Gatekeeping can be good, actually Overtourism, homogenization, and the (urgent) need to protect what we love

Over the years, gatekeeping has become the official villain of pop culture. Just read the sly comments under any influencer who refuses to share the brand of jeans they’re wearing in a viral video. Elitist, snobbish, anti-inclusive. In a world that celebrates total accessibility and unfiltered sharing, the idea of "keeping something to oneself" seems to go against every contemporary principle. Yet today, more than ever, gatekeeping is becoming a central issue, not as an act of exclusion, but as a possible form of protection.

Emily in Paris and overtourism: when a city becomes a set

It’s no coincidence that the series Emily in Paris became a political talking point. Macron, President of France, and Gualtieri, Mayor of Rome, never hid their strategic interest in the Netflix production, capable of directing global tourism flows using pop culture as a geopolitical, economic, and symbolic lever. But not all attention is positive. Neighborhoods like Montmartre or Le Marais, now must-see spots for those wanting to "experience Paris", end up losing their everyday character. The place stops being inhabited and starts being consumed. Here, gatekeeping takes on its first meaning: not exclusion, but protection of the context. Not every corner should be turned into a viral experience, not everything should become a replicable experience.

In the fifth season of Emily in Paris, the show stops portraying just the charm of influence and reveals its darker side: turning places into content and experiences into tourism flows. The emblematic case is Solitano, a fictional town set in Ostia Antica, chosen as the backdrop for a fashion brand launch. Despite the requested social silence, tourists and creators flock to the town, drawn more by the story than the actual experience. Emily in Paris becomes meta-narrative: it shows that influencer marketing works too well, emptying locations even as it makes them go viral.

Cultural overtourism: when the problem isn’t just traveling

Overtourism isn’t just about cities. It’s a phenomenon that spans culture more broadly. We see it in music, art, nightlife (e.g., Berlin’s Berghain), and especially in fashion and social media. Creative scenes, clubs, neighborhoods, communities, start as authentic spaces of expression and quickly become spotlighted. As soon as they go viral, audience, language, and dynamics change. Prices rise, aesthetics standardize, identity dilutes. What began as a space for experimentation becomes repetitive and standardized. Gatekeeping can thus be seen as an attempt to slow this process, preventing everything from being immediately absorbed by the attention economy.

The pink wall in Los Angeles

A perfect example of visibility consuming a place is the famous pink wall in Los Angeles, in front of the Paul Smith store on Melrose Avenue. In 2016, it was just a minimal color backdrop, becoming viral almost by chance, adopted by influencers - especially Alissa Violet - as the ideal clean, recognizable aesthetic. Within months, it became a destination. Lines, tripods, traffic jams, frustrated locals: proof that when everything is shareable, even the simplest place risks losing its true character, becoming only what appears.

Fashion, fast fashion, and virality: why everything looks the same

In fashion, homogenization is accelerated by algorithms. The path is predictable: discovery, hype, sold out, fast fashion copies, saturation. Think of quiet luxury, which in months went from an elitist, minimal language to an inflated category reproduced by low-cost brands. Or micro-skirts, corsets, mesh ballerinas: items that lose meaning as soon as they become accessible to everyone. Here, gatekeeping isn’t nostalgia for exclusivity, but a critique of rapid consumption. Protecting an emerging brand or aesthetic allows it to develop without losing value and protects our personal aesthetics from inflation.

Discovery used to be a process; now it’s an IG story. Social media turned “finding something” into a short-lived event. Restaurants, brands, places go viral and lose their distinctive character in days. The issue isn’t sharing, but overexposure. When everything is told, explained, mapped, and made instantly consumable, there’s no space for personal experience. Gatekeeping here is the conscious choice not to turn everything into content, letting some things remain partially opaque. Fashion has always practiced gatekeeping, especially regarding locations. It’s not only a strategy for exclusivity but a way to protect context and preserve meaning; temporary silence becomes a form of respect. Re-evaluating gatekeeping also means rethinking identity. Local cultures, creative scenes, and niche languages survive only if not fully absorbed. Protecting doesn’t mean closing off, but adding value to context, time, and relationships.

Many independent brands, for example, choose limited distribution or less aggressive communication to avoid becoming instantly interchangeable. Similarly, some cities are starting to regulate tourism to preserve residents’ lives. These are soft forms of gatekeeping, necessary to avoid loss of identity.

The other side of gatekeeping: community and connection

Of course, gatekeeping fails if it becomes mere superiority. When it’s only used to mark distance or create exclusive belonging, it fails. Culture thrives on exchange and cross-pollination, but the difference lies in intention. A healthy community is neither completely open nor completely closed. It’s a space where access requires curiosity, respect, and attention. Not everything is immediate, but nothing is impossible. Here, gatekeeping doesn’t exclude but filters, creating more authentic bonds.

We live in the era of “post or it didn’t happen”. Every experience seems incomplete if not documented. Yet, the truly radical act today is choosing what not to share.