When did my travels become everyone else’s to-do list?

Each year when November and December roll around, my inbox becomes flooded with gift guides. The brands I’ve bought from and the writers whose newsletters I subscribe to for interesting takes on films and books all begin doing the same thing: curating products for me to buy.

I’m not fundamentally opposed to the concept – I’ve written my own in the past and spent three years, until recently, making a weekly podcast brimming with tips and recommendations. But when that advice arrives unasked-for, and affiliate links – giving the writer a cut of any online purchase made from their newsletter – are offered up under the guise of helpfulness, of solving a problem I don’t have, my guard flies up.

Credit: Dionne Gain

My immediate, obstinate reaction is one of: Who are you to tell me what I like or need? It’s not cute. And I’ve noticed it flaring up this month, six months out from gift guide season, as I’ve been preparing for my first visit to the UK and Europe.

I’m writing this week’s column from a hotel in London. I’ve been doing my research, saving places where I wanted to eat, walk, shop and stare at art on a Google Maps list, understanding how I like to fill my days and mind and belly. But what began as a helpful outline – a guide to things I might enjoy if I happened to find myself in the surrounding streets – has slowly turned into a list of directives and obligations.

I’ve put the pressure on myself because I’ve let too many voices in.

“You have to book a table at this restaurant,” one friend urges. “It’s not a trip to London without seeing this landmark,” another says. It’s offered with nothing but lovely intentions, but made me realise the unspoken rules of holidaying somewhere new: to do it right, to tick the same boxes, and to emerge with a similar set of Instagram photos as those who’ve walked the same path before. All for the purpose of sending a list to the next person who’s holding a boarding pass.

Because my phone had clocked that I was going overseas, every time I open social media I’m fed a stream of videos from self-appointed experts proclaiming that their advice for navigating a city is the definitive one. “This is the guide to Paris pharmacies,” someone with a Texan accent declares. Someone else whose diet prohibits the consumption of gluten declares where I must stay in Rome.

I’m glad these people had a nice time spending their money in picturesque places, but their rules feel restrictive and limiting. And I’m not sure that lining up for two hours to sit at a cafe famous for serving a rich hot chocolate that looks like a tummy ache (in an admittedly very chic mug) is what I want to do with my precious 72 hours in Paris, thank you very much.

Food writer Alison Roman published a list in her newsletter of the places she enjoyed visiting in Paris. Preceding the list – the valuable dot-pointed summary of good meals and intimate rooms – was a story about the expectations put on her as someone with a public platform. She shared the contradiction she feels as someone who both offers and requests trusted tips: “I want to take a trip knowing nothing about the restaurants I’m supposed to go to and also will feel DEEP longing and regret if I do not go to the restaurant I am supposed to go to.”

As my departure date got closer, I tried to retain the balance of structure and plans (aka OpenTable reservations) and curiosity. My first stop after the 30-hour trip was the original St. John restaurant, the birthplace of nose-to-tail dining as we know it, and a true bucket list item for me. I dug out the bone marrow, clinked a martini with a friend and took my Eccles cake and cheddar back to my hotel to finish when jet lag took hold. It was perfect.

But I’ve also made strides to put the strict plans on the backburner. There are hours-long stretches in my calendar dedicated to BLW: a Big Long Walk, during which I want to look at something other than whether my dot on Google Maps is going the “right” way.

Before sharing her list of Parisian restaurants, Roman sweetly encouraged her readers “to ignore at least half of this list and replace it with places you’ve never heard of. Trust that if you stumble upon a place that looks cute and charming and possibly delicious and fun, that it might be, regardless if someone told you to go there or not.” Amen.

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