Sustainable Duplicity: The New Illusion of Eco-Luxury Travel

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It’s not just a one-off. It’s becoming universal. And it’s ripe for a bit of honest commentary.

Let me introduce you to two charming examples of what I call sustainable duplicity — the art of doing less, offering less, and charging more, all while convincing you that you should feel grateful for the privilege.

Maison de l’Illusion – Dubrovnik’s Finest Facade

Officially, it’s called Valamar. I’ve affectionately renamed it Maison de l’Illusion, because rarely has a place tried so hard to be both pretentious and virtuous — while delivering the bare minimum.

Let’s run down the list:

No individual bar of soap. Instead, a single all-in-one bottle labeled “shampoo/body wash/conditioner/shaving cream.”
No USB ports — a design choice, or just outdated?
No iron in the room.
Housekeeping? Only if you ask. Repeatedly.

And all of this, mind you, is not about cutting corners, it’s about saving the environment. Or so they say.

You’re not supposed to feel short-changed. You’re supposed to feel enlightened.

Apparently, asking for a second towel makes you a climate criminal.

Le Hôtel Cémont – Concrete and Confusion in Sarasota

Then there’s the Kompose Hotel in Sarasota, Florida — better known (to me) as Le Hôtel Cémont.

Imagine if your mother’s unfinished basement went on a wellness retreat, took a minimalist design course, and came back with a $300-a-night attitude.

The walls? Concrete. The ambiance? Cold. Intentional. Punitive. The sink? In the room. The bathroom? Not a separate space — just a toilet and a shower sharing one frosted glass door. Use one, block the other.

Design feature? Absolutely. Comfort? Optional.

This place doesn’t just serve “minimalism.” It serves industrial incarceration with wellness vibes.

It’s all so curated:

“Our artisanal, sustainably-sourced, hand-poured concrete is flown in from a remote volcanic monastery off the coast of Iceland. Each slab cured in the tears of cloud-conscious alpacas.”

Sure. And I suppose the frosted glass door was chosen to reflect our fragile human boundaries.

What’s Really Going On?

Let’s not be fooled. This isn’t about sustainability — it’s about strategy.

Cut the extras. Reduce labor. Eliminate daily cleaning. Buy fewer products. Then spin it all as a bold new step toward environmental responsibility. Throw in some recycled paper signage and boom — you’ve got a movement.

Hotels get to:

Slash operating costs
Avoid guest expectations
Charge boutique prices
Look morally superior doing it

It’s genius, in a cynical sort of way.

The New Opulence Is Absence

We’re being sold a strange narrative:

If it feels cold and sterile, it must be sustainable.

If it’s missing basic amenities, it must be intentional.

If you feel uncomfortable, it must be part of the experience.

This is the luxury of less — less comfort, less service, less soul — but with a marketing gloss that makes you feel like you’re the one who’s behind the times for wanting anything more.

Let me be clear:

You can care about the environment and still want your room cleaned. You can be mindful of your carbon footprint and still think cement walls are ugly. You can support sustainability without being gaslit by design.

Don’t Mistake Austerity for Virtue

There’s a difference between genuine sustainability and strategic scarcity. One is a responsibility. The other is a branding opportunity.

Hotels like Maison de l’Illusion and Le Hôtel Cémont are banking on your willingness to confuse the two.

So the next time someone tells you the missing soap, the concrete walls, or the lack of a bathroom door is all part of “reducing our impact,” feel free to smile and ask:

“Reducing your impact… or increasing your margin?”

Have you encountered this eco-chic sleight of hand in your travels? I'd love to hear your stories. Drop them in the comments. Let's expose the illusion — one ethically-harvested cement slab at a time.

I’ve been on the road a lot lately, and something peculiar has started to stand out — no matter the country, no matter the hotel, there’s a growing trend hiding in plain sight: the use of environmentalism as a smokescreen for cost-cutting. It’s not just a one-off. It’s becoming universal. And it’s ripe for a bit of honest commentary. Let me introduce you to two charming examples of what I call sustainable duplicity — the art of doing less, offering less, and charging more, all while convincing you that you should feel grateful for the privilege. ### Maison de l’Illusion – Dubrovnik’s Finest Facade Officially, it’s called Valamar. I’ve affectionately renamed it Maison de l’Illusion, because rarely has a place tried so hard to be both pretentious and virtuous — while delivering the bare minimum. Let’s run down the list: - No individual bar of soap. Instead, a single all-in-one bottle labeled “shampoo/body wash/conditioner/shaving cream.” - No USB ports — a design choice, or just outdated? - No iron in the room. - Housekeeping? Only if you ask. Repeatedly. And all of this, mind you, is not about cutting corners, it’s about saving the environment. Or so they say. You’re not supposed to feel short-changed. You’re supposed to feel enlightened. Apparently, asking for a second towel makes you a climate criminal. ### Le Hôtel Cémont – Concrete and Confusion in Sarasota Then there’s the Kompose Hotel in Sarasota, Florida — better known (to me) as Le Hôtel Cémont. Imagine if your mother’s unfinished basement went on a wellness retreat, took a minimalist design course, and came back with a $300-a-night attitude. The walls? Concrete. The ambiance? Cold. Intentional. Punitive. The sink? In the room. The bathroom? Not a separate space — just a toilet and a shower sharing one frosted glass door. Use one, block the other. Design feature? Absolutely. Comfort? Optional. This place doesn’t just serve “minimalism.” It serves industrial incarceration with wellness vibes. It’s all so curated: “Our artisanal, sustainably-sourced, hand-poured concrete is flown in from a remote volcanic monastery off the coast of Iceland. Each slab cured in the tears of cloud-conscious alpacas.” Sure. And I suppose the frosted glass door was chosen to reflect our fragile human boundaries. ### What’s Really Going On? Let’s not be fooled. This isn’t about sustainability — it’s about strategy. Cut the extras. Reduce labor. Eliminate daily cleaning. Buy fewer products. Then spin it all as a bold new step toward environmental responsibility. Throw in some recycled paper signage and boom — you’ve got a movement. Hotels get to: - Slash operating costs - Avoid guest expectations - Charge boutique prices - Look morally superior doing it It’s genius, in a cynical sort of way. ### The New Opulence Is Absence We’re being sold a strange narrative: If it feels cold and sterile, it must be sustainable. If it’s missing basic amenities, it must be intentional. If you feel uncomfortable, it must be part of the experience. This is the luxury of less — less comfort, less service, less soul — but with a marketing gloss that makes you feel like you’re the one who’s behind the times for wanting anything more. ### Let me be clear: You can care about the environment and still want your room cleaned. You can be mindful of your carbon footprint and still think cement walls are ugly. You can support sustainability without being gaslit by design. ### Don’t Mistake Austerity for Virtue There’s a difference between genuine sustainability and strategic scarcity. One is a responsibility. The other is a branding opportunity. Hotels like Maison de l’Illusion and Le Hôtel Cémont are banking on your willingness to confuse the two. So the next time someone tells you the missing soap, the concrete walls, or the lack of a bathroom door is all part of “reducing our impact,” feel free to smile and ask: “Reducing your impact… or increasing your margin?” Have you encountered this eco-chic sleight of hand in your travels? I'd love to hear your stories. Drop them in the comments. Let's expose the illusion — one ethically-harvested cement slab at a time.