On April 14, 2025, Blue Origin launched six women—Aisha Bowe, Amanda Nguyễn, Gayle King, Katy Perry, Kerianne Flynn and Lauren Sánchez—on a suborbital journey to the edge of space.
The headlines called it a historic moment for women in space. But as a tourism educator, I paused—not because I questioned their experience, but because I questioned the language. Were they astronauts or space tourists? The distinction matters—not just for accuracy, but for understanding how experience, symbolism and motivation shape travel today.
In tourism studies, my colleagues and I often ask what motivates travel and makes it a meaningful experience. These women crossed a boundary by leaving Earth’s surface. But they also stepped into a controversy about a symbolic one: the blurred line between astronaut and tourist, between scientific achievement and curated experience.
This flight wasn’t just about the altitude they flew to—it was about what it meant. As commercial space travel becomes more accessible to civilians, more people are joining spaceflights not as scientists or mission specialists, but as invited guests or paying participants. The line between astronaut and space tourist is becoming increasingly blurred.
In my own work, I explore how travelers find meaning in the way their journeys are framed. A tourism studies perspective can help unpack how experiences like the Blue Origin flight are designed, marketed and ultimately understood by travelers and the tourism industry.
So, were these passengers astronauts? Not in the traditional sense. They weren’t selected through NASA’s rigorous training protocols, nor were they conducting research or exploration in orbit.
Instead, they belong to a new category: space tourists. These are participants in a crafted, symbolic journey that reflects how commercial spaceflight is redefining what it means to go to space.
Space tourism as a niche market
Space tourism has its origins in 1986 with the launch of the Mir space station, which later became the first orbital platform to host nonprofessional astronauts. In the 1990s and early 2000s, Mir and its successor, the International Space Station, welcomed a handful of privately funded civilian guests—most notably U.S. businessman Dennis Tito in 2001, often cited as the first space tourist.
Space tourism has since evolved into a niche market selling brief encounters to the edge of Earth’s atmosphere. While passengers on the NS-31 flight did not purchase their seats, the experience mirrors those sold by commercial space tourism providers such as Virgin Galactic.
Like other forms of niche tourism—wellness retreats, heritage trails or extreme adventures—space travel appeals to those drawn to novelty, exclusivity and status, regardless of whether they purchased the ticket.
These suborbital flights may last just minutes, but they offer something far more lasting: prestige, personal storytelling and the feeling of participating in something rare. Space tourism sells the experience of being somewhere few have visited, not the destination itself. For many, even a 10-minute flight can fulfill a deeply personal milestone.
Tourist motivation and space tourism’s evolution
The push-and-pull theory in tourism studies helps explain why people might want to pursue space travel. Push factors—internal desires such as curiosity, an urge to escape or an eagerness to gain fame—spark interest. Pull factors—external elements such as wishing to see the view of Earth from above or experience the sensation of weightlessness—enhance the appeal.
Space tourism taps into both. It’s fueled by the internal drive to do something extraordinary and the external attraction of a highly choreographed, emotional experience.
These flights are often branded—not necessarily with flashy logos, but through storytelling and design choices that make the experience feel iconic. For example, while the New Shepard rocket the women traveled in doesn’t carry a separate emblem, it features the company’s name, Blue Origin, in bold letters along the side. Passengers wear personalized flight suits, pose for preflight photos and receive mission patches or certificates, all designed to echo the rituals of professional space missions.
What’s being sold is an “astronaut-for-a-day” experience: emotionally powerful, visually compelling and rich with symbolism. But under tourism classifications, these travelers are space tourists—participants in a curated, short-duration excursion.
Representation and marketing experience
The image from the Blue Origin flight of six women boarding a rocket was framed as a symbolic victory—a girl-power moment designed for visibility and celebration—but it was also carefully curated.
This wasn’t the first time women entered space. Since its inception, NASA has selected 61 women as astronaut candidates, many of them making groundbreaking contributions to space science and exploration. Sally Ride, Mae Jemison, Christina Koch and Jessica Meir not only entered space—they trained as astronauts and contributed significantly to science, engineering and long-duration missions. Their journeys marked historic achievements in space exploration rather than curated moments in tourism.
Recognizing their legacy is important as commercial spaceflight creates new kinds of unique, tailored experiences, ones shaped more by media performance than by scientific milestones.
The Blue Origin flight was not a scientific mission but rather was framed as a symbolic event. In tourism, companies, marketers and media outlets often create these performances to maximize their visibility. SpaceX has taken a similar approach with its Inspiration4 mission, turning a private orbital flight into a global media event complete with a Netflix documentary and emotional storytelling.
The Blue Origin flight sold a feeling of progress while blending the roles between astronaut and guest. For Blue Origin, the symbolic value was significant. By launching the first all-female crew into suborbital space, the company was able to claim a historic milestone—one that aligned them with inclusion—without the cost, complexity or risk associated with a scientific mission. In doing so, they generated enormous media attention.
In today’s world, space travel is all about the story that gets told about the flight. From curated visuals to social media posts and press coverage, much of the experience’s meaning is shaped by marketing and media.
Understanding that process matters—not just for scholars or industry insiders, but for members of the public, who follow these trips through the narratives produced by the companies’ marketing teams and media outlets.
Another theory in tourism studies describes how destinations evolve over time—from exploration, to development, to mass adoption. Many forms of tourism begin in an exploration phase, accessible only to the wealthy or well connected. For example, the Grand Tour of Europe was once a rite of passage for aristocrats. Its legacy helped shape and develop modern travel.
Right now, space tourism is in the exploration stage. It’s expensive, exclusive and available only to a few. There’s limited infrastructure to support it, and companies are still experimenting with what the experience should look like. This isn’t mass tourism yet, it’s more like a high-profile playground for early adopters, drawing media attention and curiosity with every launch.
Advances in technology, economic shifts and changing cultural norms can increase access to unique destinations that start as out of bounds to a majority of tourists. Space tourism could be the next to evolve this way in the tourism industry. How it’s framed now—who gets to go, how the participants are labeled and how their stories are told—will set the tone moving forward. Understanding these trips helps people see how society packages and sells an inspirational experience long before most people can afford to join the journey.
Betsy Pudliner is an associate professor of hospitality and technology innovation at the University of Wisconsin-Stout.
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
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