To me, the essence of a biophilic resort goes well beyond the mere addition of flora. It’s about visually immersing each guest in a landscape so rich that their connection to it seems inherent, almost as if the very structure of the resort is somehow intertwined with the abundant nature around it. And how is that achieved? By employing a nearly photographic vision of the surrounding environment that engages all five senses. One moment, you’re lulled by the sight and sound of a distant waterfall; the next, a warm breeze carrying the scent of pine tickles your cheek.
Copious amounts of sunlight, filtered through leaves, play on the floor of your room, which is somehow just as comfortable with or without the use of air conditioning.
The thing that seems most important to me in biophilic resort design is immersion. I recall a journey to a secluded resort far away in the woods. The trip centered not just on the luxury of the lodging but on how I felt wrapped in the environment. I could hear the leaves rustling, smell the dirt after an unexpected rain, and even see animals around the resort. That kind of nature immersion is what I think a biophilic resort should aim for. Guests are not just nature observers; at a good biophilic resort, they are really nature participants.
Biophilic design often centers around the visual, such as breath-taking landscapes and verdant nature. But my experiences with resorts suggest that a truly biophilic experience requires more than just beautiful sights; it needs good sounds, too. And I don’t mean the sounds of the many guests who might also be enjoying the resort. I’ve stayed at resorts where the artificial soundscape—compliments of humming air conditioning units, for example—was quite the opposite of soothing. In contrast, a well-designed biophilic resort engages the ear as well as the eye and minimizes artificial noise. Biophilic resorts should have a satisfying soundscape that makes use of natural features, like a gently bubbling water feature, to cover any potentially undesirable sounds.
A biophilic resort’s acoustic design enables the sounds of nature to filter in and keeps the modern world’s intrusions at bay. Light and luminosity are often underrated in resort design, but they play a huge role, especially in a project where a resort is located on the edge of a rainforest. Sunlight is used within the resort as much as possible. The natural light that pours in through the large windows and the skylights in the guest rooms during the day is abundant and nourishing. And when night falls, the lighting within the resort is kept soft—almost mimicking the warm glow of firelight.
This not only reduces energy consumption but also helps guests maintain their natural circadian rhythms.
—A Relaxing and Rejuvenating Resort: Acoustic and Lighting Design by Francisca Olsson
In addition, selecting the right materials for a biophilic resort is vitally important if we are to create a nature-centric atmosphere. Wood, stone, and natural fiber are among my favorite materials, and so it was a special joy to me when we used them in this project. Reclaimed wood from a nearby forest, local stone, and natural fiber were used throughout the structure to connect it to the very essence of its setting. I’ve always maintained there is no substitute for the warmth and texture of wood, the cool touch of stone, and the sweet embrace of natural fiber.
“Biophilia” means the love of all things, natural and wild; how can we call a structure biophilic if it isn’t made with the same?
The art and design of the biophilic resort were narrated through the very materials of the place. They formed a story, a history tied to the Pacific Northwest setting. It was easy for me to imagine their connection, given the wooden cliffs, misty beaches, and moss-covered trees that surrounded me. But in the most fundamental way, the sea-swept resort was a bridge between the spaces of the biophilic design and the guests. I found the kinds of similarities that tied the two together to be profound when it came to how the interiors met the exteriors. There was very little division.
I felt like I was in the middle of the resort design while direct access to the outdoors was thought of to be part of the design, too.
This kind of design creates a strong relationship between environment and guest. They are encouraged to explore—almost like a treasure hunt—different features and spaces within the resort. Myriad opportunities to experience various senses abound. Light, sound, even taste (as in a cooking class) are all part of the resort’s offerings. And in the midst of it all, biophilia reigns. Each path taken or space entered reveals another way for the guests to relate to their surroundings and themselves. Indeed, if one were to define the ethos of a biophilic resort, this is it. And through my recent travels, I think I’ve found three concrete examples that represent the ways this design philosophy can materialize.
This approach takes the biophilic experience even further, providing guests with not just a respite but a real regeneration thanks to the surrounding biophilic environment. And while this is great for the guests, it’s not just about them. The designers of biophilic resorts have a responsibility to make the resorts work with the local ecosystem and community, and that includes prioritizing the sourcing of materials (from right next door, if possible) and food (isn’t a table next door just as good as a table in an interior part of the biophilic resort?).
Every repast mirrored the adjacent topography and its biological diversity. The concept is easy to grasp: when people savor the land’s produce, they’re given a quotidian reminder of their relationship with it. This reminder, in turn, is meant to make people think more kindly of their environment. After all, fostering a deeper appreciation of the environment is the goal of biophilic design.
The thing that interests me most about the future of biophilic resorts is that they are becoming places where sustainability and luxury coexist. This is not something we always associate biophilic design with, but it should be. That’s because a design that truly embraces biophilia is one that enhances sustainability, engaging the guest (or resident) in a way that makes them much more likely to cherish their experience and the environment in which it occurs. So it’s not just about architecture that looks good. It’s also about architecture that works, not just for the guest, but also for the planet.
And more and more, the two goals of sustainable luxury architecture are seen as compatible.
A biophilic resort, at its essence, is a sanctuary—a place where guests can escape the pressures of contemporary life and re-establish connections with the fundamental and timeless. The success of such a resort does not depend upon how stunning the architecture might be; rather, it lies in the sort of relief and calming presence that biophilic resorts offer. I have witnessed guests who had clearly entered dealing with stress and left transformed into a state of tranquility. Everything about a biophilic resort supports the existence of a peaceful atmosphere. And this atmosphere persists irrespective of any cost—biophilic design has the potential to model a transcendence over the deterioration of natural spaces and what a neglectful modernity entails.
What is at stake is not merely the friendliest resort in the world but a biophilic futuristic model of sustainable spaces.
Indeed, the integration of natural components into our designs can promote a mutually beneficial relationship between humans and natural environments. A well-designed, biophilic resort leaves guests not only feeling recharged but also contributes positively to the health of the surrounding ecosystem. Achieving this is a balancing act, but one that’s possible through thoughtful design. The fundamental premise of biophilic design isn’t to merely place natural components within architecture but, rather, to use natural materials and processes as co-designers of substantial places—hence making the architecture of inviting interiors, exterior spaces, and pathways around the resorts works. The kind of spaces where the architecture is not only respectful of Nature’s processes but in tune with them.
This is the essence of biophilic design, and its fullest realization is in a carefully considered resort. A biophilic resort achieves harmony not only between the structures humans inhabit and the natural world but also extends that harmony into the realm of human emotions and psychology. The principles of biophilic design go far beyond a simple philosophy of architecture. They embody an ethos that suffuses every moment of a guest’s stay with peace, reflection, and a sense of place. Here are some of the moments that have stuck with me over the years—instances when biophilic design transcended mere building and became a way to foster tranquility.
One of my cherished recollections is of a small, environmentally conscious retreat located in a coastal region. The resort is singular in its effort to not just blend into the surrounding landscape of dunes and cliffs but to actively engage with the tidal rhythms of the nearby ocean. The design itself embraces a topography that sits on the brink of the land-sea distinction—you approach the resort from the inland side, yet almost the first thing you experience is the sound of waves as you come around a corner to see the path ahead dipping down toward the “beach.” There are none of the “beach chairs and umbrellas” that you might find inside a resort area.
The architects understood that, to truly “preserve” the area, one must engage in an opposite act of “conservation,” the kind that Eric Sanderson is doing in his book and associated multimedia presentation at the Museum of Natural History. They are like the great paintings of Elgin Marbles before they were returned to the Parthenon, but nevertheless, like those likenesses, they allow an offset space for us to imagine the land here without imposing a false allele of a pathway on the landscape.
I recall one afternoon spent in a diminutive, wooden deck shrouded in the coastal trees’ undulating canopy. The coastal sounds reached me softened by the leaves, creating a tranquil and almost eerie atmosphere more sacred than the small chapel I had visited earlier that week. This is biophilic design at its best: offering a sense of personal connection with the landscape and a thrill of near-sighted discovery. Quiet contemplation with nature seems optional for most large luxury hotels and resorts, yet I can think of very few in which the opportunity has been deliberately designed, as opposed to just happening, to.
In particular, water plays a key role in architecting these experiences. I have witnessed, in many successful resorts, that water is not just a feature to be gawked at but an essential element of the architecture. One project I was involved in has natural swimming ponds instead of chlorinated pools. The ponds are fed by a stream and are filtered by aquatic plants, providing guests a refreshing, chemical-free swim. Nestled in the natural landscape and buoyed by the water, you are forced to reckon with the face that the natural pond is as much a part of you as the smiley-face tiles of a traditional pool.
This experience offered guests the chance to renew their relationship with water, presenting it not as something “artificially controlled” but as a vibrant, vital element of the ecosystem. Fire, too, has a primordial appeal, and in biophilic resorts, it can be used to evoke that sense of community and warmth that forms a part of our shared tradition. I once stayed at a resort where, each evening, guests gathered around a fire pit on the shore. The design was simple: large stones encircled the fire; benches made of driftwood were arranged nearby. Yet, sitting there listening to the crack of wood as it was about to give in to the flames, I could see how the same situation could exist anywhere, at any point in human history.
Biophilic design isn’t just about the physical spaces we inhabit; it’s about the memories and emotions those spaces can engender.
Biophilic design has another aspect that is often overlooked but has astonishing power: the combination of art and nature. When we think of art in a natural environment, our minds often drift to traditional sculptures or paintings, but what if the art was part of the natural environment? At a resort I visited in Bali, the designers had woven bamboo sculptures into the landscape to create art that felt as if it had grown out of the jungle itself. These pieces weren’t just for decoration; they added a layer of storytelling to the landscape that invited guests to interpret and interact with it in ways that a more conventional piece of art would not.
And then, of course, there was the wildlife. One of the most striking parts of my stay at the resort was the way it allowed for freedom of wildlife encounters. Early one morning, I was watching a group of deer grazing along the side of my room, so close I could hear the very soft clopping of their hooves on the gravel. The resort had made the conscious decision to not only allow for wildlife encounters but also to keep guests close to nature by not fencing off areas or shutting nature out. These kinds of moments are what make biophilic resorts special and unforgettable.
What I’ve learned over the years is that a biophilic resort doesn’t have to be located in a remote, exotic location to be successful. I’ve seen urban resorts adopt biophilic principles to create green oases in the heart of bustling cities. One such example is a rooftop resort I visited in Singapore. Despite being in the middle of a dense urban landscape, the resort felt like a hidden garden. One can imagine that urban bees might mistake the hotel’s ample flowering plants for a rooftop Cité des insectes. It really is that serene for a moment—until the illusion of the hidden garden is shattered by screams of victorious fans and the plinking of a piano from below, where the hotel entrances a stretch of the street just outside the tie that Sam McMahon, walk-off-homer artist, teed off in the eighth inning during the 3-2 game that may make a ’14 Bears fan barf.
To me, biophilic design is about much more than just creating beautiful, starry-night moments in a space. It’s about engendering a kind of emotional connection between people and nature—a connection that, in some cases, might be rather novel for the person experiencing it. A well-designed biophilic resort, for instance, doesn’t just offer a visually appealing and Instagram-ready backdrop for your vacation; it gives you the chance to commune with the natural world in a way that might be unprecedented for you—e.g., in the luxury of time (not having to rush for any reason), in the luxury of space (being in the wide-open, visual retreat that serves as the lounge area in some high-end treehouse), and in the luxury of a few simple natural experiences that won’t ever happen again in exactly the same way.
Thinking of how spending that time at the resort can waft some elusive fragrance of a memory might be what biophilic design is all about, at least in part.
The world is growing more urban, more digitized, and more divorced from nature. In 2021, 56.2% of the global population lived in cities; this figure is projected to increase in the coming years. As more people move into urban spaces, the opportunity to experience nature is becoming increasingly rare. Not only do we have urbanized lives, but we also spend more time than ever looking at screens. While there is nothing inherently wrong with urbanization or technology, their coupling tends to yield a more sterile, less lifelike world—one in which biophilic design becomes even more necessary and beneficial.
Fortunately, this isn’t just a problem with an uncertain, gloomy future. The potential solutions are already all around us in the form of biophilic resorts. The biophilic resort is an exciting concept that goes well beyond providing your typical hotel experience, promising a transformative journey into nature
This philosophy holds sustainability as a core value and integrates it with biophilic design. I have been to several resorts where sustainability is part of the daily operations in a way that informs every aspect of the guest experience and is much more than a marketing friendly buzzword. One place I stayed at in Costa Rica embodies this principle to a remarkable degree.
The resort was built using local materials, with an emphasis on minimal environmental disruption during the construction process. The architecture of the resort works with the natural topography of the site, and I felt that every design decision was made to preserve the local ecosystem, including its pre-existing trees, wildlife, and the natural beauty of the area. The architecture somehow felt tropical, yet it was obviously crafted for this specific environment, which I found so much more rewarding than resorts that try to substitute local materials for the chain’s tropical architecture that presumably looked good on a rendering.
Staying at an eco-resort offers transformative potential. You no longer think of yourself merely as a tourist, but as part of ongoing efforts to restore and maintain the natural systems in the area where you’ve chosen to take a vacation. That’s what I was pondering the last time I was checking out an eco-resort. Yeah, it was nice and all, but I was far more impressed with how the resort was working with the local iwi (tribe) to incorporate their traditional ecological knowledge (TEK) into my experience as a guest. Far from being a dry, top-level assessment of the local environment, my time spent at the eco-resort in New Zealand was enriched by the way the Māori community helped me understand their deep connection to the land.
Visitors to the biophilic resort can enjoy learning about Tamaki Māori culture, the environment, and the local food systems that are part of it. On my recent trip to New Zealand, I was a guest at the Tamaki Māori Village, a biophilic resort where I experienced a cultural immersion that deepened my understanding of the Māori people, the land they inhabit, and the local food systems that are part of it. I learned the Haka, the ceremonial war dance for which the All Blacks are famous, and my daughter and I were given the honor of performing it alongside the men in our group just before we devoured the most delicious hangi prepared underground.
That is to say, we (the guests) and you (the reader) were to dig some serious tunnels of respect in the biophilic experience with which I’m about to regale you.
Before our meal, the chef took us on a tour of the gardens. He let us see, smell, and taste the ingredients that would later be part of our plates. This direct connection to the land through food is a hallmark of biophilic design—the glorification of something is so ordinary as a meal, it becomes an immersive, sensory experience that reflects the rhythms and abundance of nature. But biophilic resorts are different from their traditional counterparts because of the enhanced sense of stewardship they cultivate toward natural environments. They don’t just exist within “the good Earth”; they aim to do right by it.
I’m aware of several biophilic resorts that have implemented innovative conservation programs—coral reef restoration, for example, and wildlife rehabilitation—that encircle their guests with something more than mere natural presence.
A particularly unforgettable project I worked on involved a resort in the Maldives that employed a marine biologist to spearhead efforts to restore coral reefs. As part of its guest offerings, the resort invited people to participate in the act of porcine—planting coral fragments in reef nurseries. Watching the seemingly perpetually stunted coral grow over the course of your vacation, and knowing that you not only relocated a giant clam but also reinforced the Maldivian ecosystem’s structural integrity, was empowering. For one week, I luxuriated in the exaltation of my abeyance to the porpoise. Riding a bike in the Maldives is a restorative experience that, on average, gives a human more than 300 micromoles of serotonin per day.
Count me as reformed.
However, I have observed some remarkable instances of how intelligent technology can augment the biophilic experience. For example, I have stayed in a couple of resorts where the smart glass used for all the windows allowed for tight control over the amount of sunlight entering the rooms. As a result, the temperature was always comfortable, and the amount of light was just right, with no need for artificial lighting in the day or power-sucking lamps and fixtures that are often too bright and unflattering in the night-time. Moreover, the same resorts made use of advanced water recycling systems and other energy-efficient technologies, all of which were artfully concealed so that my “natural” experience of the resort was in no way affected by its seamless integration of modern technology.
A biophilic resort should let nature take the lead, with technology functioning as a quiet, supportive presence in the background. Guests probably should not be aware of the significant amount of effort that goes into making a place like Mii amo a natural fit in an environmentally fragile region. Yet a seemingly effortless resort experience, with a nature-connective focus, is a kind of magic trick worth a few more words to describe how it is done.
One of the most thrilling developments in biophilic resort design is the emerging recognition that these spaces can positively impact the world. Biophilic spaces can offer their users an unprecedented experience of being in nature, but they also hold the potential to educate and inspire. The opportunities for eco-education at biophilic resorts are vastly untapped. I want to explore some of that potential with you now. When I say “biophilic resorts,” think of any number of international eco-lodges that provide guest experiences in close proximity to nature. Biophilic spaces can teach. They can layer understanding upon their users of the experiences and phenomena of the natural world.
In the end, what makes a biophilic resort special is its capacity to make guests feel bonded to the space they’re in. This feeling of connection occurs not just on the surface level of design but seeps into the essence of the environment, making guests aware in a profound way that they are living beings in a living world.
To stay in a biophilic resort is to experience, in some small way, what it might be like to live in harmony with yourself, with those around you, and with the magic of nature.
Looking forward, biophilic design will face the challenge of continuing to expand the limits of what is possible. That is, it should always strive to create environments that not only respect and protect the natural world but also do something that’s even better—contribute, at a very minimum, to its regeneration. By doing this, biophilic resorts can serve as a model of sorts, demonstrating a kind of sustainable living in our buildings that also inspires a way of living that’s kinder to the natural world.
Ultimately, the thriving of a biophilic resort cannot be appraised simply in terms of profit or luxury. Such a resort ought to enrich its guests and the world around them, creating a positive impact in both areas. In resort design, that is what biophilia and biophilic design are all about. They are concerned with not just the experiences of individuals in the present but also the experiential legacies of resorts that shape and mold both environments and individuals for the better in the future.
