The Lights Go Out on St. Barts

St. Barts used to be the sort of place you went to get away from everyone. Unfortunately, everyone had the same idea. The famously exclusive French Caribbean island has been experiencing rolling blackouts over the past week, prompting one insider to complain to Page Six that it’s starting to feel like “North Korea.” Naturally, the internet will have more snark than sympathy for people suffering without air conditioning on an island where the average vacation home runs about €6 million. But the blackouts highlight an uncomfortable truth: St. Barts has become entirely too accessible. I’ve been visiting St. Barts — or Saint Barthélemy to give its full French name — since long before Instagram. We go every “shoulder season”: the casual summer months that come after the winter high season but before the island completely shuts down in fall. It’s perfect for easy parking, easier reservations, and a completely secluded, relaxing vacation.This summer, however, it felt like an Instagram theme park. The ferry over set the tone, with an invasion of day-trippers eager to purchase a few hours of exclusivity. Many carried camera equipment as they sported designer brands from head to toe, planning to post photographic evidence of their membership in the international jetsetting elite. By the end of our trip, I swallowed my fear of puddle jumpers to avoid the ferry home. I’d rather pop an emergency Xanax than endure another boatload of aspiring influencers. I’m not imagining this. The island’s real estate market exploded during COVID before leveling out last year, yet 2025 saw record-breaking tourist travel nonetheless. The overseas subsidiary of France’s Central Bank warns that the level of tourism is unsustainable, placing “structural pressures on the land, energy and waste management.” Is it any wonder that the island is now suffering its first major weeks-long blackout since Hurricane Irma wiped out capacities in 2017? At this point, authorities are just hoping to restore power by Thanksgiving. This is what happens when we forget that luxury necessarily requires scarcity, something St. Barts naturally excels at. At just 8 square miles, the tiny island is barely larger than JFK airport. It’s also hard to get to: boat in or take a small taxi plane from a neighboring island — there’s no direct flight. The beaches are all public, which, counterintuitively, helps preserve its exclusivity, since international hotel developers have no reason to invest in high-capacity beachfront monstrosities. Because it’s not resort friendly, you actually have to live, drive, and shop like a local. Such understated living is the true exclusive luxury that historically drew people to the island, but it’s not what most people envision before they go. Rather, they conjure up a fantasy — the vision of champagne and caviar they see online, and which exists homogeneously all over the world. Now, we’ve created both a culture and an economy that encourage them to chase it. Instagram curates the ideal aesthetic, Airbnb offers it for a nightly rate, and Klarna micro-finances it as people once financed homes, cars, and other staples of the American Dream. In chasing their fantasy, the day-trip crowd has created it. With every new arrival, St. Barts becomes more like every other generic luxury hotspot, as the island’s restaurants, shops, and clubs increasingly cater to the whims of its new clientele. In just three years, St. Jean — the island’s traditionally boho beach town — gained three new but derivative beach clubs, crowding out a shoreline where the iconic Nikki Beach used to be the obvious party destination. Gustavia. St. Barts. Wikimedia CommonsIn Gustavia, the capital, international restaurant brands like Mamo, Bagatelle, and Beefbar now outcompete local mainstays. Perhaps the death knell came when the notoriously trendy and infamously pricey LA streetwear brand Chrome Hearts opened its doors. Staff have the nerve to say, “no pictures,” presumably snickering at an unspoken assumption: That’s the whole reason people walk through their doors in the first place. This doesn’t mean these places are all bad; honestly, I’d love some cheeky Chrome Hearts sunglasses. But if every trendy destination has the same restaurants, decor, DJs and clientele, then can anything be considered exclusive anymore? In democratizing the luxury lifestyle, we’ve all but eradicated it.Defending elitism makes people squirm, perhaps because they confuse it with snobbery. In my experience, however, the real snob is the one posting nightclub pictures on Instagram — not the man simply lounging by his pool. At least his idea of luxury doesn’t leave the rest of the island in the dark.

The Lights Go Out on St. Barts

The Lights Go Out on St. Barts

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