Activists cited sky-high rents, overcrowding and the devastation of local infrastructure; a notion I couldn’t help but apply to my own hometown, Edinburgh.
There’s no doubt that Edinburgh is Scotland’s most tourist-friendly city. With nearly five million annual visitors, Edinburgh attracts almost ten times its population every year; the Fringe alone draws more than three million attendees each August. But this success story has a dark side: rents are soaring, streets are gridlocked, and the city’s identity feels increasingly commercialised. So, at what point do we recognise that tourism in Edinburgh has gone too far?
Of course, any argument in favour of mass tourism will emphasise the economic benefits it brings to Edinburgh. In my experience, every job that I’ve ever worked has, in some way, relied on tourism. Whether it be retail in the city centre, or my summer job at the Edinburgh Fringe, I understand firsthand the importance of tourism to the city’s economy and to job creation. The statistics draw the same conclusion: tourism contributes over £2 billion to Edinburgh’s economy annually and supports more than 40,000 jobs.
Of course, any argument in favour of mass tourism will emphasise the economic benefits it brings to Edinburgh.
However, I also understand the ways in which tourism is actively destroying my hometown. Since I moved to Glasgow, going back to Edinburgh has become a painful chore. I’ll admit, I’m a fast walker with little patience for tourists stopping for a photo op; but overtourism has gotten to a point where I can barely move in the city centre. However, Edinburgh’s tourism industry reflects an even more alarming dilemma: that the ‘Instagramification’ of the city is eroding the identity of Scotland’s capital.
This is evidently not an Edinburgh-exclusive issue. Most major cities suffer from this tick-box tourism built on vapid photo-ops; but if a tourist snaps a photo by the Sagrada Familia, at least they are celebrating an iconic Barcelonian architect. I, however, wouldn’t describe recreating One Day on the Vennel Steps, or visiting one of the 72 tourist gift shops on the Royal Mile, a particular foray into Scottish history.
The tourism industry in Edinburgh (and frankly across Scotland) is in great part dictated by fictional media, often not created in Scotland nor by Scots. Tourism experts call this phenomenon “set-jetting,” and it has become somewhat of an epidemic in Edinburgh. While it is never a bad thing to celebrate Scotland in popular media, when it comes to a point that daily life for residents is disrupted, and public spaces are treated as film sets rather than shared environments, something has gone deeply wrong.
Harry Potter, in particular, has become a major bugbear of mine. The series is set in a vague, made-up version of Scotland, and never really mentions Scottish culture or history at all.
Harry Potter, in particular, has become a major bugbear of mine. The series is set in a vague, made-up version of Scotland, and never really mentions Scottish culture or history at all. And yet, Edinburgh is completely overrun by Harry Potter tours, themed shops, and experiences. Tourists flock to Victoria Street because it supposedly inspired Diagon Alley, or park outside of local schools because they “look like” Hogwarts. In doing so, Harry Potter has distorted Edinburgh’s image entirely, turning everyday public spaces and streets into fantasy attractions, rather than sites of lived reality.
This obsessive focus on fiction doesn’t just drive overcrowding- it directly intrudes into the lives of locals. For instance, like many Scottish schools, mine had houses, which were signified by coloured badges worn on our blazers. On one occasion, my then twelve-year-old sister was walking to school in her uniform when a tour guide loudly declared that she was a “Ravenclaw” because of her blue House pin. To turn my preteen sister simply going about her day into a tourist attraction is disturbing enough, not least embarrassing for her; but the fact that they superimposed a fictional story – set elsewhere – onto her reality adds an even more unsettling layer.
Moments like this truly reveal how detached the city’s tourist image has become from the realities of those who actually live here. Edinburgh is not a film set. It is not a theme park. It is a capital city where people live, work, are educated. It is, moreover, a city marked by deep inequality: nearly a third of children attend private schools, yet child homelessness soared by 148% between 2019 and 2024. Of course, I don’t expect tourists to visit council estates or homeless shelters, but there is something disturbing about the fact that the impact the industry has had on living standards is ignored so that tourists can experience an image of Edinburgh solely based in fiction. While the council is introducing a new 5% tourist tax next year, which is expected to raise £50 million annually for infrastructure, there are many questions over whether this will be enough to undo these harmful impacts.
Edinburgh risks becoming a city defined more by fantasy than reality, a place where streets are props and locals are sidelined. Tourism has brought prosperity, yes, but without limits or reflection, it has also brought displacement, inequality, and the erasure of the city’s real character. If we continue to prioritise this spectacle over substance, we risk transforming Scotland’s historic capital beyond recognition.
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