8 Georgia Islands Locals Say Don’t Feel The Same Anymore
Georgia’s barrier islands used to be the kind of places where you could hear the waves before you saw them, where sandy roads led to quiet beaches, and where everybody knew your name.
But something’s shifted over the years, and longtime residents can feel it in their bones.
Tourism booms, development sprawl, and rising property costs have turned many of these once-sleepy coastal gems into something almost unrecognizable.
1. Tybee Island
I remember visiting Tybee as a kid and having entire stretches of sand practically to myself. Now? Good luck finding parking, let alone a peaceful spot to lay your towel. The island has exploded with tourists, especially during summer months when it feels more like a spring break destination than a quiet coastal retreat.
Local shops that used to sell bait and tackle now hawk souvenir T-shirts and inflatable flamingos. The charm hasn’t vanished entirely, but it’s buried under layers of sunscreen and selfie sticks. Traffic jams on the tiny island are now a regular occurrence, especially on weekends.
Old-timers talk about the days when you could bike everywhere and recognize faces at the pier. These days, Tybee feels like it belongs more to visitors than to the folks who’ve called it home for generations. The vibe has shifted from laid-back to just plain busy.
2. St. Simons Island
St. Simons used to be the kind of place where you’d wave at passing cars because chances were you knew the driver. Nowadays, those cars are packed with out-of-towners heading to their Airbnb rentals, and the roads are congested enough to make you miss your dentist appointment. Development has taken over what were once quiet neighborhoods, replacing single-family homes with multi-unit vacation properties.
The island’s character has shifted dramatically. Where there were once mom-and-pop diners, there are now chain restaurants and upscale boutiques catering to weekend warriors with deep pockets. Even the beloved lighthouse area feels more like a tourist trap than a community landmark.
Locals complain that the sense of belonging has evaporated. It’s hard to maintain small-town charm when your neighbors change every three days and nobody bothers learning the island’s history or respecting its traditions.
3. Sea Island
Sea Island has always been exclusive, but there’s a difference between exclusive and over-the-top commercialized. What was once a refined Southern coastal escape with old-money elegance has morphed into a luxury tourism machine that feels more like a resort catalog than a real place. The authenticity has been polished away in favor of five-star ratings and Instagram-worthy backdrops.
Long-time residents remember when Sea Island felt intimate, when the focus was on preserving natural beauty rather than constructing the next high-end spa or championship golf course. Now it’s all about attracting wealthy tourists willing to drop serious cash for a manufactured paradise experience.
The old Southern coastal vibe—the one with rocking chairs on wide porches and unhurried afternoons—has been replaced by something shinier but far less genuine. It’s beautiful, sure, but it doesn’t feel like home anymore to the people who remember what it used to be.
4. Jekyll Island
Jekyll Island was supposed to be different. State ownership meant controlled development and protection of wild spaces, or at least that was the promise. But even with regulations in place, new hotels keep popping up, and tourist attractions have multiplied like rabbits in springtime. The island’s pristine, untamed atmosphere has been gradually tamed right out of existence.
Sure, there are still beautiful maritime forests and quiet trails, but they’re increasingly surrounded by gift shops, mini-golf courses, and convention centers. The balance between preservation and profit seems to be tipping in the wrong direction, at least according to folks who remember when Jekyll felt genuinely remote.
What made Jekyll special was its wildness, that feeling of stepping back in time to a Georgia that existed before air conditioning and interstate highways. That magic is fading fast, replaced by the predictable comforts of modern tourism infrastructure.
5. Sapelo Island
Sapelo Island holds one of the last intact Gullah Geechee communities in the nation, centered around Hog Hammock. But that precious cultural heritage is under serious threat from forces that feel both invisible and overwhelming. Zoning changes and skyrocketing property taxes are pushing out families who’ve lived there for generations, their roots going back to freed slaves who settled the island after the Civil War.
It’s heartbreaking to watch a living culture slowly suffocate under bureaucratic pressure. Residents can’t afford to stay in homes their great-great-grandparents built. The community that once thrived with dozens of families has dwindled to just a handful, and each departure feels like losing another piece of irreplaceable history.
What’s at stake isn’t just real estate—it’s language, traditions, foodways, and stories that can’t be replicated anywhere else. If Hog Hammock disappears, so does something profoundly important about Georgia’s coastal identity.
6. Ossabaw Island
Ossabaw has always been wild and isolated, which was exactly its appeal. But in recent years, stricter access policies and tighter conservation rules have made it feel less like a shared natural treasure and more like a gated fortress. Locals who once visited freely now face red tape and restrictions that seem designed to keep everyone out rather than protect what’s inside.
Don’t get me wrong—conservation is crucial, and nobody wants Ossabaw turned into another overdeveloped resort. But there’s a balance between preservation and accessibility, and right now it feels like the pendulum has swung too far. The island has become almost mythical in its inaccessibility, which ironically makes people forget it exists at all.
For generations who remember camping on Ossabaw’s beaches or exploring its forests, the current situation stings. It’s their island too, or at least it used to feel that way before bureaucracy built invisible walls around it.
7. St. Catherines Island
St. Catherines Island has been privately owned for decades, which means most Georgians have never set foot on it and never will. What was once part of the broader coastal community’s identity has become a place that exists only in memory and old photographs. The disconnect feels especially sharp for families whose ancestors fished, hunted, and lived along these shores long before property lines were drawn.
Private ownership has its benefits—the island remains undeveloped and ecologically intact, serving as an important research site. But that doesn’t ease the sting of exclusion for locals who feel like they’ve been locked out of their own heritage. It’s hard to love and protect what you’re never allowed to experience.
The island has become almost mythical, whispered about but rarely seen, which makes it feel less like a real place and more like a ghost haunting Georgia’s coast.
8. Little St. Simons Island
Little St. Simons stands as one of the last holdouts of what the Georgia coast used to be—wild, quiet, and gloriously underdeveloped. Walking its beaches feels like time travel, offering a glimpse of what the other islands lost along the way. It’s privately owned but managed with genuine respect for its natural state, which makes it both a treasure and a painful reminder.
The island’s existence highlights just how much everywhere else has changed. When you visit Little St. Simons, you realize what’s been sacrificed on Tybee, St. Simons, and Jekyll in the name of progress and profit. It’s beautiful, but it also makes you mourn what could have been preserved elsewhere if different choices had been made.
Locals point to it with a mixture of pride and sadness—pride that at least one place remains intact, sadness that it takes such extreme measures to keep development at bay.