessly perfect against some sun-drenched backdrop. I feel beautiful, but never quite beautiful enough. At least not enough to share it, especially raw and unfiltered.

It seems I’m not alone. Psychiatrist Ashwini Nadkarni, MD, who treats patients at Harvard Medical School–affiliated Brigham and Women’s Hospital, sees an even more damaging link between social media filters and how people create and share idealized versions of themselves. “We’re not just comparing ourselves to others anymore—we’re comparing ourselves to our idealized selves, thanks to social media filters,” Dr. Nadkarni says in a recent post. She believes this comparison can be especially harmful for people with body dysmorphia, who may see their filtered image as how they should look. As a result, their real appearance can seem even more flawed.

So what happens when someone’s carefully planned routine gets disrupted during travel? The body dysmorphia monster shows up. The usual barriers that keep it at bay—workout schedules, meal prep, and daily structures that protect self-image—are gone. And when you add that vulnerability to a culture of heavily filtered, meticulously edited travel content that distorts reality, the outcome is almost predictable. At best, filters and editing tools ruin our travels; at worst, they ruin our lives.

On my trip through Italy, I dove into this topic with a group of girlfriends at a villa we rented in Sicily. After we went all in on the cliché and took about a thousand half-naked silhouette photos at sunset, we had an open and honest conversation. It was like the bubble of body dysmorphia finally burst. The masks came off completely, and we talked about everything. We’d all felt this way at some point. Some of us had even sought procedures and surgeries in pursuit of an impossible standard—all attempts to fix the same wound. And we ate and drank freely while we talked. We reached something rare: a shared understanding of how deeply we’d been conditioned to believe something was inherently wrong with us.

But the full-circle moment came at my next stop, San Montano in Ischia. I tried to enjoy the healing thermal pools in a bikini, fighting the urge to mentally count every portion of spaghetti alle vongole and pistachio gelato I’d happily eaten—my soft tummy was the evidence. On my last day, despite how I felt, my friend and I took a boat trip around the island with Ascanio Charter Boat and Yachts, and I felt unexpectedly free. That night, I stood on the balcony of our clifftop Lighthouse Suite—a stunning two-villa complex with a glass house living area offering panoramic views of the Tyrrhenian Sea—watching one of the best fireworks shows of my life while my friend and I waited to go out with two men we’d met a few days earlier. My body felt pudgy, and I was sure I’d gained weight (I hadn’t), but I showed up anyway—and had one of the most memorable nights of my trip.

After this trip, I decided to put an end to this once and for all. It was like I’d finally hit rock bottom—and when I reached the true depth of feeling this way, it lost its power over me. I stopped blaming myself for whatever this perceived weakness said about me. My body was never a problem to fix. It’s the culture around it that needs to change—the impossible standards, the Ozempic-thinned bodies setting a new baseline for what “healthy” looks like on vacation, and the social media filters wreaking havoc on our minds.

I recently tested my theory by staying off Instagram for about four months. For the first time in my adult life, I was fully present. Not performing presence, but actually living inside my life. I stopped photographing my travels—the meals, the views, the carefully angled version of myself in those scenes.And something shifted because of it: I got back that childlike sense of life I thought was gone, and I started to love myself more. Not because I changed anything about myself, but because I stopped comparing myself to a version of me that doesn’t exist. I remembered what travel actually felt like before I turned it into content—the way a place can really get under your skin when you’re not busy trying to capture it.

A few weeks ago, on a beach in Baja California Sur, drinking a margarita with one of my best friends, I finally realized I had given myself the same freedom as that old man in Puglia: the joy of being fully present somewhere, while belonging to no one’s feed—not even my own.

Frequently Asked Questions
Here is a list of FAQs about how travel can worsen body dysmorphia and how to break free from that cycle

BeginnerLevel Questions

1 What is body dysmorphia
Body dysmorphia is a mental health condition where you cant stop thinking about one or more perceived defects or flaws in your appearance These flaws are often unnoticeable to others

2 How can traveling make body dysmorphia worse
Travel disrupts your routine exposes you to new mirrors and lighting and often involves more photos being taken You might also compare yourself to locals or other tourists which can intensify negative selffocus

3 I feel anxious about packing clothes for a trip Is that normal
Yes very normal Packing can trigger what if thoughts about your body not fitting into outfits or worrying about how youll look in different climates This is a common symptom of body dysmorphia

4 Why do I feel worse about my body in a hotel bathroom mirror
Hotel lighting is often harsh bright and fluorescent This type of lighting can cast unflattering shadows and highlight details you normally ignore at home Its a classic trigger for BDD

5 Is it possible to enjoy travel while struggling with body image
Absolutely It takes effort and planning but many people learn to separate the experience of travel from the experience of their body The goal is to shift focus from how you look to what you see and do

Intermediate Advanced Questions

6 How do I stop comparing my body to locals or other tourists
Practice comparison mindfulness When you catch yourself comparing mentally say Thats a comparison thought not a fact Then immediately pivot your attention to something sensory the smell of the food the texture of a building or the sound of the street The goal is to break the mental loop

7 What specific steps can I take before a trip to prepare my mind