There are certain truths in life, and one is either you’re a bath person or you’re not. Personally, I can’t think of a more sybaritic experience than slipping into a tub. Add a lit candle and a glass of Sancerre, and we’re practically in self-seduction territory.
I get why some think baths are unappetizing. “You wash away all that grime, and then you’re floating in it?” one friend asks. But it’s my grime— and I don’t get very grimy. The next time I’m in a rugby match, I’ll shower afterward.
Showers have their qualities. Slipping beneath the downpour is pretty dreamy, which explains why the action is featured in countless films. But baths are even more enveloping (and probably featured in more films).
“A bath is certainly a kind of cozy escape from a world that seems increasingly harsh and morally cold,” says Michael Lipson, Ph.D., a clinical psychologist and the author of Be: An Alphabet of Astonishment. “In the bath, we release our professions, families, and politics, our hepped-up identities and fears, and return to the nakedness and simplicity of childhood.”
Baths have been touted for reducing blood pressure, encouraging better sleep, soothing eczema, and burning as many calories as a 30-minute walk. Even the Cleveland Clinic chimed in regarding its positive effects on depression.
In some circles, the cold plunge is commonly referred to as Kneipping, named after a Bavarian priest who cured his tuberculosis through hot- and cold-water therapy with various herbs, along with exercise and a plant-based diet. Kneipp’s bath products have stood the test of time (try staying awake after a bath with Kneipp’s Dream Away salts).
Add a lit candle and perhaps a glass of Sancerre, and we’re practically in self-seduction territory.
We’ve seen an increase in detox and pain-relief-based baths, as well as CBD-based bath bombs. Pursoma has a pickleball-recovery formula, which makes me wonder if it smells like dill. The St. Regis at Deer Valley has a bath butler, which, after a day on the slopes, is a welcome luxury. If skiing is your thing, you could find a safe off-trail spot, then drop down and engage in some forest bathing. The practice originated in Japan and involves figuratively soaking up the woods while literally lying down in them.
Not every bath salt is a miracle worker. Muscle aches aren’t always alleviated, hangovers can linger, and resentments don’t magically disappear after I towel myself off. The point of the bath is the whole ritual—running the water, lighting the candle, pulling out your largest, softest towel, and maybe also tapping the Sonos. Often, the mere act of cranking the faucet can be enough. More than once, I’ve filled up our tub, then offered it to my husband, knowing he’d enjoy the peace.
Combine that peace with snow, and you’ve got my favorite type of forest bath. One morning delivered about six inches. I drove to a favorite hike and walked about half a mile in before easing down. It was magical, lying within that snowfall silence as I tried to focus on certain snowflakes as they wound their way to the earth.
I probably lay there for three minutes before realizing how soaked my butt had become, but I embraced the moment for another minute or two. Sure, I ruined the car seat on the way home, but I knew a warm bath was a short drive away.
Jane Larkworthy, the longtime beauty director at W magazine, was a Massachusetts-based writer
