by Pádraic Gilligan, Co-Founder, SoolNua Consulting

I hate “bleisure”.

I have no problem whatsoever with what it describes — the blending of business and leisure elements in a single trip — but the sound of the word, and the faintly self-satisfied tone of those who tend to use it, makes me reach instinctively for the sick bowl.

I had a similar reaction when I first heard “darecation”.

Darecations, we are told, have replaced the Covid-era “staycation” as the holiday of choice for younger travellers. I’m still not entirely convinced by the word itself, but I find myself increasingly drawn to the idea behind it.

Because darecations position themselves, quite deliberately, as the antidote to fly-and-flop. Instead of grazing endlessly from buffet to bar in the comfortable anonymity of an all-inclusive, the premise is that you challenge yourself, learn something new, push beyond your familiar limits and, in doing so, encounter what Italian writer Cesare Pavese once described as “the brutality of travel”.

I still hate the word but I do like that.

The trend has been gaining traction since early 2025 and was identified as one of the defining travel movements for 2026 in Pinterest Predicts. The numbers are, by any measure, striking: a market estimated at around $30 billion in 2024, with projections suggesting it could reach $100 billion by 2034. For context, the global incentive travel market currently sits at approximately $116 billion. And the demographic profile is equally telling, with a core audience of 25–45-year-olds — a cohort whose expectations of travel are already reshaping the industry.

In many respects, darecations sit comfortably within a broader cultural shift that places a premium on experience over possession, participation over passive consumption. It is, of course, a shift that those of us working in incentive travel have been observing, and indeed advocating for, over quite some time.

And yet, there’s a tension here and it’s one that’s not easily resolved.

Running in parallel with this desire for challenge, immersion and transformation is another, seemingly contradictory trend: the continued growth in popularity of all-inclusive resorts, particularly among US-based incentive qualifiers.

So which instinct prevails?

Do people really want to be stretched, tested and changed by travel? Or, when it comes down to it, do they simply want to switch off? Do they want to be out of their comfort zone or do they simply want comfort?

Decisions about destinations for incentive programmes are made, first and foremost, by corporations rather than by the qualifiers themselves. Duty of care remains the primary lens through which those decisions are filtered, but the definition of duty of care has expanded significantly in recent years, encompassing not just safety but predictability, manageability and reputational risk. In that context, the appeal of all-inclusive environments is entirely understandable.

What is perhaps more surprising is that emerging research suggests that qualifiers themselves, when given a genuine choice, often gravitate towards exactly the same option: sun, sand, sea and the reassuring boundaries of a controlled environment.

Which leaves us with something of a paradox.

If most people, most of the time, choose comfort, then where exactly does that leave the darecation?

The answer, I suspect, lies in recognising something fundamentally human. We are, almost all of us, a bundle of contradictions. Some of us seek out the edge, drawn by the possibility of discovery. Others are instinctively more cautious, preferring the familiar and the predictable. Most of us occupy the middle ground, curious about what lies beyond our comfort zone but reluctant to stray too far from it. And when the wider world feels uncertain – as it undoubtedly does at present – our natural inclination is to take our boat closer to the harbour rather than to head out into open water.

Which brings us, inevitably, back to programme design, and to the critical role played by agencies and DMCs who create these experiences.

The question is not whether transformation can happen within the walls of an all-inclusive resort – colleagues from Hilton, Meliá Hotels International, Marriott International and Hyatt have long argued, quite persuasively, that it can – but rather whether we are sufficiently intentional in designing for it.

Traditionally, we have framed the incentive trip as a form of recovery, a well-earned exhale after a period of sustained effort. You worked your ass off, you endured pressure and stress, and now you’re invited to step away from it all and simply relax. In fairness, it’s not an unreasonable proposition,

But what if we were to shift that framing, even slightly?

What if the reward was not defined solely in terms of rest, but also in terms of growth? Not just as an opportunity to switch off, but as an invitation to engage more deeply with place, with people and, perhaps, with oneself?

Seen through that lens, the principles underpinning the darecation begin to feel less like a radical departure and more like a natural evolution.

From a design perspective, this does not require us to abandon comfort, but rather to layer into it a series of structured opportunities for challenge and participation. The lesson, perhaps, can be taken from those golf-heavy incentive programmes of the 1990s and early 2000s, where the success of the experience lay not in the sport itself but in the way it was organised. Handicap systems and team formats ensured that participants of varying abilities could take part without fear of embarrassment, contributing in ways that felt both meaningful and manageable. Golf’s problem was it’s perception as being only for males.

But the same underlying principle can apply here.

We design for a spectrum of engagement, offering softer entry points — guided walks, cultural encounters, light adventure — alongside more demanding options for those who seek them, all underpinned by a clear framework of support, preparation and communication.

If participants know in advance that their programme might include a 5km sunrise coastal run, a 10km forest hike or an encounter with local traditions that require a degree of openness and participation, they have time to prepare themselves, both physically and mentally. The experience, in effect, begins long before the plane takes off.

Examples such as Four Seasons Resort Naviva Punta de Mita illustrate how this can be done particularly well, combining the safety and convenience of an all-inclusive environment with opportunities for deeper, more immersive engagement with place and culture.

And that, ultimately, is where the real value lies because what participants increasingly take away from these programmes is not the memory of comfort but the memory of having done something, learned something, or perhaps even changed something within themselves.

Which brings us back, finally, to the question of daring.

We tend to think of the darecation as something that belongs to the traveller, the willingness to step beyond the familiar, to embrace challenge, to seek out transformation. But perhaps the more important act of daring sits elsewhere. Perhaps the real dare lies with us, with those who design, curate and deliver these experiences?

In that sense, the true darecation is not defined by what happens on the trip but by the decision, taken much earlier, to design for something more than comfort; to design, quite consciously, for change, for growth and for transformation.

And that, perhaps, is the most meaningful dare of all.

And, as the saying goes, who dares, wins!