How to Plan the Perfect Villain-Era Trip (Without Bettering Yourself)

The 2020s have been nothing if not transformative, for better or worse.

A pandemic that brought the travel industry to its knees, leaving airports empty and passports gathering dust. A global wave of burnout so profound that even the most aggressively productive women began to admit that maybe they didn’t actually want to optimize every second of their lives.

And, somewhere between the third lockdown and the fourth rewatch of Succession, the rise of the so-called "villain era".

The phrase gets thrown around easily, usually alongside clips of women dramatically cutting off their friends, quitting jobs, or destroying their ex with the cool detachment (and Spotify playlist) of a Bond villain. But beneath the TikTok gloss, the core idea is simple:

It’s about reclaiming the space to want what you want, without apology.

And as it turns out, travel has been waiting for this moment.

Because there is a very specific, very potent kind of trip that exists at the intersection of self-indulgence, self-respect, and soft rebellion. A trip that isn’t about transformation or growth. A trip that doesn’t involve compromise or careful planning for everyone else’s feelings. A trip that exists for no one’s benefit but your own.

The villain-era trip.

Here’s how to plan it properly.

Rule One: No Emotional Labor.

Let’s begin with the most sacred rule of all:

This is not a group trip. Anyone who comes along is either an accomplice or in their own villain era; no exceptions.

There is no coordinating with anyone else’s preferences. No tracking down gluten-free restaurant options for your cousin. No fielding 3 a.m. texts from your partner about whether you really need to fly into that airport. No long discussions about “splitting the Airbnb fairly.”

You are not managing anyone else’s feelings here. No invisible labor, no hidden logistics, no quiet compromises made so that everyone else can think they’re having a seamless holiday while you frantically keep it all from collapsing.

This trip doesn’t involve a shared Google doc or a group WhatsApp. There are no collective votes on restaurants. No museums visited “because it would be nice for everyone.” No “we could just squeeze this in.”

If someone else’s comfort is involved at all, you're not in your villain era.

Rule Two: Choose Decadence Over Logic, Every Single Time

The villain-era trip isn’t about maximizing value. It’s about maximizing pleasure - which, as any grown woman knows, is almost never the most “logical” option.

It’s about deliberately choosing what feels good, even if it doesn’t make sense on paper.

Maybe that means flying into the less convenient airport because it lands you closer to a vineyard you've always wanted to explore. Maybe it’s booking the hotel with the freestanding bathtub in the middle of the room because who cares if it’s overpriced and impractical? You wanted the bathtub.

Maybe it’s booking business class on a two-hour flight purely because you’re tired of people reclining into your lap and you want champagne at 10 a.m.

Villain-era trips are where you stop asking yourself questions like, “But is it really worth it?”

It’s worth it if you say it is.

Decadence is the point. Practicality is for the return flight.

Rule Three: One Splurge So Ridiculous, It Makes You Blush

This rule is non-negotiable: you must do at least one thing on this trip that you would never justify under normal circumstances.

Something that makes even you hesitate before clicking “confirm.” Something you’ll remember fondly every time someone else whines about how “indulgent” you are.

It could be something tangible - a piece of jewelry, a designer dress, a suitcase so extravagant that you're scared to put it into the hold.

Or it could be an experience: a private chef’s table in Tokyo, a vintage car rental for no other reason than to feel cinematic while driving to lunch, a last-minute upgrade to a villa that sleeps eight when it’s just you.

The beauty of the villain-era trip is that it isn’t about whether you deserve it. You deserve it by default. You’re not here to justify anything.

The only question is: which ridiculous indulgence will you choose?

Rule Four: Absolutely No Fucking Wellness

This might be the most important rule of all.

The villain-era trip is not, under any circumstances, a wellness retreat.

You are not here to “reset your nervous system.” You are not here to “find yourself" under the Tuscan sun. You are not attending breathwork seminars, flying in juice cleanses, or doing silent meditation weekends at a monastery (although ring me if you want the hook up on that).

If a single booking mentions the phrase “transformational journey,” you’re already in the wrong place.

This trip isn’t about becoming a better person. It’s about being exactly who you are -but better dressed, better fed, and unbothered by anyone else’s expectations.

You can swim, but not because you’re “connecting with your inner child.” You can walk for hours, but not because you’re “grounding yourself.” You can book a massage, but only because it feels good—not because it’s “part of your healing arc.”

Leave the yoga mats and moon water to someone else. Teach your hotel's barman how to make a breakfast martini. You’ve got better things to do than meditate.

Rule Five: Pick a Place That Indulges Your Worst Impulses (Safely)

Villain-era travel is not about danger, but it is about mood.

Choose destinations that naturally amplify whatever you’re leaning into.

If you want anonymity and cool detachment, go somewhere where no one knows your name and everyone minds their own business. New York. Paris. Tokyo. London. Lisbon. Walk fast, order boldly, disappear into the crowds.

If you want to brood dramatically, pick places that almost demand it: Edinburgh in winter, stormy coastlines in Cornwall, misty mountain villages in Italy’s Aosta Valley.

If you want to swan around like you own the place, aim for unapologetic decadence: the Amalfi Coast, the Côte d’Azur, Como. Wear something absurd. Judge the wine menu -yap with the yachters - say "yes" more than "no". Watch how the entire room tilts toward you without effort.

The destination isn’t about the bucket list. It’s about feeding a specific, carefully curated impulse. Your impulse.

The Final Rule: No Guilt. No Apologies. No Audience Required.

Here’s what makes a villain-era trip different from every other kind of holiday:

It isn’t meant to be shared.

You are not obligated to post it on Instagram. You don’t have to explain it to anyone. You are not collecting anecdotes to regale your friends over dinner. You do not need to spin it as “empowering” or “educational” or even “interesting.”

You can post a single blurry photo of your cocktail glass if you like. You can post nothing at all. It’s none of their business.

This trip exists for your private satisfaction. That’s it.

And honestly, that’s what makes it delicious.

It Was Never About Being Bad

Here’s the truth about the villain-era trip: it isn’t really about being bad at all. It’s not some cartoonish act of rebellion, or a performative escape into hedonism. What it’s really about - quietly, almost boringly- is refusing to keep playing along. It’s about stepping out of the exhausting cycle of asking for permission before you enjoy yourself. Permission to spend the money, to take the time, to go somewhere purely because it pleases you.

Most women have been trained, whether explicitly or not, to treat travel as something that has to be earned. A reward for good behavior, or something they must spin into a productive experience. The trip needs to have a purpose. It needs to make sense to other people. It needs to be worth the photos.

The villain-era trip doesn’t bother with that. It isn’t interested in proving anything - not to partners, not to friends, not even to yourself. It isn’t about transformation or self-discovery or “becoming the woman you were always meant to be.” It’s not about curating a better, shinier version of yourself to bring home.

It’s about the far simpler (and far rarer) act of doing exactly what you want, without explaining it. No hashtags. No apologies. No narrative for others to consume. Just a trip planned on your terms, where you get everything you want, and owe nothing in return.

So maybe it isn’t really villainy after all. But we can still call it that - because, honestly, it’s much more fun.