I’d rather stay in a hotel than a pushy, intrusive Airbnb house

When Airbnb first burst onto the scene, I, like many others, was instantly captivated. It felt revolutionary, a breath of fresh air in the often-stuffy world of travel accommodation. The idea was simple, yet brilliant: why stay in an impersonal hotel room when you could live like a local, stepping into someone else’s beautifully curated home, even if just for a few days?

I envisioned quaint cottages, city apartments with character and genuine human connection. It promised authenticity, adventure and a truly unique travel experience. For a while, it delivered.

I remember my early Airbnb stays fondly. There was the charming little house in Nashville where the host left us a bottle of local bourbon and a handwritten note with recommendations. There was the quirky artist’s loft in Berlin that felt more like a gallery than a rental property.

These weren’t just places to sleep; they were invitations into a lifestyle, brief glimpses into another world. The implicit trust, the feeling of “making yourself at home” while respecting someone else’s space, was exhilarating. It felt less like a transaction and more like a friendly agreement between kindred spirits.

I’m also reminded of the first time I took an Uber. I remember feeling, almost, special. It wasn’t a cab with a worn-out backseat and a plastic security shield separating the driver and me. There was personal conversation — like if I wanted a candy, bottle of water or to listen to the radio; and a mention of charging ports if I desired to connect my phone. It felt like an elite, superior way to travel — much like a home rental. Now that everyone’s doing it and people have made it a nightmare for the service providers, it’s lost that — dare I say — elegance.

Somewhere along the line, the magic began to dissipate, replaced by a growing sense of frustration and, seemingly, exploitation. 

What started as a shared economy concept, a way for individuals to monetize spare space, has morphed into a sprawling, often soulless, corporate-like entity. And as someone who once championed the platform, I’m compelled to ask: has the Airbnb concept, in its current iteration, finally run its course? I strongly believe it has.

My primary grievance, and perhaps the most glaring one, is the insidious proliferation of fees. Oh, the fees! You scroll through listings, find an appealing price per night, and then, as you proceed to book, the true cost slowly but surely reveals itself. A hefty “cleaning fee” that often rivals or exceeds a night’s stay. A “service fee” that seems to materialize out of thin air. Add in local occupancy taxes, and suddenly that charming $100-a-night apartment is costing you upwards of $180 or even $200. It’s an infuriating bait-and-switch that makes genuine price comparison with hotels incredibly difficult and often leaves me feeling cheated before I’ve even packed my bag.

Then there’s the increasingly absurd list of “checkout instructions.” It used to be a polite request to tidy up. Now, I frequently encounter demands that turn my supposed “vacation” into a second job. Strip the beds. Take out the trash to the curb, sorted into multiple recycling bins. Load and run the dishwasher. Wipe down surfaces. Even vacuum! All this, mind you, after paying a cleaning fee that, in my opinion, should cover exactly these tasks. I find myself wondering: am I a paying guest, or am I an unpaid cleaner, responsible for preparing the unit for the next paying guest? The contrast with a hotel, where I simply pack my suitcase and leave, is stark and deeply appealing.

But perhaps the most unsettling shift, and one that utterly undermines the very essence of feeling “at home,” is the lurking specter of surveillance. The possibility, real or imagined, of hidden cameras watching my every move is a deeply disturbing thought. While Airbnb has policies against undisclosed cameras in private spaces, the very fact that it’s a concern at all, that I have to check reviews or scrutinize listings for mentions of cameras, is antithetical to relaxation. I crave privacy and anonymity when I travel. The last thing I want is to feel like I’m on a reality TV show, even in my downtime. Hotels, for all their perceived impersonality, offer an unspoken guarantee of privacy within your room – a sanctuary that Airbnb can no longer reliably promise.

Ironically, these growing pains have led me to re-evaluate hotels. Once viewed as soulless boxes, chain hotels now seem like havens of predictability and convenience. When I book a hotel, I know exactly what I’m paying upfront. I know there will be a front desk if I have an issue, not a series of increasingly frantic messages to an unresponsive host. I know my towels will be replaced, my bed made, and my privacy respected. I don’t have to worry about a chore list before dawn, nor do I have to decipher cryptic instructions for operating a foreign washing machine. The level of professional service, the amenities like gyms, pools and room service – these are luxuries I’m increasingly willing to pay for, especially when the “cost savings” of Airbnb have largely evaporated.

It seems to me that the unique selling proposition of Airbnb – the authentic, local, home-away-from-home experience – has been sacrificed on the altar of scale and profit maximization. Many listings are no longer someone’s actual home, but rather investment properties managed by agencies, stripped of character and warmth, operating essentially as unregulated hotels. The soul of the concept has been hollowed out, leaving behind a less flexible, more expensive and surprisingly more stressful alternative to traditional lodging.

So, has the Airbnb concept run its course? For me, unequivocally yes. The initial promise of a novel, personal and cost-effective way to travel has been overshadowed by hidden fees, onerous demands and unsettling privacy concerns. While it might still appeal to niche travelers seeking truly unique properties in specific locations, for the general leisure traveler, the scales have tipped.

Hotels, once considered the impersonal default, now offer a far more predictable, comfortable and genuinely relaxing experience. And after countless frustrating encounters, I find myself increasingly choosing the dependable comfort of a good hotel over the fading dream of an Airbnb stay.