Welcome to The Trend Times, a column that explores design fads in the age of doomscrolling.

My husband and I have traveled 10 hours, but I guess it was worth it to end up in an alternate universe. Our first meal at the all-inclusive Nickelodeon Hotels & Resorts Punta Cana, in the Dominican Republic, is at Spacewalker—one of nine restaurants at the 460-room resort—which resembles a janky spaceship, with white walls illuminated by blue LED strips, faux tulip chairs, and atomic-inspired chandeliers. The eatery serves dishes like Earth Crust (tempura cauliflower) and Coral Reef (garlic shrimp), and waiters wear astronaut costumes that look like they were ordered on Amazon. Occasionally, they throw on plastic helmets for photo ops with gleeful children. (Though workers at the hotel tell me many guests are adults without kids, my husband, Raffi, and I seem to be the only ones.)

“I am your server and astronaut,” our waiter tells us, intent on giving us the full experience even though we are fast approaching middle age. “This is your water from Venus,” he says. Above ambient space-mission music, Raffi notes that the grid-like orange wall behind me is “trying to do a Verner Panton thing and failing.” But it’s good enough for me and certainly all the kids who are punch drunk on the Sky Blue lemonade being served in shot glasses.

If you’re wondering why I’m here, you’re not alone. In a bid to get Raffi to join, I explained that as a reporter with an interest in trends that say something deeper about our culture, this comped press trip is a dream. For the past couple of years, I’ve noticed brands court millennial buying power with nostalgia; there’s Taco Bell’s “early retirement community” in San Diego, the Polly Pocket Airbnb, and Chain restaurant, in which chefs reimagine fast-food classics. The resort’s Pineapple villa is designed in the “Bikini Bottomcore” style born from the aesthetic of SpongeBob’s house on the animated Nickelodeon show, which takes place in the city of Bikini Bottom on the floor of the Pacific Ocean.

The trip is also personal for me, as a brain-poisoned millennial who came of age during the TV network’s heyday of the ’90s and early aughts. Growing up, I preferred Nickelodeon to Disney for the more adult (read: cool) themes the shows explored. But aside from chuckling at a Squidward meme, I haven’t meaningfully engaged with the brand in decades. I definitely don’t identify as a Nickelodeon Adult, though the hotel staff saying “Bob Esponja Pantalones Cuadrados” does stir something deep within me.

The meal at Spacewalker leaves me less than inspired, but that’s what I get for ordering vegetarian curry. After, we head to our villa, which is a couple of doors down from the resort’s crown jewel: the 1,500-square-foot, pineapple-shaped suite, modeled after SpongeBob’s home on 124 Conch Street. In 2022, it won the Magellan Award for Upscale (Four-Star) Penthouse Design and is “always booked,” PR says in an email. It’s no pineapple, but our Super Pool Villa features two bedrooms and three bathrooms, an infinity pool, an outdoor bath and shower, and the help of a lovely concierge named Jeans. I was expecting a Nickelodeon explosion inside, but the room gives Generic Resort, save for some orange and aqua throw pillows and small SpongeBob handprints on the glass shower doors.

This subtle approach to branding is evident upon arrival. Outside the giant “Nickelodeon” sign at the front, lush lawns and tropical fauna mimic the look of Caribbean beachfront resorts. This is not Disney, nor is it trying to be. There is no immersive world-building; similar to our accommodations, the visual Nickelodeon references in common areas are restrained—not counting the occasional character sculpture or delightful Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle walking around.

I definitely don’t identify as a Nickelodeon Adult, though the hotel staff saying “Bob Esponja Pantalones Cuadrados” does stir something deep within me.

As I enter the lobby, I’m struck by the sleek trappings of the All-Inclusive Resort Industrial Complex. Uber-shiny marble floors look dangerously slippery; there’s inset white lighting, a hammered chrome feature wall, and gray, modern couches. A closer look reveals the Nick: orange velvet ropes, coffee tables that reflect the geometry of a pineapple, a small orange blimp (a call back to an old logo) on which a boy engrossed in a tablet rests his arm. The young man at the front desk wears a white button shirt with just a tiny patch of green slime hanging from the pocket.

While boomers have Margaritaville, which plays on their penchant for excess, this resort is uniquely millennial. The experience acknowledges that even as we age we refuse to grow up, in part because the hallmarks of adulthood (home ownership, retirement) are, for many, increasingly out of reach. We are the last generation to remember a time before technology like smart phones, making us nostalgic for the media of our youth. Long before the “iPad kid,” lucky millennials had parents who’d maybe let them watch one hour of Nick at Nite before bed. In the current entertainment landscape, our model of childhood media consumption is increasingly rare: Nickelodeon’s ratings plummeted 86 percent from 2016 to 2023, and though Disney’s ratings are worse (down 90 percent over the same period), it has its parks and experiences, which generated a record $32.5 billion in 2023. (Editor’s Note: The traditional linear TV rating metrics from Nielsen reported by The Wrap don’t represent viewership on streaming platforms.)

Nickelodeon, on the other hand, has struggled to cultivate its version of a Disney Adult who drops thousands of dollars annually at its properties. Though the company partnered with Holiday Inn on a branded resort in Orlando, that lasted only 11 years. (It plans to retarget Florida with a new outpost in 2026.) It also spent years developing in San Diego, but the project was killed during the recession, echoing the experience of many millennials who graduated from college then and couldn’t find a job (me). Now back in action with a resort in the Riviera Maya, the brand is taking a new tack, claiming on its website that it offers “the first five-star family destinations dedicated to infinite play and limitless luxury”—“You and your family deserve an all-inclusive Caribbean escape where you can get pampered one minute and Slimed the next.... Where there’s a stylish suite with your name on it.... And where SpongeBob himself is making sure you have the BEST DAY EVER!”

If you ask me, it’s easy to have the best day ever when you get to eat like you are in kindergarten. There are a couple of fine-dining options that require reservations, but I prefer leaning into the adolescence of it all. On our first morning, we awkwardly attend the Pajama Party breakfast, which offers all the regular fixings plus entertainment: Dora the Explorer and SpongeBob characters dancing to blaring Top 40 hits. I especially enjoy being the only adult who wants to take photos with them, evidence that I am slowly being “Nickelodeon-pilled,” as Raffi puts it.

A new addition to the resort assists in my transformation: The Sweetery, a Garfield-themed cafe that offers dessert from 7:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. daily. I take breaks from my cabana on the beach to pop in for lattes and smoothies. The afternoon calls for a stale doughnut that I select from a display case at the feet of a giant Garfield sculpture. How all these parents deal with their children after a near-constant stream of sugar is not my problem. Another addendum to the property, the Snick Lounge, is a ’90s-themed bar/arcade with a big orange couch (the network’s emblem used on SNICK, the Saturday-night programming block); a chandelier with a touch of green slime crystals; neon art; and a gallery wall with framed screens that play clips from classic shows like Rugrats and Are You Afraid of the Dark? The screaming kids make the lounge unbearable, though the parents disassociating at the bar aren’t perturbed.

Perhaps it’s my spiking glucose levels, but my newfound enthusiasm for the brand has me insisting we get slimed at Aqua Nick, the water park. Slime was first introduced on You Can’t Do That on Television as an act of either humiliation or celebration and has since become a hallmark of Nickelodeon. Suddenly, I’m nagging Raffi to hurry up so we don’t miss our appointment window; getting covered in what looks like radioactive sludge is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, after all.

Unlike other parts of the property, there’s nothing that is understated about Aqua Nick. It’s filled with character statues, a shower that comes out of a giant nose, and a Nickelodeon topiary. We wait around with a bunch of families until the hotel worker turned emcee calls our name, asking us to sit on a bench under an awning that faces a small audience. Unidentifiable hyperpop makes my eardrums feel like they are going to burst, which adds to my anxiety as we wait for an assistant to pull the lever. I am reduced to a childlike state of excitement and terror, telling myself in vain not to scream when the slime finally drops. As with most things you wait your whole life to experience, it was over too quickly. I graze the top of my head, expecting my hair to be matted with a sticky, viscous substance, but the park’s version of slime seems to be simply water that has been dyed neon green. Using the real stuff would be complicated, but I can’t help feeling some classic millennial entitlement, like I was promised the world and given some fake, half-assed version instead.

The workers instruct us to wash off by jumping into the pool and enjoying the lazy river, which you float down on orange doughnuts with pastel-green handles. The river is going too slow, I mutter, so we start paddling, unable to just relax and go at its pace. In boredom, I spot a lifeguard who convinces me through pantomime to flip Raffi when he’s not looking.

After I pull it off, we all start laughing, before he asks, “No kids?”

“We are still kids,” I reply.

Top photo of the Pineapple villa at Nickelodeon Hotels & Resorts Punta Cana courtesy Nickelodeon Hotels and Resorts

—

Head back to the January/February 2025 issue homepage