Don’t look at me.
Visibility has become normalized—even expected. We don’t go on vacation anymore, we produce it. Every dinner is documented, every relaxing photo is staged, every sunset put up for consumption. And the attention can be intoxicating. But to be recognized, you have to be seen.
I can’t stand being seen. I basically live in hiding. I don’t have social media. I’m vague about my biographical details. I really don’t love the idea that you’re reading this right now. I can’t even believe I’m writing in first person! So why would I ever agree to go somewhere where performance is the ethos?
The French-Caribbean island of Saint Barthélemy is known for its extravagance. It has a reputation as an A-list destination for those who enjoy the finer things. The people who visit are known. The one percent, athletes, and celebrities, as well as the “billionaire yacht circuit” crowd—people like tech moguls, sports owners, and celebrity-adjacent ultra-wealthy guests—have made St. Barths an unofficial capital for the global luxury set. The wealth is blatantly material. The bags are designer, the wines are vintage, the yachts are oversized.
And I’m positively covetous!
I wanted to go to the Caribbean’s most visible island because I love luxury. I want to indulge! But I hate attention, and luxurious things often command it. And in St. Barths, wealth isn’t just possessed, it’s performed. The island’s reputation depends on that visibility. Visitors are constantly reminded that it’s time to drink Champagne and dance on tables. It’s a part of the see-and-be-seen nature of St. Barths: ostentatious, boisterous, outlandish. I wanted to go to the place where the global elite eat, drink, and party–but I’m no performer. I’m more of a judgmental audience member.
But where can an anti-social gal looking for over-the-top luxury find some peace and privacy?
With just two days to explore, I decided I’d drive around the island to see if I could find it. Little did I know that the island’s roads are narrow with short sea walls, and the locals drive as if they aren’t hanging off the side of a cliff. I was shaking so bad with fear that I was willing to stop anywhere. And I wanted to check out the top beach.
I had heard about Eden Rock, the hotel at the center of the island’s social scene, known for its rompus gatherings and buzzy energy. It’s also famous for its seaside sights, butting up against the airport’s runway, meaning you can sit and watch the propeller planes take off and land right from your beach chair. It’s a quintessential view for anyone visiting St. Barths, and a fabulous place to imbibe and indulge. I’ll pass on the hobnobbing, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let a bit of social anxiety keep me from an unmissable vista. And so I dodged the typical beach club and ducked into Pearl Beach Hotel, less than a mile down the road, to taste the experience but avoid the scene. It was a quietly celebrated success! The small, family-owned boutique hotel and beach club offered a way to drink in the definitive panorama without the crowds. I lay in a beach chair, soaking up the views. The aircraft zipped to and fro just above my toes. If anyone was capturing the moment for the internet, they were drowned out by the roaring engines of propeller planes taking off.
Next, I took a walking tour around Gustavia, the island’s main town. The island was once owned by the Swedish, now by the French, and the town is fabulously historic and quaint. There’s Fort Gustav, the remains of a Swedish fort on a hill overlooking the harbor; the Anglican Church of Saint Bartholomew, built in 1855; the Municipal Museum, housed in one of the most meticulously restored and significant stone buildings of the Swedish period. Then there’s the real estate–private villas and residences with square footage to fit a family of 20. A study reveals that St. Barths is the best luxury Airbnb destination worldwide. And the shopping! Louis Vuitton, Prada, Dior, Celine, and Dolce & Gabbana. I lusted over silk scarves and perfectly stitched leather gloves, but I eventually needed a break from the logos. Gustavia is famous for its fine dining and slick eateries, but I had heard of another can’t-miss restaurant experience, and my FOMO was yet again setting in.
I summoned my courage and took a table at the much-fêted local bistro Le Café, which takes flamboyance to a new level. It’s famous for its backdrop of fantastic live music in a superbly atmospheric French cafe. I avoided the crowds by arriving as soon as the doors opened for dinner–7:30 pm is not a traditional suppertime for the French, I suppose.
When they arrived, the patrons were specific: those on dates had disturbing age gaps, and those in groups were ready to get rowdy. The three-piece band, comprised of vocals, guitar, and piano, plays a tight set of French favorites for diners to drunkenly sing along to as they scoop Michelin-grade caviar and sip Veuve. The performances are ovation-worthy, and the band is beloved by the audience–they’re local celebrities by all accounts. The diners recorded every moment of the night’s concert with phones waving in the air, singing along at obscene volume, and chat-screaming across tables, but tipping well and applauding enthusiastically. The experience is surprisingly enchanting, with very good vibes. I just had to dodge the cameras and stay out of the background of selfies.
I left Gustavia with a smile and a headache. I had done my part to see what the wild rumpus was all about; now, I was ready for the quietest place on St. Barths to retreat. I escaped to the other end of the island at the Hotel Christopher Saint-Barth. Finally, all the luxurious trappings I had been seeking without the ostentatious branding or hashtags. The indicators are there if you know how to read them—Hermès orange, Sisley in the spa—but nothing insists on being noticed, documented, circulated. The spa is, in fact, so private that you can shower outside with a view of the ocean and not be seen. I could have hidden there all day. It is as if the extravagance is meant to be kept a secret, rather than advertised.
But in a surprising twist, it turns out I wasn’t the only one seeking a break from the performance. The band from Le Café seemed to agree. The day after leading a roomful of revelers through boozy sing-alongs, the local celebrities had decamped to the pool deck at Hotel Christopher. Stretched out beside me, they ordered burgers and frites and lingered in the afternoon sun. No one was filming content. Nobody was proposing in the infinity pool. People were reading books.
Stay hidden at Hotel Christopherhugo allard © Hotel Christopher
It occurred to me that perhaps even on the most visible island in the Caribbean, everyone eventually wants the same thing. Not another audience. Not another table dance. Not another chance to prove they’re having a fabulous time. Just the freedom to enjoy it.
Later that afternoon, those same planes, yesterday above my toes, now traced white lines across the sky above Saint-Jean Bay. Nobody reached for a phone–certainly not me. For once, there was nothing to document and no one to impress. The greatest luxury in St. Barths, I discovered, isn’t being seen. It’s disappearing.