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 warm tub. Add a lit candle and perhaps a glass of Sancerre, and we’re practically in self-seduction territory.
I do get why some think baths are unappetizing. “You wash away all that grime, and then you’re floating in it?” one friend says with an audible cringe. I get it. But gross facts like that don’t bother me; it’s my grime. And, frankly, I don’t get very grimy. The next time I’m in a rugby match, I’ll shower afterward (and then I’ll run a bath).
Showers certainly have their qualities. Slipping beneath the downpour of a waterfall of warmth is pretty dreamy, which explains why the action is featured in countless films. But baths are even more enveloping (and probably featured in even more countless films).
In case you were fuzzy about the definition of bathing, the act involves “washing the body, usually with water,” and “may be practiced for personal hygiene, religious ritual or therapeutic purposes,” according to Wikipedia. That’s two out of three for me. I also wouldn’t be surprised if “bath” was Latin for “escape” or “hide,” which ranks as the first or second reason I take them so often.
“A bath is certainly a kind of cozy escape from a world that seems increasingly harsh and morally cold, despite environmental warming,” 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. Then, too, we may be seeking safety at an even earlier developmental stage: in a return to the womb, our original warm bath and safe haven.”
I’m not sure I dip in for the regressive therapy, but the bath’s bonuses stretch far beyond the womb-like re-enactment. 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.
With bathing’s growing popularity have come interesting versions. Cold plunges (good for you, Rick Rubin, but I’ll pass). In some circles, specifically German ones, the cold plunge is commonly referred to as Kneipping, named after Sebastian Kneipp, a Bavarian priest who cured himself of tuberculosis in the late 1800s through a five-pronged approach that included hot- and cold-water therapy with various herbs, along with exercise and a plant-based diet. Kneipp went on to launch a line of bath and body products that have stood the test of time (try staying awake after a bath with Kneipp’s Dream Away Valerian & Hops Mineral Bath 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. Next month, Pursoma is even launching a pickleball-recovery formula, which immediately makes me wonder whether it smells like dill or a tennis ball. The St. Regis at Deer Valley has been offering a bath butler for its higher-end guests, which, after a day on the slopes, seems a welcome and wise luxury. And if tree skiing is your thing, you could kill two birds by finding a safe off-trail spot, then dropping down and engaging in some forest bathing while you’re there. Should you not be familiar with the practice, which originated in Japan, it involves figuratively soaking up the woods while literally lying down in them. Just make sure to cross your ski poles a safe distance above your spot.
Having gained a reputation as an ardent bather, I’ve gotten to try more than my fair share of bath salts, soaks, and oils over the years, and, sadly, not every potion is a miracle worker. Muscle aches aren’t always alleviated, hangovers can linger, and pent-up resentments aren’t likely to magically disappear after I towel myself off. But that won’t stop me from my two-baths-a-day habit. These potions are well intentioned, and they smell so damned nice (although there is such a thing as too much wintergreen, but maybe that’s just me), I have never regretted any bath I’ve taken. The point of the bath is the whole ritual—the running of the water, the lighting of the candle, pulling out your largest, softest towel, and maybe also tapping the Sonos. For me, often the mere act of cranking the faucet can be enough. More than once, I’ve filled up our claw-foot tub, then passed and offered it to my husband instead, knowing he’d enjoy the peace.
Combine that peace with snow and you’ve got my favorite type of forest bath. One recent morning delivered about six inches, which continued to rise through the day in a fairly civilized 28 degrees. I drove to a favorite nearby hike and walked about half a mile in before easing down into the position. It was magical, lying within that indescribable snowfall silence, looking up toward the sky as I tried to focus on certain snowflakes as they wound their way to the earth.
I probably lay there for no longer than three minutes before realizing how soaked my butt had become, but I staunchly remained and embraced the moment for another minute or two. Sure, I kind of 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, is a Massachusetts-based writer
