If you’ve visited Disneyland in recent years, you’ve likely encountered Rise of the Resistance. It’s an audacious ride, part of a push to redefine what theme park attractions can be. Massive doors slide open to reveal a cavernous hangar where Star Destroyers loom in the distance, their engines humming as they glide past. Dozens of Stormtroopers stand in rigid formation, flanked by droids and Imperial officers barking orders. The scale is jaw-dropping. And here’s the kicker: this isn’t even the ride — it’s the queue.
When I last visited Disneyland in February 2020, I went in somewhat prepared. I’d planned the trip, watched previews, and knew what to expect. But recently, a friend described his own experience with the ride — one he stepped into completely blind. Imagine lining up with zero context, no clue what awaited beyond those doors. My experience was incredible; his was mind-blowing. As he recounted it, I could hear the childlike awe in his voice — a visceral, unscripted wonder I’d partially traded away during my research.
What made his moment so powerful? A trusted curator. For him, this role was filled by close friends who orchestrated the trip — people who know him, his wife, and his daughter intimately. They understood Disneyland’s magic and tailored the adventure to their group, leaving him free to be swept along, discovering each surprise as it unfolded. That Rise of the Resistance moment wasn’t just a ride — it was a memory forged by his trust in those friends.
This story hints at a bigger shift in what we value and how we experience the world. Trusted curators are more vital than most realize, especially as our economy races toward richer, more meaningful offerings. What’s driving this change?
Economists B. Joseph Pine II and James H. Gilmore described a hierarchy of economic value. At its base lie commodities — raw materials like timber or coffee beans. Next come goods, crafted from those resources into tangible products like furniture or roasted coffee. Above that, services deliver convenience or expertise, such as in-home assembly or barista-prepared lattes. Higher still, experiences stage memorable moments, like a themed café or a concert. And at the pinnacle — for now — sit transformations, guiding people toward personal growth or purpose, such as a life-changing retreat or therapy session. Each step up this ladder offers greater value, commands higher prices, and captures deeper human interest.
The economy operates across all these levels simultaneously, but its momentum pulls upward. The challenge? The higher you climb, the harder it gets. Producing a commodity or good is (relatively) straightforward; staging an experience or guiding a transformation requires nuance and insight — yet we manage it. People find transformation in fitness programs, therapy, or travel, and meaning through religion, brand affiliations, or social platforms like Facebook. These aren’t accidents — they’re the result of systems designed with care. Their creators refine them through time, contemplation, and experimentation.
Modern efficiencies have accelerated this climb. Automation and technology have freed us from repetitive tasks, giving us time to dream, create, and ascend the economic ladder. Nowhere is this more evident than in today’s booming experience economy.
For 15 years, my insurance agency — one of the few in the US specializing in immersive and experiential event production — has witnessed this explosion firsthand. It’s staggering. From grand spectacles like The Wizarding World of Harry Potter at Universal Studios or Star Wars: Galaxy’s Edge at Disneyland to smaller gems like speakeasies and escape rooms, experiential design is infiltrating everything. It’s not just explicit immersive events, either — it’s woven into everyday life. Think of axe-throwing nights at your local brewery, a grocery store where chefs demo recipes as you shop, or virtual reality concerts that transport you to another world. The experience economy is expanding rapidly, blending physical and digital realms to captivate and inspire.
Even public spaces are catching on. Consider Tumamoc Hill in Tucson. Once simply a winding road to some antennas, now intentionally offered to the public as a meditative ascent with sweeping views to stir reflection. Or Sweetwater Wetlands, a former sewage plant reborn as a lush oasis for birdwatchers and nature lovers. These aren’t just upgrades — they’re experiential reinventions. Curation transforms the mundane into the meaningful.
The economic ascension is enjoyable and valuable to us. A cold beer in a generic bar setting might be satisfying. A mead poured into your personal flagon at Short Rest Tavern, hidden behind Tucson Games & Gadgets, is so much better — for me, at least. As we ascend the value ladder, differentiation and customization become critical, and can command higher prices. Higher-value offerings require intimate knowledge of the individual — sometimes deeply personal insight — paired with systems efficient enough to deliver that specificity sustainably.
Computers and software have accelerated this necessary efficiency in recent decades, but artificial intelligence is set to supercharge our climb up the economic ladder. Tools like large language models, computer vision, and image generation — alongside general-purpose AI and robotics — are turning yesterday’s grunt work into commodities, freeing up time and resources for higher-value pursuits. It’s already happening: mundane tasks from data entry to assembly lines are shrinking, while creative and experiential industries grow. Pundits and academics may warn of job losses and disruption, but history suggests we needn’t worry: each wave of efficiency, from the steam engine to the internet, has shifted labor up, not out. There’s no evidence AI will break this pattern; it’s more likely to amplify our capacity to craft experiences and beyond.
Skeptics might wonder, “Can’t AI just create those experiences for us, sidelining humans altogether?” It’s a reasonable concern — AI can churn out simulations or itineraries with ease — but it overlooks what gives experiences their depth. Consider a friend who planned a hike for me through Picture Rocks in Saguaro National Park. The trail, framed by cacti and capped with a sunset she knew I’d cherish, left a lasting mark — not because of the scenery alone, but because she was there, shaping it with me. AI can deliver polished recommendations, machines excel at optimization; they don’t provide laughter on the trail with a friend who truly gets you. Offering yourself to another’s care and receiving something crafted in return is deeply human — a quality AI can’t fully capture. As efficiency accelerates, curators will harness these tools, ensuring technology enhances connection, not just calculation.
We stand at an inflection point where trusted curators are becoming the linchpins of our economic ascent, shaping the experiences that define our lives. They’re more than planners or guides — they’re the ones who craft moments that matter. In a world racing toward efficiency, curators remind us that the highest value lies not in the machine, but in the human connection it enables.
Effective curators possess a unique blend of skills: empathy to anticipate needs, creativity to craft novel experiences, and deep knowledge to ensure authenticity. Beyond staging experiences, they guide us toward meaning and transformation. They don’t just hand us a map, they walk with us, pointing out hidden paths where we might find purpose or clarity. Think of a mentor who nudges you toward a breakthrough, or a friend who plans a trip that shifts your perspective — like my friend’s unscripted awe at Disneyland. By knowing us, curators tailor moments that spark reflection or growth, helping us uncover what matters most and evolve into the person we’re meant to be.
What lies beyond transformation? We don’t have words for that yet, but the curator’s role will only grow as we chase that horizon. In a world where technology handles the mundane, it’s the human touch that sets experiences apart. People don’t just value the rides, the views, or the things; they treasure the creators and what they craft — the chance to connect with people who shape their journeys, to shift something within themselves, to find clarity or purpose. That’s the curator’s gift. Whether it’s a friend guiding you through Disneyland for the love of it or a paid planner reimagining a waste treatment facility, the human element remains irreplaceable. So long as we keep imagining ways to serve — through friendship or commerce — to help others find purpose and ignite real change, curators will not just weather the winds of the new economy — they’ll soar on them.
