Travelling as a plus-size person comes with unique challenges, but it’s also a journey of resilience, self-discovery and reclaiming your place in the world. 

Travel is often framed as the ultimate form of freedom. Boarding a plane, hitting the road or taking to the seas should be a joyful act of exploration. But for plus-size travellers, the journey can feel like navigating a maze of judgement, discomfort and obstacles that most people never notice. 

As a plus-size traveller, every stage of a trip comes with its own set of challenges. Booking a flight? I better hope the seatbelt fits. Want to join a tour? You’ll likely scan the itinerary for warnings about weight restrictions or strenuous activities. But despite these hurdles, the thrill of discovering new places and creating unforgettable memories always outweighs the obstacles. 

Adventure on your terms 

Activities that are supposed to be fun – skydiving, ziplining or even going on a waterslide – sometimes come with fine print for plus-size travellers. This is totally fine, however, weight limits are rarely advertised until you’re face-to-face with a scale at the activity site. In these moments, a bucket-list experience can instantly turn into an exercise in shame. I completely understand the need for these regulations, I just think it’s important to be transparent from the get-go.

Even walking tours or hikes can feel fraught. Guidebooks rarely mention how trails might cater to different fitness levels. And for those of us with plus-size bodies, “moderate difficulty" can translate to “exhausting but doable – if no one’s rushing you." Yet, you’re often left feeling apologetic for setting a slower pace, even if you’re soaking up the experience just as deeply as everyone else. 

On a trip to Vanuatu in 2023, I visited the stunning and very rugged island of Tanna, and one of the activities was to “visit the spectacular 40-metre Louniel Waterfall and swim under its cascading waters." Much to my surprise, we had a very steep 20-minute descent to get to the waterfall, which meant a very gruelling return journey back to the top. I clambered the entire way on all fours, in tears, apologetic for slowing the group down and frustrated that this wasn’t communicated to me beforehand. Don’t get me wrong – the waterfall was incredible, but had I known, I would’ve dressed for a trek rather than a quiet swim. 

Fast forward to last month in New York City, and I wasn’t going to let past experiences catch me off guard. My partner and I had planned to climb to the crown of the Statue of Liberty, and I was very well prepared. I’d researched exactly how many steps it was to the top so I could train for it and not face the same humiliation I felt on Tanna. Ironically, Crown Reserve access was suspended that day due to a power issue, but we still climbed to the pedestal and basked in the beauty of a sunny day. It was a reminder that preparation – and a bit of flexibility – can turn any challenge into a silver lining.

Embracing the journey in front of the camera 

For a long time, I avoided the camera. The thought of seeing myself in photos filled me with dread. It wasn’t just about vanity; it was about self-preservation, a way to shield myself from the reminder that I didn’t fit the image I had of myself in my head. But over time, I realised how much I was losing by hiding. Life was happening and I was absent from the visual story of my own memories. Slowly, I started stepping in front of the lens, not because I felt ready or confident, but because I wanted to capture the joy of the moment. I wanted to remember the laughter, the places I’d seen, the people I’d loved – all of it. I still have to fight the urge to just delete the photo right after it’s taken, but I’m getting better at it. 

Both sides of the spectrum 

I’ve lived in both a smaller body and a fat one, and the difference in how I’m treated is glaring. It’s something you might not fully grasp until you’ve lived on both sides of the spectrum, but when I was smaller, I moved through the world with an unspoken ease – strangers were kinder, seats felt made for me and assumptions about my health or character were rarely negative. 

Now, as a plus-size person, the shift is undeniable. I notice the side glances on planes and the patronising comments disguised as concern. It’s not just the physical world that feels less welcoming but also the unspoken messages from society – that you’re less deserving of respect, joy or even visibility. This isn’t just about how we treat individuals; it’s a reflection of how we value bodies that deviate from narrow ideals and it’s a stark reminder of the work that still needs to be done. 

The power of representation 

Despite these challenges, plus-size travellers are claiming their place in the travel world. Social media has become a haven for sharing tips and building community, with hashtags like #fattravel and #plussizetravel serving as rallying cries. Representation matters. Seeing others explore the world in bodies like yours can be a transformative reminder that you belong anywhere you want to go. 

Travel brands are starting to take notice, too – albeit slowly. A growing number of tours and accommodations are being designed with inclusivity in mind, but it’s still rare to see plus-size people featured in travel marketing campaigns. The industry has a long way to go in recognising that adventure and wanderlust aren’t limited by body size. 

Finding joy despite it all 

The joy of travel for a plus-size person isn’t in spite of these challenges but often because of the resilience it takes to overcome them. It’s in finding the perfect seat on a train and watching a new city unfold before you. It’s in the small victories, like discovering a clothing brand that makes comfortable, stylish swimwear in your size. And it’s in the moments when you realise the stares and judgement pale in comparison to the beauty of the experience you’re living. 

Travel is for everyone, and that includes plus-size people. But until the world catches up, every plus-size traveller is a quiet revolutionary, claiming space in a world that often tries to make them invisible. It’s a hard journey, but it’s one worth taking. And, like all journeys, it starts with a single step – and a refusal to let anyone tell you that you don’t belong. 

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