Years ago, we traveled because someone recommended a destination or because we discovered it in a magazine, a brochure, or a tourism campaign. Later, we started saving inspiring posts on Instagram and Facebook. Today, it often happens that you finish a TV series or a movie that stirs something in you, and, almost without realizing it, you open Google to find out where it was filmed. You look up the cost of staying at The White Lotus hotel in Sicily, save a Chicago street you spotted in The Bear, or picture yourself hopping into a yellow cab after rewatching How I Met Your Mother.
The interesting part is that you probably weren't even planning a trip. There was no itinerary, no destination in mind. It was the story that sparked the desire to visit that place, to feel like you're part of that world, and to experience—if only for a moment—the lives of its characters.
And this is far from an isolated behavior. According to Expedia, 53% of travelers have researched or even booked a trip after seeing a destination featured in a TV series or a movie.
Which raises an interesting question: What is it about stories that sometimes accomplishes more than an entire marketing campaign?
In the past, everything began with a clear intention: I want to travel. From there, we chose a destination, researched what to see, and planned an itinerary. Today, the process often works the other way around. First, we discover a story. That story captures our imagination, and then we want to become part of it.
We want to ride the New York subway like Ted and Robin, grab a booth at MacLaren's Pub, hail a yellow cab through Manhattan, or travel to the top of the Empire State Building, where Chuck waited for Blair in one of Gossip Girl's most unforgettable moments. It's not that a TV series single-handedly turns a destination into a tourist hotspot; it's the power it has to awaken aspiration in its audience. Many travel decisions no longer begin with a map—they begin with a screen.
We don't just want to visit Chicago; we want to discover its neighborhood restaurants, explore its culinary scene, and experience the passion and intensity portrayed in The Bear. The city stops being just another destination and becomes an experience we want to explore through its food, its rhythm, and its local culture.
The same happens with How I Met Your Mother. New York is no longer just about Times Square or Central Park. What we really want is to ride the subway, hail a cab through Manhattan, spend an evening at MacLaren's Pub, and experience the city through the everyday moments that made the series so memorable. More than simply visiting New York, we want to know what it feels like to live there.
This happens because stories create emotional connections. Voice Message to Isabelle, for example, doesn't sell a specific destination—it sells an emotion. After watching it, the desire isn't simply to visit California, but to follow the journey through the places where the story unfolds, find the overlook where one of its most memorable scenes takes place, or imagine, if only for a moment, that you're part of that journey yourself.
In the end, we don't just remember the locations. We remember the characters, the music, the conversations, and the emotions we experienced alongside them. That's why, when we travel, we're often not looking for a building or a street—we're looking to reconnect with the feelings the story gave us. The destination is no longer just a place; it becomes an extension of the narrative.
For many viewers, a TV series doesn't end when the credits roll. Studios have recognized that the connection with these stories continues long after the final episode, leading them to create experiences for fans who want to step into those fictional worlds. Warner Bros. Studio Tour Hollywood in Los Angeles, for example, allows Friends fans to sit on the iconic Central Perk couch, while Gilmore Girls fans can walk through the set that brought Stars Hollow to life.
For many, however, even that isn't enough. They also want to wander through Greenwich Village to find the building where Monica and Rachel lived, visit Yale and imagine what it would have been like to study there alongside Rory Gilmore, or follow Gossip Girl and Sex and the City tours through the streets of New York. The goal is no longer simply to visit a city—it's to become part of a story that shaped an entire generation.
If a story can inspire someone to travel, then the question for tourism marketing is no longer, "How do we showcase a destination?" but rather, "What story do we want people to experience?"
Because it's no longer enough to showcase beaches, hotels, or restaurants. Today's travelers want to picture themselves there. They want to imagine their own place in the story before they even arrive. In this context, a destination's greatest asset isn't always its scenery—it's the narrative built around it.
Perhaps the real journey doesn't begin when we book a flight or make a reservation. It begins much earlier, in the moment a story makes us believe that we, too, could belong there.
Because, in the end, travelers don't just collect destinations. They collect stories. And the brands that stay with us aren't necessarily the ones that showcase the most spectacular places, but the ones that transform a destination into a story worth living.
