Latest news with #ColinNagy
Skift
03-08-2025
- Skift
I'll Miss My Passport Stamps
Part document, part conversation starter, stamps are a physical reminder of where you've been. Their demise may be progress for some, but it's a loss nonetheless. On Experience Colin Nagy is a marketing strategist and writes on customer-centric experiences and innovation across the luxury sector, hotels, aviation, and beyond. You can read all of his writing Colin Nagy is a marketing strategist and writes on customer-centric experiences and innovation across the luxury sector, hotels, aviation, and beyond. You can read all of his writing here Last week, I landed in Bali after a long trip from the States. I expected a scrum at the airport based on my past visits. But this time, no one wanted to see much from me. The e-gates blinked green and waved me through. It was efficient and painless, and it's an experience coming soon to many other destinations. Biometric gates (already the default at most major airports) will quietly take over the world. Swipe your passport, stare into a camera, pass through. Progress, obviously. But it also marks the end of something tactile and oddly poetic: the humble passport stamp. I'm often obsessed with frictionless movement: cities with great transit, airport security checks – like in Portland, Oregon – that are incredibly well considered and flow nicely. But I also have to tip my hat to one of the last physical souvenirs of travel: proof of passage, memory in miniature, national bureaucracy as accidental art. I still keep my old passports in a drawer. They're soft at the edges and veering on delaminated in some places. They are bulging with extra pages with stamped ink and laden with colorful security stickers on the back. A red entry from Denmark, precise as everything else there. The beautiful Arabic from Oman, stamped before I headed into the Empty Quarter to camp. A crisp Hong Kong imprint from when it still felt independent, before Chinese politics tightened. Rugged Zimbabwe ink, smudged by a friendly female border agent's thumb on a hot afternoon near Buffalo Range. A full-page Tanzanian visa, glued in at a desk in Kilimanjaro after an arrival on KLM. Each one is a reminder that you went from here to there, and someone witnessed it. Stamps weren't just functional: they were meditative. Palau stamps used to be a full-page environmental pledge into every visitor's passport (they've since been made smaller). They're a promise of stewardship you must sign, a stamp as a moral contract. One of the few places that asks not just where you're coming from, but what kind of guest you plan to be. The use of passport stamps began in the 1800s, and became widespread in the early 20th century. Stamps tracked movement, yes, but they also became soft power made visible. What countries let you in easily? Which made you wait while they cross-referenced Cold War databases? The stamp was the state, condensed as tight as a bouillon cube. And like all analog signals, stamps contained beautiful accidents and personal touches. The European Union is phasing out physical passport stamps for travelers entering Schengen countries, and its e-gates promise none of these memories: just a scan and a silent swing. Maybe a barely audible click if you're lucky. The new way is more secure. Given wait times and surges in travel, it is probably better for everyone's sanity. But I miss the ceremony and the quiet ritual (and occasionally stressful moment) where your passport gets studied, the stamp gets pressed, and for a second you're acknowledged. I used to really love the gentle accumulation of stamps over time. They told you who'd been where, and when. A passport was part document, part conversation starter. As the physical world goes ephemeral (signatures become biometrics, keys and cards become phones, stamps become scans), we decide which traces matter. Passport stamps never pinged or tracked or lit up. It was colored ink and the odd signature, layering upon other ink into a quiet little mosaic sitting in a book. And I am very happy I lived during a time to experience and collect them.
Skift
30-07-2025
- Business
- Skift
Luxury's Ugly Truth – and the Brands Doing it Right
We are living through the slow unraveling of luxury's illusion. As demand has soared and price points have ballooned, too many brands have chosen to hollow out their offerings rather than elevate them. There has to be a better way. On Experience Colin Nagy is a marketing strategist and writes on customer-centric experiences and innovation across the luxury sector, hotels, aviation, and beyond. You can read all of his writing Colin Nagy is a marketing strategist and writes on customer-centric experiences and innovation across the luxury sector, hotels, aviation, and beyond. You can read all of his writing here The numbers reveal luxury's uncomfortable truth: As LVMH celebrated nearly $100 billion in revenue for 2024 driven by ever-higher prices, the manufacturing base supporting that wealth was collapsing. More than 2,000 Italian factories closed in just nine months. What's more, Italian prosecutors recently uncovered labor violations at workshops that make clothing for Loro Piana, the storied cashmere house known for understated wealth. Not in a far-flung offshore supplier, but within the borders of Italy itself. Subcontractors in Piedmont were found exploiting undocumented Chinese laborers in sweatshop conditions. Loro Piana, majority owned by LVMH, told Reuters it had cut ties with the supplier and that it would strengthen its audits. But the fact remains: Garments priced like heirlooms were being created under circumstances better suited to a Dickens novel. This problem is affecting hospitality, too. It might not be as severe, but the distance between promise and ground truth is troubling. A friend recently checked into a cinematic Italian hotel for a special occasion. It was a property that regularly tops 'best of' lists, and my friend paid over $3,000 a night. The setting was visually arresting, and the soft touches were impeccable. But the service was comically inept. There was no concierge follow-up and a sense that the hotel had maxed out on PR juice but minimized keeping up the standard. At that price point, expectations aren't just high, they're existential. And yet, the veneer cracked. We are living through the slow unraveling of luxury's illusion. As demand has soared and price points have ballooned, too many brands have chosen to hollow out their offerings rather than elevate them. I believe in capitalism, but we must acknowledge that the system often incentivizes cutting corners over creating value. Considered, Sustainable, Deeply Human There has to be a better way, and fortunately, some brands prove that there is. Brunello Cucinelli, whose name is often used as shorthand for soft cashmere and neutral color palettes, anchors his company on a belief in human dignity. Workers in Solomeo are paid generously and treated with care. It is forbidden for people to work beyond the specified hours. A generous lunch is catered for the craftspeople. The result isn't just ethical; it's perceptible in the product. Singita, a South African hospitality company, aligns luxury with conservation, threading together land preservation, community development, and some of the most considered nature experiences on the planet. In 2025, Singita's leadership reaffirmed its commitment to its 100-Year Purpose: to steward nearly one million acres of wilderness across Africa. This isn't a marketing line, it's operational doctrine and it is humble in its service to nature. Every lodge supports biodiversity and conservation initiatives, from rhino relocations to anti-poaching canine units. Community partnerships span early childhood education, youth culinary training programs with 95% job placement, and local economic development. Values pull through the entire brand. We're talking about the long game: hospitality designed over decades, not seasons. Service is intentional, soulful, and rooted in something far deeper than spreadsheets. In Bali, Potato Head is redefining what a beach resort can be. Elegantly restless, they're always pushing the envelope, whether it's building with recycled materials, rethinking food systems, or collaborating with forward-thinking artists and designers. But what makes it remarkable is that this experimentation is grounded in an ethical lens. It's not disruption for a PR hook's sake; it's a continuous, creative pursuit of better ways to host, to nourish, and to inspire, without compromising the planet or the people who power the experience. At last count, Potato Head had diverted over 97% of its waste from landfills, and perhaps most importantly, they teach other properties how to do the same. These are belief systems made operational. And they have soul. I've been tracking these brands for some time. Who are the new people and places that will carve out the new path? Those that push but also act with humility and in the true spirit of hospitality. If you're spending $3,000 a night on a hotel, or dropping $7,000 on a coat, don't you want to know that it was made with care, purpose, and an eye toward the future? The illusion is crumbling. But what rises in its place can be something better: considered, sustainable, and deeply human. We have a choice. As consumers, we can redirect our dollars, our endorsement, to those who treat luxury not as a performance, but as a duty and something rooted in craft, dignity, and attention to detail.
Skift
02-07-2025
- Business
- Skift
Royal Mansour's Mission: Delivering Ultra-Luxury, Access to the 'Soul of Morocco'
As Royal Mansour grows from an iconic property into a brand, it is charting a course of precision, diplomacy, and deep cultural grounding under the watchful eye of Jean-Claude Messant. On Experience Colin Nagy is a marketing strategist and writes on customer-centric experiences and innovation across the luxury sector, hotels, aviation, and beyond. You can read all of his writing Colin Nagy is a marketing strategist and writes on customer-centric experiences and innovation across the luxury sector, hotels, aviation, and beyond. You can read all of his writing here I wrote a column in 2020 about the Royal Mansour in Marrakech, and how it is not just a luxury property, but rather a statement about craft and hospitality in the country. Founded in 2010 as a personal project of King Mohammed VI, the brand has quietly grown into Morocco's first true ultra-luxury hospitality collection, now encompassing Marrakech, Casablanca, and Tamuda Bay. The collection operates as a soft power instrument, a platform for talent development, and a high-standard bearer of Moroccan craft. In a recent conversation I had with COO Jean Claude Messant, the vision becomes clear: "We are not just building hotels. We are establishing destinations, elevating national pride, and preparing for Morocco's future." The original Royal Mansour Marrakech set the tone: a 53-riad medina-inspired masterpiece was brought to life by over 1,200 artisans. It was not just luxury, but an immersive education in Moroccan aesthetics. The experience is subtler than its palatial looks suggest, with no carts, no noise, just jasmine-scented alleys, hidden tunnels for staff movement, and moments of peace amidst the red walled dwellings. "We make money because we succeed in our three missions: pioneering destinations, delivering ultra-luxury, and developing people," Messant told me. Casablanca Royal Suite That model has now been thoughtfully extended. The revival of Casablanca's iconic 1953 hotel reintroduces the city as a destination rather than a mere arrival and transit point. It is the largest hotel in town with 149 rooms and suites. A two-story spa, five restaurants, and nods to the building's storied past, make Royal Mansour Casablanca a love letter to the city's forgotten glamour, delivered with architectural precision and culinary talent. Further north, Tamuda Bay is set along a private beach near Tétouan. It offers 55 suites and villas, a 46,000-square-foot wellness center, Morocco's first Medi-Spa, and an emphasis on regional discovery. Guests are encouraged to explore the lesser-known wonders of northern Morocco, from Chefchaouen to the Rif Mountains. The restaurant at Talmuda Bay Yet behind the luxury is something deeper. Messant describes his mandate not in business terms, but in national ones. "We are building for the 2030 World Cup," he explains. "Yes, tourism is growing with 17.4 million visitors in 2024 alone, but this is about readiness. Morocco is investing in airports, roads, and hotels. We are doing our part: establishing touchpoints of excellence across the kingdom." This aligns with the Ministry of Tourism's push for regional balance. Royal Mansour's entry into Casablanca and Tamuda Bay brings high-end tourism infrastructure to cities beyond Marrakech, creating a circuit that reflects the country's diversity. These are not hotels tossed into exotic landscapes. They are contextually embedded, employing local artisans, honoring regional aesthetics, and helping train the next generation of Moroccan hoteliers. Each property has its own signature. Marrakech is refined and spiritual, complete with wellness retreats, art therapy, and the country's finest Moroccan restaurant, La Grande Table Marocaine. Casablanca channels mid-century glamour and urban creativity, including immersive street art tours. Tamuda Bay is serene and familial, with coastal expeditions, and more of a Spain-facing culinary inspiration. The outside of Talmuda Bay All three properties share an ethos: authenticity without artifice. As Messant put it, "We are not fake. What we offer is real. We give travelers access to the soul of Morocco." His next project? Ultra-luxury desert lodges, building a "road to the Sahara" with curated stops that blend nature, story, and service. "It will be like a Royal Mansour road trip," he says with a smile. Perhaps the most remarkable aspect is how mission-driven the team remains. There is no mention of EBITDA in Messant's three-part mandate. Instead, it is: 1) trailblaze new destinations, 2) uphold ultra-luxury standards, and 3) grow and care for people. Royal Mansour's staff academy, community initiatives, and social mobility focus create a virtuous cycle that blends moral and commercial considerations. As hospitality trends shift and travelers seek both geographic awe and actual cultural depth, the growing Royal Mansour brand draws on legacy, a considerable royal budget, but also a clarity of purpose. And, for Messant, a five-star hotelier with the highest French pedigrees, it is also a culmination of his life's work. "I've been GM in Paris," he says. "I'd go home at 6 or 7 at night and come back the following day. But here it's not the same." Here, he's living in his adopted country, living the brand and mission in stereo sound, and helping to write Morocco's next hospitality chapter.
Skift
12-05-2025
- Business
- Skift
Emirates Just Made First Class More Exclusive – It's a Smart Brand Strategy
Bloggers may be up in arms, but Emirates understands that scarcity creates desire and exclusivity protects brand equity. On Experience Colin Nagy is a marketing strategist and writes on customer-centric experiences and innovation across the luxury sector, hotels, aviation, and beyond. You can read all of his writing Colin Nagy is a marketing strategist and writes on customer-centric experiences and innovation across the luxury sector, hotels, aviation, and beyond. You can read all of his writing here Few companies excel at brand management like Emirates. I'm talking about the clarity of their brand promise, the consistency of execution across touch points (advertising, digital, app, and in lounges and onboard), and continuous innovation. Plus, Emirates understands the importance of exclusivity. This strategic discipline has paid off. The brand consistently ranks among the world's most valuable airline brands, currently number 4 globally with a brand value of $7.4 billion, according to Brand Finance, and generated $33 billion in revenue in 2023-24, with premium cabins driving significant yield premiums. And good brand strategy is knowing when to say no. So I wasn't entirely surprised when I saw Emirates announce that its first-class product can now only be booked by Emirates Skywards members at the Silver, Gold, or Platinum tier. The collective gasp you heard on the internet this weekend was points bloggers, mileage runners, and YouTubers, disappointed by the change. I understand the negative reaction, but for the Emirates brand, it was strategically brilliant. Protecting the First-Class Experience For a long time, Emirates has benefitted from the halo of its first-class product: the Game Changer suites, the A380 showers ( highlighted by a memorable Jennifer Aniston spot), and the accoutrements like the if-you-know-you-know grey tote, Bvlgari products, and black notebook. Emirates' first class has become a grail item for bloggers and other people who like to hack systems and broadcast their experiences. In fact, Emirates reviews are a surefire way to goose YouTube engagement. The problem is for the core audience. These are people spending actual money to sit up front, or elite, regular customers of the airline, and this cabin is the last place you want to be annoyed by people broadcasting every molecular detail of their experience and asking for a third serving of caviar. It diminished the cabin experience for other paying customers. And that's why Emirates' decision to restrict access is brand protection at its finest and why I'm all for it. Emirates calculated that it has already built up enough brand value from the social proliferation of the first-class product, and that it was time to assert its exclusivity. The economics here are counterintuitive. Emirates has among the largest first-class cabins in the world, up to 14 suites on some A380s, and award redemptions aren't cheap giveaways. With prices often exceeding 200,000 miles plus substantial taxes, Emirates likely makes money on these redemptions. This move isn't about filling seats or protecting yield; it's about deciding who fills them. Emirates is borrowing from the luxury playbook here: Think Hermès limiting Birkin bag purchases or Rolex's notorious waitlists. The psychology is identical: scarcity creates desire, and exclusivity protects brand equity. When everyone can access your premium product (and annoy other passengers as they document it), it ceases to be premium. They are taking a cue from Air France, which has been arguably the best executor of luxury service with its La Première product. Air France makes it notoriously hard to book, and often limits it to the higher levels of its own loyalty program or other Skyteam members. It is hard to hack, and thus the allure, and privacy, is heightened for the people paying for the product. These moves come as more airlines are deciding to double down on first-class products: British Airways is investing £400 million in its new first-class suite, Lufthansa is retrofitting its A350s with Allegris First, and Singapore Airlines continues to expand its suite-equipped fleet. But product innovation alone isn't enough. As Emirates demonstrates, protecting the exclusivity of that product is equally crucial. In an era where every experience is Instagrammed and TikToked, Emirates' move is a reminder that there are still moves to ensure that luxury still values discretion over hyper disclosure. Sometimes the best brand management decision is knowing when to say no.
