An ode to bathing

She perplexes me, my mother. When she retired to Sweden to live in a 100-year-old log cabin, one of the modernisations she made was to add a fancy new en suite complete with an elegantly understated tin bath.

Excellent, I thought. Any sore necks, snow-enduced shivers and selfcare needs will be serviced by this sensible addition.

But no, dear reader. I was mistaken. You know how many baths that woman has had in the 10 years since it was installed? None. Not one. She hasn’t even soaked her feet in it. 

I suspect it’s classic boomer behaviour: that stoic generation’s view that me-time is a made-up indulgence for cry-baby millennials.

Still, it turns out that in 2023 other generations agree with the old girl. You see, according to Pinterest Predicts, an annual poll that foretells society’s shifts with surprising accuracy, searches for baths on the platform have been literally washed away by a deluge of searches for showers. Add the cost of living crisis, which makes a tub of hot water suddenly feels like profligacy, and it seems many more will be joining my mother in mothballing their baths.

I buck the trend, though. I don’t just bathe on the regular – I consider a weekly bath less a ritual, more a human right. Let the cost of living crisis strip me of my Pret coffees, my daily contact lens subscription and my uber addiction to Uber Eats, but I will not part with my sacred time in the tub (after all, one report priced a bath at little more than £1).

Slipping into the hot water (always a bit too soon and while it’s still skin-strippingly scalding) and laying there for 45 minutes minimum, I am transformed from hot-mess, goblin-mode husk-woman into someone I actually recognise. My patience is restored. My self-esteem recovered. I may be soaking away dead skin cells, but I can literally feel my living cells being resuscitated with every glorious floaty minute.

I’m happy to report that despite Pinterest’s prophecy, I’m not the only member of the (tofu-munching) soakeratti. My friends in the beauty biz are showing their support with a rich assortment of throwback and life-affirming bath-specific launches. Take Dior’s bath pearls (yes bath pearls, remember them?), which dissolve in hot water to release their Miss Dior scented oils, or Ouai’s rose-scented Chill Pill Bath Bombs, which at £25 for six don’t come cheap but then neither does a divorce lawyer.

Holistic brand Susanne Kaufmann’s St John’s Wort Bath Salts promise to improve skin’s hydration levels while Ren’s Anti-Fatigue Bath Oil has magnesium and Atlantic kelp to de-stress your body and mind. Dreamy, right?

So hear my battle cry, Britain. It’s little luxuries like these, combined with a few enforced moments of stillness absorbed in the bath, that’ll get us through the cozzilivs crisis with our sanity intact. Take your pleasures where you can, comrades. Like in my mum’s en suite bathroom.

1. Get some privacy
   Lock the door. Parents, you know why.
   
2. Plan for comfort, not speed
   Make whatever adjustments you need to get comfy. Bath pillows can help prop your neck, while a bath rack gives you somewhere to rest your iPhone, book or Kindle. Take a bottle of water or, heck, go nuts with a mojito. You do you.
3. Set the mood
   Avoid overhead lighting if you can and turn off the extractor fan until you get out if there’s an override option. Scented candles are always a good idea, but you knew that.
4. Drain then dress
   Prepare your towels, PJs, slippers etc in advance, ideally on a heated towel rail so you can get dressed in the still-warm bathroom.
5. Make the moment last
   Lock moisture into your skin by using a body oil on still-damp arms and legs.
6. Rinse and repeat.