Gen Z Is Bringing Back the Old-Fashioned Inn
Bland, contactless rentals are out, and local inns are in.
In the humid twilight of a New Orleans evening, post lights lead me down Poydras Street to an Edwardian building with a French door facade. I’m hours behind my intended arrival, so I frantically barge through the Copper Vine Wine Pub and Inn’s front door.
I follow the din of drunken laughter through a teal-hued hallway and into the restaurant, where my innkeeper reassures me that I'm right on time. He's far from what you might imagine of a classic innkeeper—he’s young and chic, with emerald-rim glasses, a glowing demeanor, and he knows exactly what I should drink.
One lively glass of a Grenache/Syrah/Cinsault blend later, a local directs me to a 24-hour laundry bar, where I meet a voodoo priest who says he can resurrect my uncle at a different 24-hour laundry bar for the cost of a Miller High Life and a bourbon. When I roll back into the inn at 8 am, the innkeepers seem approving, almost proud. They bring a breakfast of jammy eggs, berries, and tea to my room, which I savor in small bites on a rocking chair.
This, I think triumphantly, is hospitality.
And that’s exactly what Gen Z vacationers are looking for right now. Curious young travelers are rebelling against modern low-contact accommodations and moving toward genuine, conversation-driven hospitality that translates best in classic travel institutions, bed-and-breakfasts and inns. They want to meet and mingle with locals; to feel like they are experiencing moments that can't be recreated.
Members of Gen Z are twice as likely as Baby Boomers to say they feel lonely. “They've been a little bit overexposed to this one-way social media communication. So they're much more about dialogue,” says Margaux Constantin, a partner in consulting firm McKinsey's Public and Social Sector group who leads their work in tourism, in an interview with Skift. The chance for local connection and relief from a world that feels artificial has become a reason to travel in its own right.
“When I travel, I am interested in learning new things and seeing the world in a way I hadn't before. I want my accommodation to immerse me in its point of view," says Colleen McNally, a lifestyle journalist and boutique hotel hopper. “I don't want to be anonymous and treat other humans transactionally and robotically.”
This was exactly the type of clientele Copper Vine owner Kyle Brechtel was trying to capture when he opened the 11-room inn atop his restaurant in 2024. “[I thought], how can we help people feel a bit of that New Orleans grit while also experiencing polished and personal hospitality?”
Copper Vine harkens back to traditional 1800s American inn culture, when inns and their downstairs taverns were gathering places for visitors and locals alike, an all-in-one mustering center where townspeople discussed civic matters and travelers got an introduction to the town and local lore.
Brechtel wanted to create a modern public house—the origins of what we would call a pub, and a functional synonym for inn—that he would enjoy visiting himself, one where the drinks flow and regulars and visitors swap stories. "When I'm traveling, I want to talk to everybody," he says. "I want to ask: What's your story? What's the town gossip?"
Lucky patrons at Copper Vine may well find Brechtel, who has lived in downtown New Orleans all his life, sitting at his bar. “The other night, we had some guests who were cracking up talking to this obnoxious friend of mine who's here all the time," he laughs. "Those moments add an intimacy and level of connection to a city and its people that you can't find at a big box hotel or Airbnb.”
Christa Indiviglio-Rizzo is the general manager of The Henson, a new 16-room Catskills inn, and says her guests are seeking that same sense of place. “You're seeing so many young couples and young families who are really trying to get away and immerse themselves,” she says.
While Catskills inns of old offered respite from the hardships of horse-and-buggy travel, Rizzo's visitors come to The Henson seeking relief from something else: technology.
“When people check-in, we're like, ‘Make sure you connect to the Wi-Fi, because there's no service,’" says Rizzo, "and so many people smile and say, ‘No service is good. We'll take it.’” It’s a completely different response, she notes, than she would've gotten during her days managing 700+ room corporate hotels; “People want to disconnect from their daily life and connect with nature, other guests, and us more than ever.”
Innkeeper Michelle Korgan is something of an authority on maximizing personal interaction. Every morning, she drives past barking sea lions, wind-swept cliffs, and sprouting mushrooms toward a historic lighthouse on Oregon's jagged coast. There, she starts the day much the same way her parents did 30 years ago, preparing the famed, foraged multi-course breakfast for her guests at the Heceta Lighthouse B&B in Florence, Oregon.
In 1995, Korgan's parents were selected to renovate the Heceta Lighthouse Keeper's quarters from an applicant pool of 500 people; she took over in 2000 and hasn't regretted it. “I live in a wonderland,” she says, and hopes to extend that feeling to her guests and townspeople.
The Heceta hosts an annual holiday open house which shuttles locals from the park to enjoy an evening of complimentary cookies and mingling. There's no registration when guests arrive, there’s just a fireplace with wine and cheese and space to chat. The Heceta also incorporates other small touches, such as handwritten notes, books narrating the history of the building, and flashlights in every room to encourage nighttime treks to the lighthouse. It’s a most essential ritual, Korgan insists. "Walking to the lighthouse at night is magical. It's like a big Fabergé egg glowing up there; nothing else matters at that moment."
“Innkeepers like Korgan are some of the most hardworking, creative, and friendliest people you will ever meet,” says Ashley McLean, executive director of Unique Inns, a North American innkeeping organization. “I haven't met an innkeeper who is in it for the money,” she continues, “they're focused on providing the best experience they can.”
Despite the Heceta being a more traditional inn, Korgan observes a similar trend to other innkeepers: “Young people are looking for remarkable experiences like we offer. They say ‘where can I go to have a real sense of place?’” She believes that the rejection of technology and craving for conversation will grow: “I have a feeling there's going to be a wave, younger people will turn away from technology and get back to feeling what it's like to be in a human body.”
On The Henson’s website, they make a point to say that “this is an inn, and you can treat it as such.” But what does that mean in 2025?
The modern inn is far from the cliches. You won't find doily-laid end tables or one-eyed Victorian baby dolls at Copper Vine, The Henson, or Heceta. Instead, you'll find an extension of place. “Inns, and especially unique inns, offer an accommodation experience like no other. A seven-course breakfast with locally sourced ingredients at Heceta Head Lighthouse B&B? Not the type of experience you are going to get at an AirBNB," says McLean.
Rizzo says that treating an inn like an inn simply means being open to everything the environment offers: “We want to see people reading by the fireplace or grabbing a drink to stargaze by the fire pit, guests arriving as strangers and leaving as best friends.”
Gen Z travelers want unexpected moments that make a stay singular; meeting a gregarious New Orleanian at the bar, or stealing an extra second of solitude beneath the stars at the edge of the continent. That's what it's all about, and innkeepers set the stage.
“As tech continues to permeate everywhere, restaurants, inns, and the like will be the only sure place for genuine connection,” Brechtel philosophizes, “In some ways we [hospitality personnel] might actually become the guardians of humanity.”