The True Cost of Digital Nomadism

Born in 1933, Pauline belongs to the cruise ship generation. For 20 years, she would embark on the annual cruise she worked so hard for, returning home with a suitcase full of magnets to fix onto the fridge. When every magnetic surface was covered with colorful displays of culture, she dedicated an entire wall to showcasing her memories. Each magnet acquired during the five-hour stop off represented a tick against a country she had visited. Today, people scroll through content created by self-described digital nomads. Instead of collecting magnets, they bring back YouTube content: a whole trip to an entire country compressed into 10 algorithm-friendly minutes. And while the content may appear aspirational and sun-drenched, the reality is often much darker.

In the post-pandemic world, remote and hybrid work styles have birthed a new generation of digital nomads: people who travel freely while working remotely. A research study by MBO Partners reported that 16.9 million workers in the U.S. describe themselves as digital nomads, a 9% increase from 2021 and a 131% increase from 2019. The lifestyle trend shows no sign of slowing. In fact, it is being pushed forward by the cost of living crisis in major cities, and enabled by the introduction of digital nomad visas. 

As a relatively new concept the definition of digital nomadism remains muddy, which makes judging its environmental and socio-political impact complex. Anthropologist Dave Cook spent seven years researching digital nomads at University College London, and established five distinct categories: the freelance digital nomad, digital nomad business owners, salaried digital nomads (employed with a salary and a contract), experimental digital nomads (aspiring towards, but not yet earning) and armchair nomads (planning to make the lifestyle switch over the next three years). Our shifting perspective on working whilst travelling has been enabled by societal shifts; sure, the pandemic played a major role in recalibrating personal values and remote working policies, but urban sociologist and University of Melbourne lecturer, Max Holleran, explains that there are larger sociological issues. These include the demise in care duties as people decide to have children later, or not at all, and a shift in our approach to relationships which has impacted divorce rates and the age in which people partner-up. 

Employers also play a part in normalizing digital nomadism, encouraging those who aren’t quite prepared to part with economic security to travel while working remotely. But the benefit is mutual: the dating app Feeld has 85 employees spread across nine time zones, their remote work policy has enabled them to introduce a wider talent pool from different cultures and perspectives faster than if they gradually opened offices in different locations. Ana Kirova, CEO of Feeld, explains that,  “the idea of a prescribed time and location to work within felt unnecessarily limiting to me and my cofounder. When we started working from everywhere, exploring cities and turning into our most creative and present states, we found we did our best work.” She continues, “I believe this openness and trust in people to do their work at times and locations that suit them best, allows for individual evolution, growth, and creativity which ultimately influences how and what we build.”

There is no doubt that Kirova is right. But with the world operating as one large, open, free market, inevitably—and in true capitalist form—there will be those who come out on top at the expense of others. 

The way we travel has evolved dramatically over the past decade; the same people who grew up going on occasional week-long resort holidays, now spend longer in each destination, perhaps working whilst there. 

Most recently, the mass exodus of urban areas has been fuelled by the cost of living crisis: people are being priced out of cities, unable to afford rising rental costs, and as a result, moving between destinations that are more affordable. “People are spending longer travelling, they’re camping out in a place,” said Holleran. “I think they have good intentions. I think they want to experience the culture, to live like locals and they want to spend their time there.” But many digital nomads show up to these “local” lifestyles from a position of privilege; they want to experience local culture often without reflecting on the power dynamics at play. “They [tend to be] white collar workers, really successful when it comes to professional status, they have a good path forward, but they’re not actually making that much money,” he says. “There are [also] a number of privileges they operate on—[oftentimes] white privilege and the privilege of being from a rich country.” 

Their currency is their ability to move wherever, and whenever they want. And there’s no shortage of people monetizing the digital nomad lifestyle using social media. Engage with one image of a precariously-placed laptop overlooking rice fields in Ubud, and the algorithmic floodgates will open on an infinite stream of “how to” content that covers everything from navigating digital nomad visas to securing “insanely cheap flights.” But everything has a cost—and if you’re not paying full-price, somebody is. 

German nonprofit Atmosfair estimates that a return flight from London (LHR) to New York (JFK)  emits approximately 2,726kg of carbon dioxide. This equates to approximately three centuries’ worth of typical avocado consumption, according to British climate action charity Possible. “Taking a plane is the only way people can emit tonnes of harmful greenhouse gases in a short period of time, and flying frequently really increases these impacts,” said Alethea Warrington, senior campaigner at Possible. “We are already seeing the immediate effects of the climate crisis, and these are escalating rapidly. Fires, storms, floods, and droughts are becoming increasingly frequent and severe, causing huge harm to people around the world. We are also likely to see more conflict and instability as resources decrease in a rapidly warming world, a very high price to pay for emissions produced by polluting activities, including excessive air travel by a very small group of people.” 

The reality is that the digital nomad lifestyle leans heavily on air travel—made possible by governmental refusal to tax frequent flying—but swapping flights for lower carbon alternatives can reduce climate implications significantly. Take Mike and Anne Howard of HoneyTrek as an example, who left for their around-the-world honeymoon 12 years ago and just kept travelling, making their way through seven continents, 77 countries, and 1,200 towns. Although they have undoubtedly accumulated a significant carbon footprint, they travel overland where possible to reduce their impact. “Aside from the environmental benefit, it’s cheaper, more flexible, you don’t have to hassle with airport security and you don’t get sick from planes,” says HoneyTrek cofounder Anne Howard. “If you’re slow-cruising a place, you’re enjoying the view out the window and stopping for local snacks… You also get to explore towns and countries you might not necessarily fly into.”

The problem with the term “digital nomad” is that it’s reserved for a privileged few.

“You have to look at who’s actually creating this content,” says Emily Chappell, digital creative lead at MØRNING. “More often than not, creators are relatively affluent white western people who have already moved to [a city in the Global South], telling others to join them. Never do we witness those native to the nation requesting [so-called digital] nomads. Then, [as] for what is being said in posts, it’s often a list of the economic and individual benefits, plus a sunset or two.” Chappell is referring to the #digitalnomad content, which she describes as an “online swirl of western privilege, validated by the western doctrine that if you support the local economy, you’re great.” Though she’s also quick to point out the witty clapback comments on such posts from those who can’t simply change their lifestyle as well as those on the receiving end of transnational gentrification.

While making low carbon choices—being more “slomad” than “nomad”—marginally reduces environmental impacts, there are sociopolitical costs to factor in. Liquid borders allow people to mitigate the cost of living crisis at “home,” but in doing so, fuel transnational gentrification and push up the cost of living in host countries. This can be seen in Lisbon, where tax incentives, affordability, and residency visas have attracted digital nomads in droves, attracting foreign investment in property and triggering a severe housing crisis. At the beginning of 2023, BBC reported that average monthly rent in Lisbon is now just over €2,000. “Digital nomads enjoy salaries significantly higher than locals, they are required to earn at least €2,800 per month to get the special visa,” says author and journalist Alex Coutu “That’s compared to just over half of all workers who earn less than €1,000, according to Portugal’s Labour Minister.” 

A similar situation is unfolding in Athens which also has a relatively low cost of living and an attractive digital nomad visa.  “The center of Athens has become almost inhabitable for Greek people whose salary standards are still relatively low in comparison to other European countries and cannot cover high rents,” says Maria Pappa, journalist at Greek free press magazine LiFO. “This has created a domino effect, raising prices in other areas of Athens, even for older flats, which in the past would not be the first choice for the locals. For example, my rent in Kypseli has risen by 35% in the last year.” Likewise, Mexico City, which has been described as a “hub for digital nomads,” has seen rents and cost of living soar: the monthly rent for a three-bedroom apartment in Mexico City is now nearly three times the average monthly wage.