In June 2019, a Las Vegas booking page showed a line marked "Taxes and Fees" — sixty-three dollars and thirty-two cents. About half of it wasn't tax. It was the hotel's own charge, filed in the government's column. This is how the resort fee works: why splitting a price changes nothing you pay and everything the hotel keeps, why the casino company that spent years campaigning against these fees ended up charging them, and why a 2025 rule forcing the total onto the front page didn't make the fee go away.
Sources: the FTC Bureau of Economics paper Economic Analysis of Hotel Resort Fees (2017), the District of Columbia's 2019 complaint against Marriott International, and contemporaneous Las Vegas Sun reporting.
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Financial Minds explains why things cost what they cost — the business model behind it, the design decision behind that, and the person who figured it out first.
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Video Summary
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This video explores the deceptive nature of hotel \"resort fees,\" explaining that these charges are not designed to provide amenities, but to manipulate search rankings on booking sites and reduce commissions paid to third-party platforms. It details the industry's shift toward \"drip pricing\" and the subsequent regulatory crackdown by the FTC to mandate total price transparency.
Look at your last hotel bill.
There's a line called taxes and fees.
Part of that money never reaches any government.
It's the hotel's own resort fee sitting right next to the tax.
The total's the same either way.
So why split it?
For years, one Las Vegas company built a marketing campaign
out of refusing to.
Caesars Entertainment ran a page telling travelers
to join the fight against Las Vegas resort fees.
In the summer of 2011, the Las Vegas Sun photographed
Showgirls as marching up the strip
as part of the same push.
Then in February of 2013, Caesars
announced it would start charging resort fees
at its Las Vegas hotels, $10 to $25 a night,
depending on the property.
A company spokesman said guests had asked for them.
Hold on to that one.
A company spends years fighting a fee,
then adopts it and says the customers wanted it.
The obvious answer for why the fee exists
is that it pays for things.
The Wi-Fi, the pool, the gym, local phone calls,
which some hotels are apparently still selling.
That answer falls apart the second you push on it.
A hotel that wants to give you a pool and charge you for it
can put the pool in the room rate.
Hotels did that for about a century.
The Federal Trade Commission made the same point
in a 2017 analysis.
A hotel can bundle every amenity it likes
and still show a single number.
Bundling isn't the issue.
The separate line is.
You can also just ask people which they'd rather have.
In a study published in 2015,
researchers gave travelers a choice
between one all-in price and the identical total
broken into a room rate plus a fee.
Two out of three chose the single price.
So the split isn't a favor to the guest either,
which leaves the possibility
that the split was never about the guest,
that it's about somebody else in the room.
And to see who, it helps to look at a real booking page,
not a description of one,
an actual screen preserved in a court file.
In 2019, the Attorney General for the District of Columbia
sued Marriott over how these fees were displayed.
Marriott denied deceiving anyone
and pointed to its final checkout page
where the whole total does appear.
But the complaint reproduced the booking screens themselves.
On a page for a Las Vegas property
under a heading Reading Taxes and Fees
sat a charge of $63.32.
About half of that was government tax.
The rest was the hotel's own daily fee,
filed the same column under the same word,
which raises the question of why anyone
would file their own charge next to the government's.
And the answer was two clicks earlier.
Resort fees didn't start with the internet.
The FTC traces them back to at least 1997
in Las Vegas and a few resort towns
where they were a small charge for a small bundle.
For a while, they stayed small.
What changed wasn't the hotels.
It was the shop window.
Once the booking sites arrived,
the first thing you got when you searched for a room
was a list sorted by price.
That list ran on the room rate,
not the total, the room rate.
A hotel that moved part of the price out of the rate
and into a fee hadn't gotten cheaper.
It had just moved up the page.
The district's complaint put the motive in plain language.
The fee stayed out of the advertised rate,
but folding it back in may make the hotel
look more expensive than the one sitting next to it.
That's the mechanism.
A resort fee isn't a product.
It's a position in a list.
And once you see a price as something that gets split,
you start noticing who's standing
on each side of the split.
Start with the booking sites.
Hosts pay them a commission,
and that commission is a percentage of the room rate.
Money that sits in a separate fee line,
collected at the front desk,
sits outside that map.
The Hotel Industry's own trade association
has said publicly that trimming those commissions
is one of the benefits of resort fees.
The FTC pushed back on it.
Its analysis argued the booking sites
know exactly how much fee revenue they're generating
and will simply negotiate the commission rate back up.
So the two sides disagree about whether the saving lasts.
They don't disagree about why it was attractive
in the first place.
Either way, notice who the split was aimed at,
not the guest, the sort order, and the commission line.
Which brings us back to Caesars.
The FTC's analysis has a name for what Caesars ran into,
a prisoner's dilemma.
A hotel showing one honest price
looks more expensive than a hotel
showing a smaller price and a fee,
even when the honest one is cheaper overall.
Being the honest number on a sorted list
costs you bookings.
Caesars did it for years with the ads
and the showgirls and all of it.
Then it stopped.
Its spokesman said customers wanted a package price.
The FTC's explanation is less flattering
and easier to believe.
No single hotel can walk away from this
while the others stay.
Regulators moved slowly.
In 2012, the FTC sent warning letters
to 22 hotel operators.
Every one of them could comply
without changing what a room cost
because the complaint was about where the number sat,
not how big it was.
Then every state attorney general in the country
opened an investigation into hotel pricing.
And in May of 2025, an FTC rule took effect
requiring hotels and short-term rentals
to show the total price, mandatory fees included,
upfront and more prominently than any other number.
The rule didn't ban resort fees.
It banned hiding them.
The fees stayed.
A small Vegas surcharge in the late 90s.
A comparison shopping boom
that turned the room rate into a scoreboard.
20 years of quietly moving money off that scoreboard.
Then warnings, lawsuits,
and finally a federal rule
putting the total back on the front page.
And at the end of all of it,
the fee is still on your bill, just visible now.
Here's my opinion and you can take it or leave it.
Calling the resort fee a scam gets it slightly wrong
and the wrongness matters.
A scam is something one company does to you.
This was closer to something an industry did to itself.
Nobody could display a single honest price
without losing to the hotel across the street.
So no, it did.
All the hotel business ended up with a pricing structure
its own customers say they don't want.
The fee wasn't built to fool you.
It was built to survive a sorted list.
You were just the one standing at the front desk
when it came due,
which leaves a question I can't answer.
The sorting advantage is gone now.
The total has to come first.
So what's the fee still doing there?
Maybe the commission was always the bigger prize
and the booking sites never quite clawed it back.
Maybe a fee, once it exists,
is easier to raise than a room rate
because nobody shops a number they've already agreed to.
Or maybe a line item, once written onto a bill,
simply never comes off.
Either way, when a price arrives in two pieces,
the interesting question
isn't what the second piece pays for.
It's who's standing on the other side of the split.