On a recent trip to Scotland, the model Vivien Solari, 45, swam every day, sometimes twice a day, in beautifully clear and crisp water of around 46 to 50 degrees Fahrenheit. Solari, who is known for her work for designers like Calvin Klein, Louis Vuitton, and Burberry, swam in Loch Linnhe, rubbing shoulders with seals. But more often you’ll find her carving through the waves of the strait between the Isle of Wight and mainland England, where she has lived for 22 years. Her skin has the kind of glow that looks like she is intravenously fed Hailey Bieber x Erewhon collagen smoothies. “To be immersed in something powerful and wild is often a humbling experience,” Solari says. “The water demands your respect, but it is nurturing too. It helps me to reconnect with the nature within myself.”
It’s Solari’s inspiring words that I am thinking about as I stare blankly at the underwhelming gray plastic blow-up plunge tub in front of me, yet to be assembled. It’s true, my curiosity is awakened, but it’s a little more pedestrian than Solari’s. Mine is more about whether I can persuade someone else to pump up the world of pain that sits before me into a tublike shape. Then there’s the troublesome question of whether the elastic in the swimsuit tucked at the back of my wardrobe has perished. Never mind the fact that it’s pouring with rain outside, and I have an Australian and a Norwegian—known for being robust, vital, outdoorsy sorts of people—coming to stay this weekend. What on earth will they think of this flimsy-looking thing?
Ice bathing, cold plunging, deliberate cold exposure, call it what you will, isn’t new. The Vikings did it, the Romans did it, ancient Greek physician Claudius Galen advocated its use as a treatment for fever. And, truth be told, it’s not entirely new to me. Last summer, I swam in the wild in a lake in Wales. It was a heavenly blue-sky day, but our aquatic idyll was ruined by some irate anglers who pointed out several “Private, No Swimming” signs we’d missed. I have also plunged at the private Bamford club in the Cotswolds; I have road tested the frigidarium and Scottish bucket at the Eynsham Baths spa at the Estelle Manor hotel, also in the Cotswolds. Inspired by the ruins of a Roman villa nearby, as well as iterations from Budapest to Baden-Baden, Estelle Manor founder, Sharan Pasricha, was resolute in his commitment to the concept and dug deep into clinical research. Pasricha also worked with breathwork master Emma Estrela, the only instructor in the UK to hold a Level 3 Wim Hof certification—more on Hof shortly. At Eynsham Baths, you can have a guided group plunge outdoors to feel more at one with nature, or follow a circuit indoors, going from the warmth of the sauna back to the shock of the frigidarium, and then finishing with an icy pour from the Scottish bucket. I enjoyed wandering around in the Romanesque baths, going from hot to cold and back again, having enforced time away from my phone, knowing there was a nice café upstairs with specially designed healthy snacks to suit my Ayurvedic dosha. I thought to myself, I could get into this.
According to the number of views on TikTok for cold-water baths, millions of other people have also had this thought. There is a lot of showing off: It’s an excuse to exhibit how fit, tough, and brave you are; or how knowledgeable you are about its supposed benefits on mental health, self-care, and longevity. It seems there is nothing a cold plunge cannot do. “It’s hugely popular with athletes to repair damaged tissue, relieve pain, and regenerate the muscles,” says Pasricha, “but I also find it’s an exercise in mind over matter and has exceptional powers in sharpening the brain.” I watch a video on YouTube of Wim Hof, the most famous cold plunger of all, completely submerged in an icy lake. After what seems like ages, but is in fact a few minutes, he calmly hauls himself up and out, and without so much as a shiver or an expletive-heavy shriek, he sits cross-legged on the ice in his underpants.
Remind me why this is good for me? I ask my friend Nathan Curran, MD, the longevity practitioner at London’s Galen Clinic, who is obsessed with keeping our true age down and our biological age up, or whichever way round it is, but basically living longer and healthier. He emails me back with the purported benefits: Deliberate cold exposure can help with things like noradrenaline and dopamine (helping our focus and motivation); it improves our ability to regulate our temperature and circulation; it reduces inflammation, which can be beneficial in autoimmunity; it improves our insulin response and metabolic health; it reduces the blood markers associated with increased heart disease risk; it improves thyroid function and basal metabolic rate; and it helps with mood and cognition. In short, it’s all about slowing down the progressive loss of cellular efficiency. “Given the benefits of cold exposure to improving drivers of aging and heart disease,” Curran says, “it could, in appropriate circumstances, be considered a valuable tool for supporting overall health and health span.” Would he cold plunge? Having grown up in South Africa, he admits cold exposure is one of his least favorite things to do, but he finds it useful during stressful periods, after he’s exhausted all the other options (fasting, lifting heavy weights, and simulated altitude training). Me too.
Others aren’t so positive. There are specific sex differences to our response to cold water, as pointed out by Stacy Sims, PhD, an exercise physiologist and nutrition scientist who focuses on sex differences. For starters, women have slightly more brown adipose tissue than men, which is “activated” in non-shivering thermogenesis. “Women don’t need ice for cold plunges—a cool water temperature of around 56 degrees is ideal.”
Some traditional Chinese medicine practitioners view cold plunging as detrimental to our long-term health, especially for menstruating women, or those with fragile immune systems or chronic illnesses. “Formal research studies have yet to validate this,” says Sandra Lanshin Chiu, a licensed acupuncturist, “but in Asia it’s widely accepted and understood.” Her feeling is that while research suggests there are benefits, such as mood enhancement or reduced inflammation, these may be short-term. You might find it invigorating when you start, but over time you may feel more—not less—depleted of energy, and there may be other longer-term detrimental effects.
But back to the blow-up ice bath. “It’s a bucket!” says my boyfriend. “You might as well get one of those green wheelie bins and fill it with ice.” Gavin Teague, the founder of the patented Lumi portable cold plunge before me, begs to differ. I talk to him on the phone while he is driving, sounding stressed because his business has boomed so quickly (more than $1 million in preorders in one month). Unlike my boyfriend, he actually tested the wheelie bin option in his garden, along with a whiskey barrel and a steel bath; the portable bath he designed as a result is now, he says, considered to be number one in the market. Teague did 365 days of consistent ice plunges, has tried all the viral dances, the special breathwork, and thinks most of it is rubbish. He is a healthy dose of reality in a wellness-washing world: “Ice baths are still in their infancy, and we need to listen to our bodies.” Does he have any tips for me and my guests? “Yes,” he says. “Take a deep breath, and as you exhale, drop down to your shoulders as quickly as possible. For the next 30 seconds, continue to take deep breaths, and then breathe normally. And don’t share this tip with your guests. Let them all panic. You’ll look better.”
The guests arrive and obligingly assemble the bath for me. The pump is a bit useless, and you have to fill the tub with water from the outside tap and pepper it with ice cubes from the freezer, all of which feels a bit DIY. The six-foot-two boyfriend struggles to get his shoulders underwater. There’s no temperature control, so you can’t tell how cold it is, but I find one of those turkey-roasting thermometers in the kitchen and it bobs about in the water, giving us 54 degrees, which is punitive enough. Obviously the men go first, all gung ho and macho, and Brrr! and Where’s the Dryrobe! And then it’s my Norwegian guest Maddie’s turn. She pops in and out, as casually as if it’s a bubble bath. “Well, that was a bit…boring?” she says. It turns out she’s been swimming in icy lakes since she was 10.
And suddenly, I am back to thinking about Solari, paddling in the sea, and I remember her tip for the best way to swim in the cold or plunge into an icy bath. “Leave your ego on the shore,” she says. “It doesn’t matter how long your friend is swimming for; you need to listen to your body and learn when you need to get out.”
It’s my turn, and 30 seconds into the plunge, my body says: “I am not Norwegian. How about a nice long, hot bath?”
In this story: hair, Jimmy Paul; makeup, Mary Phillips; Produced by Denise Shenton Productions and January Productions; Set Design: Josechu Garrido; Photographed at One&Only Mandarina, Mexico.