When you work in public relations, it’s hard to switch that part of your brain off—even on holiday. The positioning, the storytelling, the way a brand responds when things go wrong—it all stands out, not just as a guest, but as a communicator.
This past May, I travelled to Italy for the PROI Worldwide Global Summit—a gathering of agency leaders from across the globe. It’s a time to talk business, but also to discuss the changes in the expectations clients, consumers, and stakeholders place on brands today. And although the meetings were packed with thought-provoking sessions on AI, employee motivation, and business development, some of the additional lessons and food for thought came not from the conference rooms, but from the hotel lobbies, breakfast tables, and guest service counters of some of Italy’s finest hotels.
Because no matter how carefully you plan, things sometimes go wrong. This is the very nature of traveling—flights can be delayed, breakfast orders can go missing, hotel rooms can be too noisy. And, if you’re gluten-intolerant like I am, eating out becomes a daily test of trust. But if you are a PR professional, you don’t panic when something goes wrong—you pay attention to how the response is handled. And in Italy, across three cities and several five-star properties, I found that the same service mishap could be resolved in ways that left me feeling either dismissed… or genuinely cared for. This reminded me that in hospitality, as in communications, mistakes don’t ruin reputations—mishandled responses do.
One recurring theme throughout this trip was how inauthentic service can feel when it’s poorly executed. Being gluten-intolerant remains a challenge in Europe (particularly in Italy). And it’s not just because of limited food options, but because of how often the response is an afterthought. Microwaved plastic-wrapped supermarket gluten-free bread served at breakfast is not a gesture of care—it’s a reminder that you don’t fit the mould.
The luxury hospitality industry is known for its attention to detail—everything from the napkin texture to the pillow selection is curated. And I would expect that serving guests with dietary restrictions should feel just as considered. Not only for health reasons, but because what you serve says everything about how you see your guest. This is the kind of communication that happens without words. The design of the gluten-free menu. The confidence of the waiter’s explanation. The fact that your needs were remembered from the day before. These small acts are what build trust, loyalty, and brand love—just like thoughtful messaging in a campaign.
At one Rome hotel—part of a well-known global luxury chain—I suffered what I can only call a “glutenisation incident” that left me bed-bound for the day. I had made my dietary requirements clear (multiple times), and the staff were trained to handle them. But something slipped through, and the result was not just physical discomfort, but the erasure of an entire day of our trip.
The hotel’s immediate verbal response was technically correct: “We took all necessary measures and will investigate the incident.” Their follow-up email arrived after we’d already checked out. It offered no new insight, just a reiteration that “all protocols were followed” and, as a goodwill gesture, an offer of a drink at the pool bar—an experience we no longer had time to enjoy.
It wasn’t so much the mistake that bothered me (not the first time, not the last), but the tone of the response. Cold, procedural, and oddly defensive. As a guest, I felt like I was being second-guessed, as if my experience was a misunderstanding rather than a service failure. As a communicator, I saw a brand unwilling to accept accountability—even if only through tone. And that’s where they lost me.
Contrast this with another property we stayed at in Florence. Here, the issues were smaller—our room was too close to a service area, and breakfast service was clumsy—but the recovery was swift and human. Housekeeping arrived unprompted with thoughtful gifts. At checkout, we received a €100 discount and a sincere apology, not just from the front desk, but from someone who had clearly been briefed on our stay. The experience didn’t leave the same bitter aftertaste—it actually left me rather impressed.
Same category. Same price point. Same five stars. But a world of difference in how those stars were being sported.
I see an important lesson here. Generally, for any business, a customer’s complaint is a crisis (even if a small one). In PR, we like to prepare for crises, to respond swiftly, and to always lead with empathy. But the point is that when something goes wrong, your first priority is not to protect the brand, but to protect the relationship.
And this rule is even more important for hospitality businesses, which are never more visible than in the moment they take (or don’t take) responsibility. A tone-deaf email, an impersonal script, or a gesture that misses the mark can undo months of goodwill.
I know that hotels train their teams with frameworks that are not exactly the same as those we use for issue management in PR. But maybe this is part of the problem. Staff should be empowered to acknowledge fault without fear, to respond in a tone that reflects concern—not legalese—and to ensure that recovery actions are appropriate to the guest’s experience, not just the brand’s checklist. PR best practice has long established that one should not try to deny what happened. Instead, one should try to own it and move forward—together. Hotels could learn from that.
As I returned home, I realised that my journey through Italy had become a kind of informal audit of luxury hospitality from a communications perspective. I saw brands delivering on design, location, and promise, but sometimes faltering where it matters most: in moments of human connection.
It is tempting to equate brand strength with scale, visual identity, or even star ratings. But as any PR professional will tell you, reputation is built (or broken) in the in-between moments. It is in the way you say “we’re sorry”, and in the speed and sincerity of your follow-up.
My final point is that accountability is the new luxury. No one is flawless all the time. But one can make things right with grace, urgency, and empathy. And it can be done in a way that reinforces—not contradicts—the brand values.
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