I’ve heard the term “Black woman in luxury” a lot over the past few years. In fact, at Unbothered I have been encouraged to study it: is it the cultural phenom on social media, or bougie material things to covet, or just the small, cost-free indulgences that make life beautiful, soft, and more tolerable for a Black woman trying to do all the things, all the time? Some equate it to softness, others to material things. Last year, the term “quiet luxury” became a trending term; where looking like you’ve stepped out of Hamptons wearing a Chanel tweed set, Hermes mules, and Dior sunglasses was said to epitomize wealth that whispers instead of shouts. Depending on which TikTok video you watched on the subject, it reeked of classist overtones (but the less said on that the better) which many interpreted as rich and white and only available to a selected few, the elusive one percent. Still, my personal definition of luxury valued experiences and travel above consuming things — and yet, some destinations still remained fantasies reserved for those who have a lot of money. Until now.
Last year, I finally got my opportunity to experience exclusive luxury when I was invited to travel to the Maldives; a country renowned for pristine private beaches, extravagant marriage proposals, opulent remote hideaways and widely recognised as one of the most expensive tourist destinations in the world. It’s also considered one of the most romantic vacation spots on earth — yet I would be traveling without my partner and with strangers instead. (I left my man at home! Shout out to Beyoncé.) I’m all for maintaining independence within a relationship, but why did this solo trip make me feel so guilty even with enthusiastic support from my other half? Why would I want to travel to a place renowned for extravagant marriage proposals on my own? Naturally, I didn’t sit in that discomfort for too long and happily confirmed my flight. “It will be like my own, very Black version of Eat Pray Love,” I said to my partner before I left for the airport, “As long as it’s not a version of How Stella’s Got Her Groove Back, we’re cool,” he joked.
In what felt like a scene from a Bond film (cliché, but so true!), my traveling group braced ourselves for a flight via a very small seaplane after journeying from London Heathrow to Dubai and then to the Maldivian capital city, Malé. The aircraft was tiny — I’m 5 ft 10 and couldn’t stand up straight — and I panicked momentarily as the plane skirted across the ocean and propelled us in the air. As commercial flights go, it was one of the most daring I’ve ever taken. From the air, you see the glorious culmination of the Maldives’ 26 atolls that appear as tiny bushy-palmed paradises. I won’t forget that view in my lifetime.
I was invited to stay at the St. Regis Maldives Vommuli Hotel Resort on the private island Vommuli, based in the Maldives’ Dhaalu Atoll known for its immeasurable natural beauty, coral reefs, and marine life. I wasn’t ready for the spectacular landscape that would unfold before my eyes. The resort is described as “nestled between verdant rainforest and white-sand beaches” — but this doesn’t quite do it justice. It is, simply, paradise. The formerly uninhabited private island is surrounded by undulating palm trees and a long stretch of white beach. The resort consists of 77 luxury villas, 44 of which appear to float above the crystal clear blue sea.
My travel companions and I agreed that the island would be the perfect setting for another season of White Lotus (I could almost hear the series’ theme tune as we descended onto the island and resort staff dressed in crisp white shirts and chinos lined up and waved to us from the deck).
I stayed in one of the resort’s 44 overwater villas and gasped upon arrival. It was stunning. The one-bedroom villa, with floor-to-ceiling windows, opened up to a large wooden deck, private plunge pool, and hammocks that hovered just above sea level. From the deck, you can climb down and swim directly into the ocean and snorkel or scuba dive — the resort’s most popular activity. Full disclosure: I didn’t do that. My swimming skills aren’t the strongest. I could almost read the headline ‘British Journalist Lost At Sea After Failed Snorkelling Attempt’. I cursed myself for this missed opportunity and I made a note to book swimming lessons as soon as I returned home.
At times I did feel as if I was alone in a honeymoon suite. On my first night, champagne chilled on ice as I luxuriated in the large standalone bath overlooking the sea views as the sun began to set. It was objectively a sexy setting; as was the large waterfall shower and a king-size bed that felt fit for lovers. I quickly shook away thoughts that I needed a partner to be here with me. I didn’t. Alone, I allowed myself to enjoy the quiet. I swam in the pool, rehydrated with fresh fruit, and drank from a freshly cut coconut. I read books from the hammock. I meditated from the deck at sunset. I cried from the sheer gorgeousness of it all. At home, I don’t always appreciate the “quiet” — I like a background soundtrack of my family and friends always nearby. I prefer busy coffee shops to the hush of the library, for example. But quiet serves so much purpose when you’re a Black woman who is overstimulated and tired (so tired).
The service at the St. Regis Vommuli resort was unmatched and so courteous, I felt I needed to apologize. I had a butler. This took me a minute to wrap my head around. As someone who can be hyper-independent, I felt guilty fully embracing this 24-hour personalized service. For every request I made, I would add an insecure “sorry” — I’m very British in that respect. But, when in the Maldives you don’t lift a finger. I made an intentional decision to lean into the rare opportunity to be fully taken care of. Speaking of which, Hussein was so friendly, even recording and sending me a welcome video message before I arrived. I returned to my suite to find my suitcase unpacked and my clothes neatly arranged (and steamed!) in my room. As he showed me around the island in a golf cart, he shared snippets of the best of Maldivian culture, the food (a traditional fish soup that I had to try), and traditional ceremonies I would soon experience.
“You must see a lot of proposals,” I asked Hussein, to which he agreed. The Maldives’ reputation for romance preceded the country becoming a sought-after tourist destination. In Maldivian folklore, he explained, there is an enduring tale about two fated lovers that’s become known as the “Maldivian Romeo and Juliet”. Digging deeper, I discovered that this story passed down from generation to generation, was about a man who takes an epic journey to meet the love of his life, but an unfortunate twist would change their lives forever. “Man, this place is so romantic,” I couldn’t help but think. “And I’m doing this without my man. Maybe this love story is about myself. This is my epic journey.”
Throughout the trip, I couldn’t help but see romance on every corner — when watching the sunset from the architectural wonder of the resort’s Whale Bar to the private dinner on the beach under the stars, as we drank wine and sunk our bare feet in the cool sand. I cooed, awed, and gushed, like a woman in love. But, as I was consistently reminded, this trip would be for me.
There were many standout moments on this short trip. Marine biologist Hazel Araujo explained in depth the resort’s efforts to restore the Maldives’ coral reefs and save its marine life from the lasting impact of climate change and rising temperatures. Meanwhile, St. Regis Vommuli’s hotel general manager Vincent Pauchon, who lives on the island with his family, took us out on his yacht, where he introduced the St. Regis champagne sabering ritual (something the staff would perform a few times on the trip), and shared details of the enviable peace that comes with living and working on the island. I experienced a transcendent full-body massage at the resort’s Iridium spa and dangled upside down in an aerial yoga class.
And then there was the food. Here’s where I really sank my teeth into luxury. Each meal was a masterpiece. From dining under the palm trees and feasting on fresh Middle Eastern food at Cargo, to an opulent evening at Japanese Kaseiki-style restaurant, T-Pan, where white albino caviar and wagyu beef were on the menu. I could wax lyrical about that beef.
In the Maldives, I ate and drank with abandon. I luxuriated with abandon. And I realized that all of these activities would fill me with some form of guilt at home. Giving into my desires, selfishly, isn’t something I always permit myself to experience unless it’s for someone else. It’s why one of the biggest luxuries I’ve coveted is the ability to travel to “heal” in yoga retreats and spa retreats in idyllic, remote locations — where the overarching purpose is to renew your spirit and give back to yourself. Perhaps then, traveling to the Maldives, on my own, is the most romantic gift I could give to myself.
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