How the imaginary of a country is shaped—and what happens when the narrative needs rewriting
“Iceland is the land of ice and fire.”
“Thailand is spirituality and smiles.”
“Morocco is exoticism, markets, and spices.”
These statements sound like truths, but they are actually sedimented narratives—collective stories built over time by a network of actors: tour operators, cinema, embassies, media, bloggers, travelers.
Today, a tourist destination is never just a physical place: it is a narrative identity. It is the product of an imaginary that precedes it, surrounds it, and determines its success or failure in the global market.
The key question, then, is not only where the destination is,
but who says what it represents.
And more importantly: what can we do when that narrative no longer works?
Every destination is a story
(and every story is a choice)
As Edward Bruner writes in Culture on Tour: Ethnographies of Travel (2005), “tourism does not simply reflect cultures, it produces them.”
When a destination is visited, described, photographed, and sold, it is also shaped. Travelers seek experiences that confirm—or challenge—the idea they already have of the place. And tourism professionals, in turn, sell experiences that are anchored in that imaginary.
Thus, emotional labels are born: Cuba = music and poetic decay, Japan = discipline and technology, Bali = spirituality and surfing, India = mystical chaos and soul-stirring colors, Greece = white light, blue sea, and eternal memory, Brazil = samba, sensuality, and urban jungle, Iceland = epic solitude and primordial nature, Canada = vast natural landscapes.
These are powerful labels—but often reductive—that construct a perceived identity far stronger than the actual complexity of the place.
Who shapes the imaginary?
The first player in shaping the identity of a destination is the one who consciously designs its marketing and communication. We’re talking about specialized agencies, regional PR professionals, strategists, and tourism boards that ask a fundamental question:
“What are the travel desires of the audience I’m addressing?”
A destination cannot be told in the same way across all markets. Those who communicate must deeply resonate with the imagination, fears, dreams, and needs of that specific audience. They must be able to interpret, select, evoke. And most of all: they must know how to welcome.
This is where the commercial narrative is born—and often, the first to shape it is the tour operator.
They decide which images to show, what words to use, what itineraries to propose. They determine what becomes visible and what remains in the background.
In this sense, the tour operator translates the destination for their target market. But in the process of translation, simplification often occurs. Complexity is made linear, what sells is emphasized, and what is unclear is left out.
And it is precisely in these choices that the perceived identity of a country is constructed—or betrayed.
The role of cinema and TV
Cinema and popular culture have immense power: they don’t just describe the world—they create it. A single film can transform the global perception of a nation.
The Lord of the Rings reshaped the imagery of New Zealand; Eat, Pray, Love turned Ubud into a spiritual destination; Out of Africa romanticized an entire continent.
Cinema does not just portray physical places—it evokes inner places, landscapes of imagination that travelers then seek out in reality.
To this creative power, we must add the curatorial role of international film festivals, which today play a fundamental part in shaping the cultural—and touristic—identity of the countries they represent.
Events like the Korean Film Festival, which in recent years has substantially contributed to spreading the South Korean imaginary—refined aesthetics, emotional depth, and the tension between tradition and modernity—have inspired thousands of travelers to rediscover Seoul, Busan, and the temples and countryside depicted in the films.
The same happens with the African Film Festival of Verona, which for decades has told the story of an entire continent through local perspectives, overturning stereotypes and creating emotional bridges between cultures. Or with the Turin Film Festival, often attentive to productions from emerging countries, whose selection offers an alternative, intimate window beyond official narratives.
These festivals don’t just amplify the voices of national cinemas—they create emotional connections, reinforce the desire for discovery, and offer a first mental journey to the country being told.
Cinema and festivals together are not tools of communication: they are factories of imaginaries. And in territories where tourism and culture truly engage in dialogue, this alliance becomes one of the most powerful long-term attraction strategies.
A complex conversation
When embassies and tourism boards build multi-level narrative ecosystems, they are not just promoting a destination: they are orchestrating a complex and coherent conversation—one that takes place on multiple planes, through different channels, in different languages, but with a unified identity.
This approach is what distinguishes fragmented promotion from a solid cultural strategy.
A diversified communication
Speaking to different audiences in different languages means knowing how to adapt the narrative. You don’t communicate in the same way with a tour operator, a journalist, a travel blogger, a local influencer, or a potential traveler.
Each one has their own channel, their own code, their own rhythm. But the voice must be recognizable, consistent, and authentic. That’s what builds trust.
A well-constructed narrative ecosystem includes:
• A solid and visionary institutional narrative, conveyed by embassies and official representations, which transmits stability, values, and culture.
• A curated and inspirational commercial narrative, through tour operators, agencies, and campaigns, which translates the identity of the place into a concrete travel proposition.
• An emotional communication on social media, through local faces, experiences, and immersive content, making the story alive, human, and close.
• Spontaneous testimony emerging from travelers’ stories, reinforcing the authenticity of the destination brand.
An Extraordinary Concert
None of this happens by chance. It must be designed, facilitated, and interconnected. And it requires a rare but essential ability: to speak with a common voice even amidst multiplicity. Like in an orchestra: each instrument has its own sound, but they all play from the same score. Without direction, it’s just noise.
When a destination succeeds in this, the narrated identity becomes a lived identity. And those who arrive in that place don’t just find the promises of a brochure—they find meaning. They find coherence between what they imagined and what they encounter. And in tourism, that is the most powerful tool for transformation that exists.
The traveler has become an active storyteller through social media.
Every lived, photographed, posted, and commented experience contributes to shaping the collective imaginary. Every personal story is a piece of the public identity of a destination. And today, more than ever, shared experiences often carry more weight than an official campaign. This is what we refer to as UGC (User Generated Content)—everything the traveler communicates to the community they belong to.
All of this leads us to a frequently overlooked realization:
The image, identity, and emotional label of a tourist destination are never universal.
They change from country to country, from culture to culture.
There are places that, in some markets, are perceived as undesirable, remote, dangerous, or culturally incompatible—the same places that, elsewhere, are seen as highly desirable, exotic, and rich in charm and authenticity.
The imaginary is not objective—it is relational.
And precisely for this reason, those who communicate tourism must learn to read the world not through the eyes of those who depart, but through the eyes of those who long for it.
When the narrative works too well (or not enough)
A well-crafted image can attract flows, investments, and interest. But it can also trap a destination within a stereotype.
Take Morocco, for instance—seen by many only as souks, desert, and hammams. Or Jordan, caught in the
