9.3: The Social Media Tourist

Kyoto at Sunrise

A faint drizzle silvers the stone path leading to Kyoto’s Fushimi Inari Taisha as dawn paints the torii gates in a red-gold glow, lanterns flicker as two travelers steady their phones on tripods. Yet these two aren't just travelers, but influencers angling their tripods—one live-streaming on TikTok, another critiquing over-tourism on YouTube. Their contrasting intentions expose the paradox of digital pilgrimage: connection versus consumption (Urry, 2002; Couldry & Hepp, 2017).

Online, authenticity becomes performance. The digital gaze (Couldry & Hepp, 2017) turns heritage into content and empathy into engagement metrics. UNESCO’s Recommendation on the Ethics of Artificial Intelligence (2021) cautions that algorithmic visibility can distort cultural balance, privileging spectacle over spirit. These dynamics test SDG 8 (Decent Work) and SDG 12 (Responsible Consumption): can visibility coexist with dignity?

One, a Japanese vlogger named Aoi Tanaka, whispers to her audience on TikTok Live: “It’s 5:42 a.m.—the moment light meets prayer. #KyotoSunrise 😍🙏 #BucketList” (Instagram, 2024). Just meters away, another content creator—an Australian sustainability influencer named Jules—films the same shrine while muttering into his camera, “Too many tripods for one sunrise. We all want the shot, but what are we taking from the place?” (YouTube Vlog, 2023). As Goffman (1959) predicted, all social life is staged; social media simply widens the audience.

In this fleeting exchange, the paradox of social-media tourism unfolds: one traveler seeking transcendence through sharing, the other aware that the act of documentation risks hollowing the experience. What once was pilgrimage has become performance, and the stage is digital. As sociologist John Urry (2002) observed, “The tourist gaze is increasingly shaped by mechanical mediation.” Each click, post, and tag transforms the local into the global—an instant artifact of the self in motion.

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The Digital Gaze

The selfie has replaced the souvenir. Where postcards once testified that one had been there, the post announces that one is there now. The digital gaze, according to Couldry and Hepp (2017), converts everyday life into continuous data flow—a world where “the camera does not just see but commands what is seen.” In tourism, this means that landscapes and rituals are curated for virality, not reverence.

UNESCO’s Recommendation on the Ethics of Artificial Intelligence (2021) warns that algorithmic mediation can distort cultural representation, privileging visual spectacle over intangible heritage. The SDGs echo this tension: Goal 8 (Decent Work and Economic Growth) and Goal 12 (Responsible Consumption and Production) urge ethical tourism that empowers communities rather than exploiting them.

At the Kyoto shrine, Aoi Tanaka later posts a follow-up caption: “I hope I did justice to the place—please visit respectfully 🙏 #TravelMindfully #SDG12” (Instagram, 2024). Her post garners thousands of likes, blending sincerity with strategy. As Goffman (1959) noted, social life is a stage; the influencer’s feed is its new theatre. MacCannell’s (1976) classic argument that tourists seek authenticity in staged settings now plays out in pixels: we stage our own authenticity for others to witness.

The result is a feedback loop between self-presentation and algorithmic expectation. Each platform rewards emotional immediacy—sunrise awe, tears at memorials, street-food delight—turning empathy into engagement metrics. As Zuboff (2019) observes, digital capitalism “renders experience as a raw material for behavioral prediction.” The traveler becomes both storyteller and commodity. Across platforms, algorithms reward repetition—sunsets, symmetry, smiles. Zuboff (2019) calls this the “commodification of attention.” In Iceland, influencers frame geothermal lagoons through eco-filters, captioning “#BlueLagoonDreams 💙 #SDG8.” In Brazil, favela creators invert the gaze: “Our view of Christ is from below, but it’s still divine #FavelaStories” (YouTube, 2024). These acts of resistance embody SDG 10 (Reduced Inequalities) yet remain vulnerable to algorithmic bias that privileges glamour over grit (Noble, 2018).

Cambodia’s Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum now monitors digital visitorship. Curator Visoth (UNESCO, 2021) explains, “We invite reflection, not entertainment.” Their guidelines illustrate UNESCO’s push for ethical digital memory, merging technology with moral pedagogy.

The social-media tourist thus performs both witness and marketer. Each post extends reach yet risks eroding meaning. OECD (2024) warns that “algorithmic design must be transparent if cultural equity is to be maintained.” Tourism educators now train students to practice digital literacy as ethical travel, fulfilling SDG 16 by linking civic responsibility to virtual engagement.

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Influencers and the Aesthetics of Authenticity

Influencers occupy a curious moral position in this economy of attention: they are paid to be genuine. The aesthetics of authenticity—the unfiltered selfie, the heartfelt caption—mask a professionalized craft of algorithmic intimacy (Abidin, 2020).

In Japan, Aoi’s sunrise post joins a larger genre of digital pilgrimage, where fans trace anime or pop-culture sites featured in films like Your Name or Spirited Away (Seaton & Yamamura, 2015). A user comments, “Finally saw the stairs from Your Name! IRL and cried 😭 #AnimePilgrimage #TokyoVibes” (Twitter, 2024). These posts perform devotion both to place and media, merging cultural consumption with self-branding.

Yet authenticity remains precarious. Research on influencer ethics shows that parasocial intimacy—followers feeling personally connected to creators—can foster empathy or manipulation depending on transparency (Marwick & Boyd, 2011; Abidin, 2020). UNESCO’s (2021) framework on digital culture calls for “human-centered transparency” in algorithmic design, aligning with SDG 16 (Peace, Justice, and Strong Institutions) by promoting trust in digital ecosystems.

In Iceland, travel influencer Marta Santos posts from the Blue Lagoon: “Nature’s SPA ✨💙 #IcelandDreams #SDG8” (Instagram, 2024). Behind her shot, geothermal steam blurs the crowd of tourists. Her feed features carbon-offset links and sustainable-tourism hashtags, signaling ecological virtue. But as Gössling (2021) cautions, eco-branding may obscure aviation’s environmental toll—a paradox of green aesthetics without green behavior.

Similarly, in Brazil, favela-based creators reclaim representation once monopolized by outsiders. One Rio vlogger posts, “Our view of Christ the Redeemer is different from yours 😉 #FavelaStories #Pride” (YouTube, 2024). This self-mediated storytelling resists exoticization, echoing SDG 10 (Reduced Inequalities). Yet the algorithm rewards spectacle over nuance, often privileging vibrant imagery over complex narratives (Moraes & Frenzel, 2022).

Cambodia’s Tuol Sleng Museum, revisited through virtual tours, faces a subtler dilemma. Curator Chhay Visoth explained in an interview, “People film selfies beside torture cells. We want engagement, not entertainment” (UNESCO, 2021). The museum’s digital team now moderates comments and partners with platforms to flag insensitive posts—an application of UNESCO’s AI ethics principles in cultural preservation.

Social media thus reconfigures the very ethics of witnessing explored in Part B. Whereas dark tourism demanded physical presence, digital witnessing multiplies it infinitely, raising questions of consent, dignity, and historical responsibility.

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The Performative Loop

The influencer’s camera no longer points outward—it folds inward, transforming self-documentation into a mirror for global spectatorship. As Hall (2018) notes, representation is a site of power: who tells the story defines who is visible. In tourism, this means that the line between representation and appropriation depends on context, privilege, and intent.

At the Kyoto shrine, Jules uploads his counter-video hours later: “Too many people chasing the same shot #KyotoOverload 😞 Let’s talk about mindful tourism #SDG12.” His clip gains traction as a critique of influencer culture, but ironically, its virality repeats the same cycle—visibility built on overexposure.

The performative loop illustrates what Couldry (2012) calls “the myth of the mediated center”: we believe the world revolves around what appears on our screens. Every “authentic” post risks reducing the other to background, turning lived culture into stage décor.

OECD’s Digital Economy Outlook 2024 warns that algorithmic amplification can deepen inequality by overrepresenting urban, Euro-American, and aestheticized travel while marginalizing Global South narratives. UNESCO’s AI ethics guidelines similarly emphasize “diversity of cultural expression as a global public good.” Together they reinforce that visibility is not neutrality—it is design.

Thus, the ethical tourist today must navigate not only airports and customs, but platform architectures: opaque algorithms that decide which landscapes matter and which voices are silenced.

Algorithms and Inequality: Whose Places Trend?

Beneath every viral travel post is an invisible architecture of power. Algorithms decide which waterfall glows on millions of screens and which rural festival never leaves the village. The UNESCO Recommendation on the Ethics of Artificial Intelligence (2021) warns that “digital systems shape cultural visibility as much as they transmit it,” and the OECD Digital Economy Outlook (2024) identifies tourism platforms as major engines of what critics call algorithmic colonialism (Couldry & Mejias, 2019; Noble, 2018). When visibility becomes a commodity, those with bandwidth, marketing budgets, and linguistic privilege dominate global imagination.

AI-driven recommendation feeds on Instagram or TikTok reward the already beautiful—symmetry, color saturation, and emotion recognized by machine learning. Scholars such as Bishop (2020) and Paris & Rubio (2022) note that such visual bias marginalizes Indigenous, Black, or rural representations that resist spectacle. The UNESCO framework links this to SDG 10 (Reduced Inequalities), urging states to treat algorithmic transparency as a form of cultural justice. The tourism industry, however, remains largely opaque; content moderation guidelines are corporate secrets, not public ethics.

On the traveler’s side, algorithmic suggestion replaces serendipity. A feed might push Kyoto’s orange torii gates or Iceland’s Blue Lagoon thousands of times per hour, while lesser-known heritage—Madagascar’s highland crafts or Turkmenistan’s desert songs—vanish into what media theorist Tufekci (2015) calls “algorithmic invisibility.” This reproduces old colonial geographies in new digital form. As one content creator from Recife lamented, “If your beach doesn’t look like Maldives blue, the app won’t show it” (TikTok Interview, 2023).

UNESCO’s 2021 guidelines propose “participatory algorithm design”—co-creating datasets with local communities so that AI learns multiple aesthetics of beauty. Integrating such practices would realize SDG 8 (Decent Work and Economic Growth) by empowering local storytellers as digital entrepreneurs rather than data suppliers for global platforms.

Global Case Studies

Japan: Digital Pilgrimage and Sacred Saturation

In Japan, shrines like Fushimi Inari and anime landmarks such as the Your Name staircase epitomize how sacred and pop spaces merge online. A Kyoto monk interviewed by Ito (2021) reflected, “When visitors film prayers, they record sound, not silence. But silence is where faith lives.” Yet temple associations now collaborate with influencers to manage crowds, aligning tourism management with SDG 12 (Responsible Consumption and Production). This co-creation reframes digital tourism as participatory stewardship rather than desecration.

Iceland: Eco-Aesthetics and the Arctic Myth

Iceland markets itself through ethereal minimalism—#IcelandDreams, aurora reels, geothermal baths. The nation’s Tourist Board (2023) encourages “Share with Care” campaigns, reminding users that geotagging fragile sites accelerates erosion. Research by Gössling (2021) and Hall (2022) shows that despite sustainability rhetoric, influencer travel inflates aviation emissions by 25 percent yearly. Still, Iceland’s push for carbon-offset storytelling supports SDG 13 and echoes UNESCO’s (2021) call for “ethical AI metrics to evaluate environmental impact in digital communication.”

Brazil: Favela Narratives and Digital Resistance

In Rio de Janeiro’s Complexo do Alemão, community journalists use YouTube to reverse the outsider gaze. Channel host Carol Lopes (2023) opens her vlog: “People come for graffiti shots; we show the schools, the music, the mothers.” Her 200 000 subscribers prove that authenticity can be reclamation, not brand. Studies by Moraes & Frenzel (2022) show how such initiatives align with SDG 16 (Peace, Justice and Strong Institutions) by strengthening local information sovereignty. However, algorithms still favor dramatic imagery of poverty or violence—what Noble (2018) terms “the datafication of stereotype.”

Cambodia: Memory Streaming and Ethical Remembrance

At Phnom Penh’s Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum, virtual tours multiplied during the pandemic. Curator Visoth told UNESCO (2021), “Our challenge is teaching grief through screens.” The museum integrates contextual pop-ups reminding viewers that “This site memorializes real victims—share respectfully.” Digital ethics here becomes pedagogy: remembering responsibly online. It demonstrates UNESCO’s vision of AI for cultural dignity—a fusion of remembrance and digital literacy.

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Ethics of the Digital Footprint

Every post leaves a trace—not just metadata but moral residue. As Shoshana Zuboff (2019) explains, surveillance capitalism turns “every act of experience into behavioral surplus.” In tourism, that surplus includes facial recognition at airports, predictive pricing for travelers, and biometric tracking in “smart” heritage sites. UNESCO (2021) cautions that without consent frameworks, heritage digitization can become extraction rather than preservation.

The OECD (2024) proposes “data trusteeship” models, allowing communities to govern how cultural images circulate—particularly for Indigenous and sacred sites. This echoes SDG 16’s demand for accountable institutions and connects directly to SDG 10 by preventing digital exploitation of marginalized storytellers.

Ethical social-media tourism thus requires three shifts:

1. Transparency—platforms disclosing recommendation logic.

2. Consent—communities controlling digital reproduction of their culture.

3. Accountability—tourists understanding that “sharing” is participation in global data economies.

As one Cambodian guide wrote on X (2024), “Respect is the best filter. You don’t need HDR for humility.”

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The Digital Pilgrim

The social-media tourist is both consumer and chronicler, navigating a world where attention is the new currency. Yet within this landscape lies potential for transformation. Digital platforms can foster empathy when storytelling moves from exhibition to exchange. Projects like #FacesofMadagascar (UNDP, 2023) or Iceland’s ShareWithCare demonstrate how narrative ethics can converge with SDG targets—creating communities of learning rather than competition.

Philosopher Byung-Chul Han (2017) writes that “The tourist photographs to forget; the pilgrim remembers without a lens.” The challenge for the 21st-century traveler is to become a digital pilgrim—someone who uses technology not to accumulate images but to cultivate awareness. UNESCO’s and OECD’s frameworks jointly envision such ethical connectivity: cultures meeting in reciprocity, not in extraction.

As Aoi Tanaka reflected in a later vlog from Kyoto, “Maybe what we’re really chasing isn’t the view but the feeling of being seen—by the world, by each other.” Her words echo softly across the algorithmic void, reminding us that the truest journey remains inward.