What Would an 11-Star Event Actually Look Like?

We asked, then surprised ourselves.

There's a famous exercise Brian Chesky did at Airbnb. He asked his team: what does an 11-star experience look like? Not five stars. Eleven. A five-star experience is fine—the host opens the door, everything works, you tell no one. But when you force yourself to imagine 11 stars; elephants at the airport, an adoring crowd yelling your name (the objectively insane version)  something useful happens. It forces you to ask what a perfect experience looks like, then push past it. And once you've done that, six stars suddenly feels completely within reach.

We took that framework and pointed it at events. This is what came out of our brainstorm (and how we approach all our events.)

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The moment before the event even starts.

Most events begin the same way: you get a calendar invite, maybe a “save the date.” If you're lucky, a basic agenda. Nothing about that makes you feel like someone thought about you specifically.

But what if they did?

Imagine an intake form—not the kind with radio buttons asking for your dietary restrictions — but one that asks: what's on your bucket list? What's your drink order?  What snack satisfies after a long day of travel? Do you have kids, a dog, a weird obsession with a particular soda brand that certain hotels inexplicably don't carry?

One of our planners, Jenna, had a client who was devoted to Diet Coke. The venue only stocked Pepsi. So Jenna had Diet Coke waiting in her room. That's it. That's the whole story. And that client has talked about it ever since.

The small thing that says: we were paying attention.

Extend that logic to the guests themselves. Add a few questions to the RSVP.  Act on them.  Know who's coming before they arrive. The planner who knows a guest has a severe allergy — and greets them by name to let them know it's handled — just removed an anxiety that person carried through the door. That's not logistics. That's hospitality.

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The first impression is doing more work than you think.

There's a hotel in Ireland where guests are met at the entrance by a horse-drawn carriage, the full staff lined up, and their dogs trotting alongside. No one forgets that arrival. No one.

You don't need a castle to borrow the principle. The walk-in sets the tone for everything that follows. One event turned its required security checkpoint — the part where guests hand over their phones — into a hedge tunnel with a photo moment. The smoking section became a graveyard at a Halloween event. Constraints turned into atmosphere.

What's the first thing your guests feel when they walk in? If the answer is "nothing in particular," that's the opportunity.

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Swag goes before the event. Not after.

Post-event swag is a thank you. Pre-event swag is an invitation.

Send something ahead of time and watch what happens. People board planes wearing the gear. They mention the event to strangers. They show up already bought in, already part of something, before a single panel or dinner has started.

Paris couture week figured this out — certain VIPs arrive wearing pieces from the collection that hasn't been publicly shown yet. They don't hand out tote bags at the end. They create belonging before the doors open.

If you know your attendees like a particular artist and you're doing a karaoke night — you send more than a playlist. You think about what it would mean to actually go there and send that signal. The exercise isn't about being practical. It's about knowing what 11 stars looks like so 6 stars feels obvious.

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The people onsite know who's in the room.

This one is operational and it's also kind of magic.

Before a major event, look up your VIPs on LinkedIn. Add their headshots to your phone. Share them with your team. When they walk in, you know their name. You can ask how their flight was. You can flag quietly that their meal preference has already been taken care of, their drink order is waiting.

Jenna does this specifically for guests with serious dietary restrictions. The ones who don't want to ask, who don't want to make a fuss, who carry a low-grade worry they won’t eat through every catered event they've ever attended. She finds them first. She tells them they're covered. It takes 30 seconds and it changes their entire experience.

We can extend this digitally with AI text messaging — someone who can't find the bathroom or wants to know what time dinner starts doesn't have to flag down a staff member. The experience feels attended to, even in the gaps.

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The receipt that tells the real story.

Here's one that doesn't get talked about enough.

What if, at the end of working with us, clients could see exactly what they got — not just a list of deliverables, but a real accounting of what BoomPop saved them. Hours back in their week. Negotiated F&B rates. Venue deals they wouldn't have found alone. All of it added up, with one number at the bottom that sits next to our fee.

The math should tell the story for us.

The last thing they see.

A handwritten note. Waiting at the hotel when they arrive, or left in their room on the final night of the event. Not a template with a name dropped in. Something that shows the note-writer knew who they were writing to.

It's the Diet Coke in the room. The horse-drawn carriage. The hedge tunnel.

The 11-star version of something is usually just the version where someone cared enough to be specific.

That's where we're aiming, every time.

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