There’s a lot of pressure in the travel world to seek out “authentic” travel experiences. You’ve probably seen the articles—”eat where the locals eat”, “skip the tourist traps”, “wander off the beaten path”. The implication is that if you’re not roughing it or blending in like a local, you’re not doing it right.

Honestly, give me a break.

I’ve fallen into that trap before. I’ve tried to force myself into experiences that sounded meaningful on paper but left me overstimulated, stressed, or just flat-out exhausted. And I’ve realized something: not every traveler is wired the same way, especially if you have ADHD.

Let’s be real. What do the locals really experience? I fell in love with New Orleans and decided it was the place I needed to live. I moved there from Australia, expecting the magic I’d felt as a tourist to continue. The reality? It’s suburbia in a different zip code. Grocery runs. Errands. Commuting. Life. Sure, the city still has moments of magic, but most days feel like anywhere else.

That contrast taught me something important: we put way too much pressure on ourselves to have these so-called authentic experiences. And often, the most memorable parts of travel aren’t the deep cultural immersions—they’re the fun, silly, joyful ones. The “tourist traps” we’re told to avoid? Sometimes they’re exactly where the joy is.

The Problem with “Authenticity”

The idea of authentic travel often comes with a kind of moral weight. If you’re not backpacking through remote villages or sipping tea in someone’s home in the mountains, maybe you’re not traveling “deeply” enough. But here’s the thing: chasing authenticity can sometimes feel more like a performance than a joy.

Trying to decode menus in a language you don’t understand, figuring out unfamiliar transport systems, or making small talk with strangers when your social battery is already low can quickly tip from “immersive” to “overwhelming.”

For people with ADHD, managing that kind of sensory and cognitive load can take a real toll. What starts as an adventure can end in burnout.

Tourist-y Isn’t a Dirty Word

This idea that “authentic travel experiences” are better can backfire when you have ADHD. Sometimes, the structured, touristy option is exactly what your brain needs to stay regulated and actually enjoy the trip.

There’s no shame in doing the so-called cliché stuff if it actually brings you joy. You’re allowed to see the Eiffel Tower. You’re allowed to take the hop-on-hop-off bus tour. You’re allowed to eat the popular street food even if it’s in every guidebook.

In fact, sometimes the well-worn path is the easiest and most accessible option—and that’s okay. ADHD brains often function better with structure, clear signage, and lower-stakes decision-making. There’s nothing wrong with leaning into that.

I experienced this firsthand when I visited New Orleans for the first time—and later when I moved there. As a tourist, it was electric: live music on Frenchmen Street, tarot readings in Jackson Square, the buzz of the French Quarter at night. But once I started living there, the reality set in. Most of life wasn’t balconies and brass bands. It was grocery runs in suburbia, sitting in traffic, and doing laundry like anywhere else. The magic wasn’t in living like a local—it was in being a visitor. The special part came from leaning into the touristy things, not avoiding them. And that’s what made it memorable.

Comfort Isn’t Boring

Some people equate comfort with laziness. But if you live in a brain that’s already constantly overstimulated or spinning in ten directions at once, comfort is actually a strategy. It’s what allows you to stay present and enjoy where you are instead of constantly managing internal chaos.

It doesn’t make you shallow to stay in a hotel with air-conditioning and room service. You don’t have to prove anything by staying in a $10-a-night hostel with no Wi-Fi just to say you “did it like a local.”

And besides—how many locals are in that hostel, really? The truth is, locals are doing school drop-off, grabbing groceries at the nearest chain supermarket, and collapsing on the couch at the end of the day just like the rest of us. Is that the deep, immersive experience we’re all supposed to be chasing?

Travel for Yourself, Not for the Story

If you’re neurodivergent, you already spend a lot of your daily life masking, adapting, and pushing through. Your holiday doesn’t have to be another test of your resilience. It can be about ease. Fun. Rest. Or even a little escapism.

At the end of the day, what matters isn’t whether your trip looked good on Instagram or fit some ideal of what “real travel” should be. What matters is that you had an experience that worked for you.

If that means skipping the crowded street market and heading to the air-conditioned museum gift shop instead, that’s still travel. That’s still you, engaging with the world in a way that honors your needs, not someone else’s idea of what’s meaningful. What matters is whether your trip felt meaningful to you. For travelers with ADHD, chasing authentic travel experiences often means chasing overwhelm. You can skip that and still have a trip worth remembering.

There’s No Right Way to Travel

Don’t let anyone guilt you into travel experiences that don’t align with how your brain works. Authenticity isn’t about discomfort or proving your depth. It’s about being honest—with yourself—about what you need, what brings you joy, and how you want to show up in the world.

That’s the kind of authenticity that matters most.