Tulum is a paradox. It is a jungle-fringed paradise where yoga studios neighbor construction cranes and ancestral ceremonies echo beside booming electronic beats. It is a magnet for dreamers, seekers, entrepreneurs—and yes, for critics, too. This is the place we call home, and it’s not always easy to talk about.
At The Tulum Times, we’ve had the privilege of witnessing this town’s evolution over the past two years—its growth, challenges, and spirit. With nearly 20,000 Instagram followers and thousands of daily visitors to our website, we have become a space for dialogue, reflection, and exposure—a space to celebrate and to question.
But as our reach has expanded, so has a dilemma we can no longer ignore: What should we communicate—and what should we not?
Our audience is as diverse as Tulum itself. Residents from across Mexico, longtime locals, digital nomads, spiritual travelers, retirees, artists, entrepreneurs, and visitors from all over the world converge here, each living a version of Tulum that is uniquely their own. With this diversity comes a wide range of opinions, expectations, and sensitivities, especially regarding what’s “appropriate” to say about this place.
When we publish content highlighting uncomfortable truths—environmental concerns, social inequalities, or political inconsistencies—we often receive messages urging us to stop.
“You’re scaring people away.”
“You’re damaging Tulum’s image.”
“Focus on the good.”
But when we share joyful stories, community achievements, or positive developments, another chorus arises:
“Why are you ignoring the real problems?”
“Stop romanticizing Tulum.”
“This isn’t the full picture.”
This contradiction doesn’t frustrate us—it fascinates us. It reveals something essential: that there is no single truth of Tulum. There are many. And perhaps more importantly, not everyone wants all of them told.
Tulum is not one town—it is many. It is the eco-resort and the informal colony, the luxury beachfront and the potholed back road, the wellness retreat and the family of five living without running water. These parallel realities don’t often intersect, and that disconnection is part of the challenge.
In the age of social media, many people arrive in Tulum already holding a curated image—crystal-clear cenotes, jungle dinners, sunrise meditations. This “tourism of perception” often leaves no room for complexity. And yet, those who choose to live or stay longer soon discover paradise is layered, nuanced, and occasionally uncomfortable.
Some live here comfortably, disconnected from the daily struggles others face. Some see Tulum as a healing sanctuary. Others as a battleground for dignity, access, and recognition. These realities coexist. They don’t cancel each other out. And we believe all of them deserve to be seen.
As editors, we often ask ourselves: Should we only tell the stories that make Tulum shine?
Should we protect this town’s reputation by avoiding the discomfort?
Or should we honor this land by telling the whole truth—complex as it may be?
Our answer is rooted in our mission.
We’re not here to sell paradise. We’re here to tell the truth—because we believe Tulum deserves that,” says one of our editors.
We want to be clear: we do not publish sensationalist headlines, exploit tragedy, or glorify violence. We do not cover stories related to cartels, political mafias, or criminal networks. This is not out of fear but out of respect for the fragile institutional structures in Tulum and the safety of our team, who continue to work anonymously for these very reasons.
Still, we believe that discomfort isn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes, it’s necessary. It reveals tension, imbalance, and injustice. In Tulum, many are still not ready to face certain truths—but without that first ripple of discomfort, there can be no movement, repair, or evolution.
The rapid expansion of Tulum in the past decade—driven by real estate speculation, unregulated tourism, and weak infrastructure—has deepened the gap between ideals and lived realities. It is not merely a social issue; it is systemic. And while these fractures may be hidden behind filtered images and exotic fantasies, they are not invisible to those who live them every day.
The land speaks, too. In polluted cenotes, in deforested jungles, in the silence of displaced species. Tulum’s environmental reality is deeply tied to its social one—and ignoring either is a disservice to both.
We believe that those who do not live here but plan to visit, invest, or one day move to Tulum have the right to know, to be informed, to be inspired by its magic and warned about its challenges, to take the necessary precautions, to show up with care, and to see the full landscape of life here—not just the curated postcard version.
And so, we pose the question to you—our readers, our community:
What should we talk about in Tulum?
What are the truths worth telling, and who gets to decide?
We invite you to reflect, comment, and engage.
Please message us on Instagram. Please email us. Start a conversation with your circle.
Because this is your town, too. And your voice matters.
Imagine a Tulum where informed citizens push for better infrastructure.
Where visitors come not only to consume beauty but to respect it.
Where transparency is not feared but expected.
Where journalists are not anonymous but safe.
Where the stories we share become seeds for collective growth.
Tulum will continue to evolve. The question is: Who will shape the story it tells?
At The Tulum Times, we believe in co-creating that narrative—not one that hides discomfort but one that transforms it into awareness, empathy, and action.
We believe in a Tulum where truth and beauty coexist.
Where transparency builds trust.
Where honest storytelling fuels positive change.
Tulum is not just a place. It’s a question.
And how we choose to answer it—together—will define its future.
— The Editorial Team at The Tulum Times
