The hipster at Stockholm-on-Sea

They’re going to Ön (“the island”), their friends are going to Ön and they assume everyone else is going to Ön, too. They’re the seasoned Gotland traveller (perhaps even the owner of a traditional limestone cottage or a fashionably dilapidated farmhouse), an urbanite in search of an idealised version of the Tuscan-like countryside at Sweden’s largest island, preferably sans peasants.

Their next-door neighbours on the island are their neighbours in Stockholm, too. There’s no need to sample the local fare as their favourite Södermalm food truck relocates to the medieval alleys of Visby city in July, just like their favourite boutique. The islanders grin and bear this seasonal affront only because they’re able to charge them 150 kronor for a panini that normally costs 75.

The wannabe sculptor

White, sandy beaches, barns turned into chic art galleries, even wineries – you’d be forgiven for thinking you’re in the south of France rather than the south of Sweden. Bohemian Österlen is a national treasure, colonised by artists and writers moving out of the big cities in the 1970s and sprinkled with pristine golf courses, fishing villages and artsy markets.

Today, this kind of Swedish holidaymaker is either one of the lucky few (or one of their heirs) who got their hands on a local property back in the day, or a middle-aged city dweller renting a villa for a week or two for a taste of the good life (and a sighting of a Swedish superstar like singer-songwriter Ulf Lundell). Retiring in Österlen is every Swede’s dream, but very few can afford it.

The rest-when-you’re-dead explorer

No strolling along the beach for these people: summer is for hiking, and the long Swedish annual holiday offers you a chance to head north for some serious physical challenges. Fjällen or “the Fells” is cold, full of mosquitoes but completely devoid of 08:or (Stockholmers) – just how they like it.

If they’re a woman, they’ve only ever worn a dress at their baptism or wedding, and if they’re male, their idea of dressing up is rolling down their cargo pants. Their baby is finally ready to climb Kebnekaise (2,103 metres) at the age of 10 months. That’s what the Babybjörn baby carrier was made for, right?

The class act

Gotland is for hipsters and Österlen feels suspiciously left-leaning (aren’t all artists communists?). The holiday destination of choice, when not in St Moritz or on the Côte d’Azur, is one of southern Sweden’s upper-class enclaves, particularly Torekov, Falsterbo or Marstrand (Båstad is for the nouveau riche).

Their holiday house has been in the family for generations and they wouldn’t dream of refurbishing it and flaunting the new decor on Instagram; the more worn, the better, and that goes for everything from their car to their bathrobe. They can smell an outsider from miles away (including those from the country’s financial elite, desperate to fit in among the aristocrats). But these days, most people in Sweden are oblivious to their snobbery and won’t notice how they shudder when the rest of the holidaymakers inflate their unicorn floats.

The happy camper

Criss-crossing the land in search of the best camping spot, they couldn’t be more different from the haughty crew above. But that doesn’t mean camping is without its own set of rules. They pride themselves on knowing crucial camping etiquette, such as proper waste disposal and respecting other campers’ space at all times.

They and their friends or family are found hogging the prime spots at classic campsites such as Böda Sand (Öland) and Pite Havsbad (a one kilometre sandy beach surprisingly found in the northern part of Sweden), where they’re known by first name alone to the owners – but they would never divulge their top-secret smultronställen (literally “wild strawberry spots” – the Swedish word for a hidden gem) to a fellow camper. After all, the brother-/sisterhood of camping only goes so far.

The bargain hunter

For this staycationer, summer equals waiting, sometimes for hours on end. You’ve come prepared with sudoku, crosswords and snacks, for they’re a veteran bargain hunter, taking pride in bagging as many cut-price goods as their van can hold.

The 35,000 square metre Gekås department store in south-west Sweden – its staff immortalised in a cult Swedish docusoap, currently in its 12th season – is your battlefield, the Crocs clogs their comfy armour. Woe to those who dare get in their way as their trained eyes zoom in on a heavily discounted pink microwave. Onward, brave shopper!