Or: How an Island Slowly Ate Itself and Asked for Seconds
Ibiza used to be a place.
Now it’s a simulation with good light.
Somewhere between the third oat flat white and the sixth “closing party” of the season, Ibiza stopped importing people and started manufacturing archetypes. They arrive different. They leave identical. Linen trousers. A DJ alias. Trauma they didn’t have before.
Below is a non-scientific, highly judgemental, emotionally accurate taxonomy of the island as it exists in 2025.
1. The Digital Nomad (a.k.a. The Wi-Fi Refugee)
Remote worker. OK income. Not rich enough to own, not poor enough to leave.
They rotate between Tulum, Puerto Escondido Mexico, Lisbon, Bali, Medellín and Ibiza like it’s a seasonal flu. Constantly “about to move” but never actually moving. Permanently stressed about rent, pretending it’s a lifestyle choice.
Laptop open at Passion Café. Slack message unanswered. LinkedIn post about “freedom” loading.
They say:
“Ibiza is expensive, but you get so much back.”
They mean sunsets and cortisol.
2. The Sold-My-Company Midlife Crisis (Boho LARP – Advanced Level)
Big house. Range Rover. Breathwork addiction. Parents of Morna Valley kids with names like Neo and Ayla-Moon.
Formerly impressive. Currently bored. Deeply confused.
They drink. They take drugs “intentionally.” They talk about “the next chapter” but there is no next chapter. Only another cacao ceremony and a resentment towards their former self who had deadlines.
Age 30+. Some hold it together.
Some don’t.
The island decides for them.
3. Seasonal Service Workers (Sunburnt Proletariat)
Young. Tanned. Sweating. Tattooed. Nose pierced. Permanently annoyed.
They work 14 hours a day serving cocktails that cost more than their hourly wage. Sleep in caravans “to save on rent” (they tell themselves it’s minimalism, not structural failure).
They vaguely wonder why communism didn’t work out, while participating in the most brutal form of late-stage capitalism imaginable.
Gone by October. Emotionally unavailable by June.
4. Year-Round Service Workers (Island Glue)
Older. Calmer. Slightly amused by everyone else.
They make Ibiza actually function. They know where to get things done. They’ve seen six versions of you already.
They don’t talk about spirituality.
They talk about logistics.
They win.
5. Hippie Market Sellers (Textile Globalisation Division)
Fly to India. Get dresses made. Fly back. Sell them as “hand-sourced.”
They are not lying.
They are also not telling the whole truth.
Always barefoot. Always smiling. Always able to smell money from 40 metres.
6. Freegans (Beautiful, Broke, Orbiting Wealth)
No money. No plan. Immaculate cheekbones.
They hang around people with money like emotional satellites. Eat well. Never pay. Talk about abundance while sending nothing via Bizum/Venmo.
They’re not lazy. They’re waiting for alignment.
7. The Spiritual Industrial Complex Hustler
This is a growth sector.
Local entrepreneurs. Event hosts. Caterers. “Facilitators.” Real estate agents (boho LARP alert again). Former corporates now raw-dogging life in battered cars that eat their savings monthly.
They sell healing, land, retreats, cacao, breath, intention and sometimes all of it in one weekend package.
They say:
“This island provides.”
The island invoices later.
8. Tantric Massage Workers
“How about 350 euro handjob?”
No further explanation.
No shame.
Clear pricing.
Honestly one of the more transparent business models on the island.
9. Spoilt Trust Fund Kids (Global Franchise)
Everywhere, but Ibiza attracts the deluxe edition.
Parents’ villa. No urgency. No purpose. Occasional DJ set. Permanent confidence.
They’re not evil. They’re just untested.
10. Soul Searchers (Exit Strategy: Unknown)
Recently ended relationship. Some savings. No plan.
They arrive saying:
“I’ll stay a few months.”
They leave saying:
“I found what I needed.”
They found debt and a sound bath habit.
BOHO LARP. Entry-level.
11. Baddies (Freelance Chaos Unit)
Eastern European. Neapolitan. Beach hustlers. Promo boys. Illegal cab drivers. Occasional young Brits or Dutch discovering crime as a summer internship.
They’ll sell you:
• a car they don’t own
• a ride that isn’t legal
• a bracelet that means nothing
• a promise they won’t keep
Some start as club promoters. Some finish worse.
12. Club Dancers & Promo Teams
Train in winter. Dance in summer. Repeat until knees or identity give out.
The human equivalent of seasonal fireworks.
13. Santa Gertrudis Housewife (Esoteric Edition)
Goes to Poland. Comes back transformed.
Yoni steaming. Womb healing. Chamomile discussions. Clearing herself of “negative cock energy.”
Drives a Volvo. Deeply serious about it.
14. Retired White People (Two Branches)
Boring branch:
Wine tasting commentary. Patatas bravas enthusiasm. Bad padel. Drunk court-side. Miramar during siesta.
Fun branch:
Young friends. Hobbies. Curiosity. No fear of new music. These people survive.
15. Asset-Rich Ibicencos
Three fincas. A million avocados. Zero cash.
They’ll rent you their finca. You decorate it. Later they insist the furniture was already there.
Ancient island magic.
16. Ibiza Kids (Local Hardcore Mode)
Raised on five languages and unlimited access.
Drugs early. Very early. Tics by 15. Still smiling. First psychosis around 19.
“I’ll call my uncle, we’ll get into Ushuaïa.”
Final Note
All of the above are also DJs.
And also yoga teachers.
And definitely real estate agents.
Ibiza doesn’t judge.
It amplifies.
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