“How exactly do these align with our luxury brand messaging?”
“I was going for authenticity?”
Even Parker closed his eyes and bowed his head.
I glanced over at my phone, plugged in to the conference room’s AV equipment so it could download the past week’s content and recharge. I briefly considered snatching it back and running out of the room.
“Authenticity.” Victoria spat the word like a rotten huckleberry. “Looks like a completely uncontrolled narrative to me.”
“After that whole sordid osprey episode, your numbers have flatlined.” Marcus opened a series of charts and graphs. “Which means booking rates haven’t budged.” The line on the screen looked like the heartbeat of a corpse, which is basically what my career was about to be.
Marcus leaned over toward Victoria. “If we don’t see a boost soon, the board is going to …”
“Be very disappointed that you couldn’t deliver what I promised them, Samantha,” Victoria finished.
Maya cleared her throat. “If I may ...” She stood, commanding the room’s attention. “Mother Nature isn’t something we can control. These experiences? They’re unpredictable by definition.”
“I can verify that,” I added.
Maya turned toward the head of the table. “Victoria, you said you wanted authentic Colorado experiences. The authentic Coloradoisunexpected adventure. The authentic Coloradoisthe thrill of the unknown.” Her voice grew strongerwith each word, confidence building like a river approaching a rapid.
I sat back and watched Maya work her magic, feeling a surge of hope as Marcus and Victoria hung on her every word.
“Look at these engagement numbers.” Maya pointed to the screen. “Sure, the total views have stabilized, but Sam’s authentic moments are generating three times the interaction of her standard luxury posts. Look at the comment counts.”
“It’s true,” said Parker. “Sam flipping over in the kayak is one of our most viewed livestreams ever. And the part where her pants got snagged on a branch is now a meme.”
“It is?” I asked.
“And this helps our brand how?” Victoria arched her perfectly sculpted eyebrows.
“Because it makes luxury adventure accessible,” Maya said, her passion infectious. “Not everyone wants to see another perfect person doing a perfect yoga pose on a perfect mountaintop. They want to see someone real trying something new, maybe failing, but getting back up and trying again. And again. And again.”
Maya’s gaze swept across the room, landing finally on me. “Real adventure isn’t perfect,” she said as she settled back into her chair. “It’s messy and challenging, and sometimes you end up hanging on for dear life on the back of a flatulent horse. But that’s what makes it authentic. That’s what makes it into the memory of a lifetime.”
It was the perfect moment for a slow clap. But when no one else moved, I discreetly sat back down and slipped my hands under the table.
Marcus leaned forward, pressing his elbows against the polished wood. “The posts may be popular, but how does that translate to sales? Are booking inquiries up?” he asked. “Revenues per room?”
“Well,” Maya hesitated, her confidence wavering. “I mean, not yet, but …”
“What about the Adventure Center business?” asked Victoria, “Are they seeing any revenue boost?”
“The demographics aren’t exactly ...” Maya trailed off, her professional facade cracking. “These things take time …”
“Time we don’t have,” said Marcus.
Victoria leaned back in her chair. “So what you’re basically telling me is that there are a bunch of people out there watching Sam make a fool of herself, but none of those people are spending money at my resort.”
The silence stretched longer than a horseback ride to hell and back. Maya and Parker both turned to me with identical expressions of desperate hope, like I might suddenly pull a magical solution out of thin air. But the only things in the surrounding air were the smell of horse and wet dog fur.
I swiveled my chair toward Victoria. “You are a luxury brand,” I said. “You offer curated perfection to perfection-minded guests.”
“Yes,” said Victoria. “And the sky is blue and water is wet.”
“Are you suggesting curated perfection is a problem, Samantha?” Marcus raised an eyebrow.
“No, curated perfection isn’t the problem. The problem is you’re asking for curatedauthenticity.But curated authenticity doesn’t exist.”
