Recently, my wife and I splurged on a trip to Europe for our anniversary. We flew JetBlue Mint and from the moment I settled in, it was clear someone had obsessed over every detail of our experience. The dining wasn’t standard airplane food. The menu was curated by the team behind Charlie Bird and Pasquale Jones, two of New York’s trendiest restaurants. I got to build my own meal, choosing small plates right from my seatback screen like I was sitting at a tapas bar in Manhattan. There was even a restaurant playlist you could download. There were so many extras: slippers, compression socks, lotion, a toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss, ChapStick, and a sleep mask. Noise-cancelling headphones on, cocktail in hand, thirty thousand feet up, it was a whole vibe. I wasn’t being transported. I was being hosted.
By the time we landed, we’d been traveling for over twenty hours and the jetlag was getting the best of us. What we didn’t know was that our Airbnb host had been anticipating our arrival before we ever packed a bag. When I made the reservation, she asked about our favorite scents and the kind of music we liked. She sent over a checklist of local breads and pastries we could order for the next morning, all free. She even asked us to text her when we landed. When we arrived at our apartment, our host asked, “You look tired. Would you like me to draw you a bath?” We were caught off guard and politely declined. We walked up the stairs into our room and when we opened the door, the scent of citrus we’d chosen was drifting from reed diffusers, the fireplace was lit, and soft jazz was playing. A bottle of local wine and a charcuterie board waited on the counter.
A few nights later we had dinner at Alma, a Michelin star restaurant in Lisbon, Portugal. We ordered our meal and then the chef sent out five courses we never asked for. Each one a small surprise, each one a little conversation between the kitchen and our table. Every team member paid attention to every detail. Would you like a pillow for your chair? If you looked cold, a shawl appeared. When you left the table, the napkin was refolded by the time you returned. At the end of the meal our server said we had one more surprise. SPOILER ALERT: if you are going to Alma, don’t read the rest of this paragraph… The box the dessert came in had a hidden compartment. Inside the compartment was a photo card of every single course we’d eaten. A keepsake of dinner. Completely unexpected.
Somewhere over the Atlantic on the flight home I couldn’t help but feel so blessed for what we had experienced. It was truly the trip of a lifetime. I started thinking to myself, what if healthcare felt like that?
Here’s what I learned about luxury travel. It’s not really about thread counts or tasting menus. It’s about being anticipated, heard, and understood. The seatback menu says you’re in control here. The offer to draw us a bath says we see you. The wine on the counter, citrus scent, and music say we remember what you told us and we knew you were coming. The photo box says this mattered to us too.
The hospitality industry has spent years perfecting this and it has quietly recalibrated what we expect from every service we touch. Hotels, airlines, restaurants, even a host with a single apartment have trained us to notice when our experience is thought of before we arrive, while we’re there, and after we leave. Now think about when you go to the doctor.
Too often, we get a clipboard with the same forms we filled out last time. A bill that arrives months later looking nothing like anything anyone told us. A portal login that doesn’t work and a phone tree that hangs up on us. The most personal service in our lives, the one that deals with our actual bodies and minds, can end up feeling like the least personal experience we have all year.
To be fair, not every organization is like this. I work in healthcare and I’ve seen teams that pour real thought into every touchpoint of a patient’s journey. The gap between the organizations that think this way and the ones that don’t is becoming the gap between good and bad, and patients can feel it. Healthcare as a whole could take a page from the hospitality industry’s book, and the organizations already doing so are separating themselves from the pack.
What white glove medicine could look like? So let’s imagine it. What if healthcare borrowed the playbook from that flight, that Airbnb host, and the staff at Alma? It might start with a white glove onboarding experience. Before your first visit, someone reaches out and offers you an appointment just to get you ready. Not a medical appointment but a true welcome. Maybe they walk you through their website. They help you with the paperwork so you’re not scribbling on a clipboard in the waiting room. They answer the questions you always forget to ask and tell you what to expect. If your visit is virtual, they test the connection with you ahead of time so the appointment starts on time and actually works. They walk you through a real, valid estimate of what your care will cost before you commit so the bill is never a surprise.
That last one alone would feel revolutionary. Imagine going to a restaurant where the menu had no prices and you’d receive a bill for dinner two or three months later. Would you eat there? Yet in healthcare more often than not this is what happens.
The visit itself could carry that same spirit. Small, unrequested moments of care. A warm blanket offered before you ask. Your exam room playing the music that puts you at ease. A follow-up call a day or two later from a human wondering how you’re feeling instead of a survey robot. A visit summary written in plain language that tells you what we found, what it means, what happens next and who to call. None of this requires new technology. It requires a decision that the person in front of you deserves to be thought about.
Raising the bar is a choice. Some places are already inching this way. Concierge practices sell time and access. Destination hospitals abroad greet international patients at the airport. A few health systems now offer upfront pricing and dedicated navigators who guide you through your care the way a good concierge guides you through a city.
The lesson from luxury travel isn’t that healthcare needs marble lobbies. It’s that thoughtfulness is a system you can build. I work in this industry and I know every challenge by heart: regulations, insurance, staffing, margins. All real. Yet an airline made a metal tube feel like a boutique hotel and a host with one apartment made two exhausted travelers feel noticed. That’s the whole secret. Notice people and care enough to act on what you notice.
My wife and I came home with a box of photographs from a dinner we’ll never forget. Imagine if a patient ever left a hospital feeling that remembered. That’s the healthcare I want to help build.
