I used to think cruises were for other people. You know the type: retirees in Hawaiian shirts scrambling through tropical ports, sunburned dads lining up for the buffet and giddy crowds who willingly sign up for floating malls with water slides, Broadway shows and 5,000-plus strangers. As someone who usually plans vacations around boutique hotels and good wine, I didn’t just smirk at the thought of being on one—I cringed.
Then, work handed me the chance to board a mega cruise ship. I brought a friend along as my co-conspirator, certain we'd spend the week trading ironic commentary about cheesy comedy acts and towel animals. We walked up the gangway with arched eyebrows. But we walked off a week later, fully converted. Somewhere between the late-night hot tub hangs, a spin on the full-size carousel tucked into the ship’s Boardwalk neighborhood (yes, there’s a whole section designed like a seaside amusement park), and my very first silent disco, I realized: I actually loved it.
Mega ships are having a moment for a reason
Part of why it landed so hard is timing. Mega-ships are booming right now, drawing in people who swore they'd never step aboard. The cruise industry is setting records, with more than 37 million passengers projected in 2025. Younger travelers are also helping to fuel the surge: The Cruise Lines International Association (CLIA) reports that 36 percent of cruisers are now under 40. And it makes sense: After years of over-planned, over-budget vacations, we're craving ease.
I sailed on Oasis of the Seas, one of Royal Caribbean’s pioneering giants. The ship is famously carved into “neighborhoods”—including a Central Park with real trees, a Boardwalk that feels like a seaside amusement park (complete with a carousel), and the Royal Promenade, which resembles a glossy indoor mall crossed with a Vegas-style casino. There was a robotic bar where mechanical arms mixed my margarita before shimmying for applause. And then there was an entirely different bar—the Rising Tide—that slowly glided between decks like a cocktail elevator, carrying tipsy passengers up and down as if that were the most normal thing in the world. Both were equal parts absurd and mesmerizing, which is kind of the whole point.
After years of over-planned, over-budget vacations, we're craving ease.
And the ships just keep getting bigger. Royal Caribbean recently launched Star of the Seas, now the largest cruise ship in the world. It’s a floating city complete with a 55-foot indoor waterfall, the largest water park at sea and more than 40 bars and restaurants. Subtle? Not a chance. Flashy? Absolutely. And for a generation worn out by decision fatigue, that’s exactly the appeal.
Yes, boutique cruise lines are thriving too, promising quiet sophistication and off-the-beaten-path itineraries. But I wasn't looking for serenity. I was belting out karaoke with strangers and riding a carousel at sea. And it felt incredible.
From skeptics to superfans, in just one sailing
The funny part is how quickly my friend and I went from eye-rolling to gleeful participation. On day one, we were laughing at the neon lights and the robot bartender in the atrium. By day two, we were debating whether to ride the carousel on the Boardwalk or zip down a waterslide—frozen margaritas in hand. It should have been tacky, but it was absolutely glorious.
The joy of no decisions
On land, my vacations usually resemble performance reviews: Am I squeezing every ounce out of my PTO? Did I book the “most authentic” restaurant (and post it, obviously)? Is my boutique hotel as smugly perfect as advertised?
On the ship, none of that mattered. Dinner could be hibachi one night, Mediterranean the next, Chuck-E-Cheese-style pizza when we felt lazy, or an over-the-top multi-course Chef’s Table—and honestly, there were no “wrong” choices. Each morning, I could set an alarm for sunrise yoga on deck (spoiler: I never made it out of bed)—or roll into the buffet in my pajamas and eat pancakes while staring out at the sea.
Here, every choice led to fun—so it stopped feeling like a choice at all. For once, I wasn’t overthinking or optimizing. I was simply enjoying myself.
Chaos, but the good kind
Yes, there were ridiculous moments—the stampede off the ship in San Juan or St. Marteen, the overpriced branded merch, the waterslide line that looked like TSA on Thanksgiving. (I’m already having anxiety just thinking back to this.) But somewhere in that chaos, I stopped observing and started participating—and found joy in being swept up in the crowd.
In fact, even stepped out of my comfort zone. I belted karaoke (badly, but people cheered, and a little liquid courage helped). I stayed in the hot tub until 1am, swapping stories with strangers. I danced harder than I have in years at the silent disco, where I continue to tell everyone that that's where I peaked. And yes, I climbed onto the carousel at the Boardwalk neighborhood quite a few times.
Permission to chill out
What finally got me was the permission to stop obsessing or trying to optimize every moment. On land, I’d be chasing down the perfect Aperol spritz at the trendiest rooftop bar. On the ship, I was double-fisting robot-mixed martinis and giggling with my friend like we were back in college—and honestly, it felt like we were.
In the end, I returned home to New York sunburnt, overfed, and sincerely happy. Not because I discovered myself on some secluded beach or unlocked inner peace, but because I let go of the idea that travel has to be sophisticated to be worthwhile. So yes, I love mega cruise ships now. And I’m not even ashamed anymore.