This ad, which ran in Life magazine in 1969, perpetuates the narrative of the Caribbean in general, and Jamaica in particular, as a passive, harmless, and romantic object for consumption. The landscape itself is portrayed as a “sexy geography” intended to lure tourists with the promise of warm sun, cooling waters, and the promise of romance. The lists places such as “Lover’s Leap,” “Virgin Valley,” “Cuckold's Point,” and “Tunnel of Love” to seduce tourists with the promise that “Jamaica is and always has been A Romantic Place.” Everything is described “romantically,” from the lodging to swimming. Tourists are promised the possibility to “marry within 24 hours…Or just fall in love.” This rhetoric implying that Jamaica exists as a passive place for the extraction of pleasure from outsiders (from the Global North) is the result of neocolonialism. 

“As a playground for the richer areas of the world to explore their fantasies of the exotic and to indulge in some rest and relaxation, the labor, sexuality, and bodies of Caribbean women and men constitute primary resources that local governments and the global tourism industry exploit and commodify, to cater to, among other things, tourist desires and needs. It is a site for European and North American men to reenact colonial masculinity" 
- Kamala Kempadoo (139) 

The colonialist logics which seek dominion over the earth (as well as Black and female bodies) is particularly glorified via sex tourism. The sex tourism industry plays a complex and nuanced role in the Caribbean, as it provides “strategies to escape low-paying and demeaning occupations, and as a form or resistance to the existing social, economic, racial, and sexual order,” yet is advertised on the premise of extraction and exploitation which reinforce racialized and gendered power dynamics (Kempadoo 119). Despite the alleged desire to discover “true love” or reciprocal romance, sex tourism “is premised upon long-standing economic, gender, and racial relations of power between tourist and local, between wealthy and poor nations, between the haves and the have-nots, between those who participate as ‘white’ and those defined as ‘black,’ which form the broader context within which Caribbean sex tourism takes place” (Kempadoo 121). There is a paradox in which tourists seek romantic love in the context of power dynamics which muddle the possibility of non-exploitative love, since the premise of the relationship is always hierarchical, sold by the image of an exotic fantasy which is not rooted in reality. In particular, the idea of Jamaica as an escape to paradise where love abounds goes hand in hand with the specific ecosystem of the Caribbean. The ecology of a place of escape which satisfies these fantastical desires includes “the year-round warm, sunny conditions and beaches, the tropical rain forests and coral reefs, and the region’s music, such as reggae, calypso, and dance hall, and cultural events, such as carnival” in conjunction with “beaches, bars, casinos, discos, and nightclubs within and around tourist hotels and resorts are the main locations where tourists individually meet local women and men” (Kempadoo 118, 122). Thus, both the natural and built environments work to create the image of a sexy landscape or romantic geography which upholds the image of the Caribbean as passive, romantic, and available for others’ pleasure.