Why I Don’t Use Star Ratings

People ask why I don’t rate hotels with stars. Or numbers. Or any system that reduces the experience of sleeping somewhere to a score that can be sorted and compared and used to make a decision without reading the actual review.

Because that’s the problem. The score replaces the experience. A “4.7” tells you nothing except that the hotel is slightly better than a “4.5” and slightly worse than a “4.9,” distinctions so thin they’re meaningless. What you need to know — whether the bed is firm or soft, whether the shower has actual water pressure, whether the walls are thick enough that you won’t hear the couple next door discovering incompatibility — none of that fits in a number.

What Stars Flatten

I stayed at a hotel in Mykonos that would earn five stars from any rating system. The pool was spectacular. The service was sharp. The room was immaculate. I was bored by hour six. Nothing was wrong. Everything was correct. But “correct” is not the same as “interesting,” and a five-star rating can’t distinguish between a hotel that’s flawless and a hotel that has a soul.

I stayed at a guesthouse in Amed, Bali, that would struggle to earn three stars. The shower was lukewarm. The bed was firm in a way that suggested frugality rather than orthopedic intention. The WiFi worked in the lobby and the lobby only. But the owner brought me coffee on the terrace every morning, and the terrace overlooked a black sand beach where fishing boats launched at dawn, and the entire experience was more memorable than a hundred five-star stays.

Stars can’t measure that. Stars measure amenities, service consistency, and thread count. They don’t measure the feeling of a place — the thing that determines whether you remember it in five years or forget it by the flight home.

The Specificity Problem

A number is an average. It smooths out the peaks and the flaws. A hotel that has the best bar in the city and the worst breakfast in the district is a “4” — the same score as a hotel that’s consistently adequate at everything. But those are entirely different recommendations. The first one is perfect for someone who wants a drink and doesn’t eat breakfast. The second is perfect for someone who wants no surprises. A star rating can’t tell you which one you want.

When I review a hotel, I tell you what the pillow is like. I tell you whether the shower is a trickle or a monsoon. I tell you if the restaurant is worth eating at or if you should walk ten minutes to the place down the road. I tell you which room to book and which one to avoid. I tell you what’s good, what’s bad, and what’s interesting — and interesting is the category that ratings systems don’t have a box for.

The Industry Problem

Star ratings have also become a marketing tool rather than an honest assessment. Hotels pursue stars the way students pursue grades — optimizing for the criteria rather than the experience. A five-star rating requires a concierge, a spa, 24-hour room service, and a specific staff-to-guest ratio. It doesn’t require charm. It doesn’t require a point of view. It doesn’t require the bed to be good — just expensive.

I’ve slept in five-star hotels with terrible mattresses and three-star hotels with perfect ones. The stars told me nothing useful. The mattress told me everything.

What I Use Instead

Specifics. Details. The things that determine whether a hotel is right for you, not whether it’s right for a rating agency.

Every hotel review I write ends with the same format: the room to book, the room to avoid, what to skip, and what not to miss. That’s more useful than any number I could assign. It assumes you’re an adult who can make decisions based on information rather than scores. I trust you to decide whether a hotel with an incredible bar and a mediocre breakfast is your kind of place.

Stars are for people who want to stop thinking. Specifics are for people who want to start.

I’m writing for the second group.

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