🦃 The Tourism Thanksgiving Table

Yep, I’ve done the Tourism Thanksgiving Table before. But, letsbehonest… 2025 earned a sequel. We’ve aged ten years since July.

Here’s who showed up this year. God help us all.

The DMO

Arrives first, but not proudly, more like they’re being held hostage by tradition. They shuffle in carrying three casseroles, a tote bag full of unprocessed feelings, and that smile they use when the board chair says, “Real quick question…”

They’re blinking like they haven’t slept since the spring campaign launched.

Vibe: One pothole away from a sabbatical.

The Chamber

Wanders in with a tray he bought five minutes ago and immediately starts reorganizing the table like he’s rezoning Thanksgiving.

“Flow is important,” he says, moving the stuffing to “improve business outcomes.”

Everyone nods because it’s Thanksgiving and we don’t have the emotional bandwidth to fight city hall on a holiday.

The Ad Agency Bros

Bless these men. They arrive in all black, carrying a dessert from a bakery that only exists for Instagram.

They don’t place it down, they present it. With phrases like, “We’re telling a bold new pumpkin story this year.”

One of them has a deck on his phone. One of them says “full-funnel” at volume. One of them is already scouting lighting for a case study video.

Vibe: Their charisma has a burn rate.

The Data Vendors

They float in quietly, wearing Patagonia vests and facial expressions that say: “I know what you did last quarter.”

They brought no food. No drinks. Just dashboards.

Immediately open a laptop and say, “We’re noticing a softening in green bean traction.”

Everyone contemplates violence.

Airline Cousin

Walks in late, exhausted, and weirdly proud of both.

He doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t bring a dish. He just sighs like the world has personally wronged him and says, “It’s been a challenging quarter.”

Congratulations. We ALL have trauma.

The Hoteliers

Enter like they’re doing a site inspection on the living room.

They cluster around the turkey whispering performance metrics: “Dry.” “Uneven.” “Not meeting expectations.”

One of them snaps a photo “for leadership.”

The STR Hosts

These queens are in a different genre.

They glide in wearing linen neutrals, smelling like eucalyptus and generational wealth. And they’re holding the most obnoxiously curated charcuterie board imaginable.

You know the kind: hand-foraged figs, small-batch olives, cheeses aged by monks, some mysterious honey sourced from a beekeeper known only by one name.

They say, kindly but pointedly, “We’d just love to see more destinations support truly authentic local experiences.”

The DMO briefly blacks out.

The OTA Stepdad

Appears without entering. He is simply… suddenly there.

Already slicing the turkey, already calculating everyone’s commission cut, already calling the turkey “inventory.”

“We’re all partners here,” he says, with the confidence of a man who absolutely does not mean that.

The Sustainable Tourism Niece

Floats in wearing beautiful thrifted clothes and moral clarity.

She turns off the oven. No explanation.

She brought a salad made of leaves and purpose, and gently scolds the aluminum foil like it personally harmed a watershed.

We love her. We fear her.

We do NOT have the capacity for her this week.

Downtown BID Brother-in-Law

Arrives mid-sentence. He was already talking in the driveway.

He says “placemaking” like it’s a food group and delivers a TED Talk about pedestrian flow around the cranberry sauce.

Everyone pretends to listen. No one hears a single word.

PR

Already drafting the family statement: “Thanksgiving showed strong engagement with moderate turbulence.”

Laptop is gently removed for everyone’s safety.

The Tourism Influencer

Baby. BABY.

She arrives moisturized, posed, and emotionally supported by twelve different affiliate codes.

She moves the turkey 3 inches because “lighting.” Takes 73 photos. Eats nothing. Posts a story tagged: “#grateful #partnered(?)”

Leaves to film the neighbor’s wreath.

And the table stays full, despite everything.

The competing agendas. The budgets held together with prayer. The burnout disguised as “passion.” The KPIs that haunt us in our sleep.

Somehow, SOMEHOW, these people show up. Every year. Every season. Every quarter that tries to kill us.

Not because it’s easy. Not because it’s sane. But because deep down, this ridiculous industry is the only one dramatic enough to deserve us.

So here’s to tourism...the only industry that arrives at Thanksgiving exhausted, underfunded, slightly delusional, and STILL manages to create magic. Happy Thanksgiving, you magnificent chaos gremlins.

🖤 Jenn