Bathhouses are Back
Not a subscriber? Click here to sign up to the Change Notice Newsletter (A link will open in a new tab.)At a certain point during my career transition out of Twitter / existential crisis, I wrote down 50 things that I absolutely, unequivocally love. Cue Julie Andrews!! Bathhouses mysteriously ended up among my top five favorite things. Not to be confused with its fancier cousin, the spa, a bathhouse is a public space where, you guessed it, people bathe! But it’s so much more than that. Bathhouses are places for people to socialize, sometimes eat and drink, maybe do business, relax, and cleanse not only their bodies but their spirits as well. When I travel, my favorite activity is visiting a local food market—preferably a farmers market, though I’ll settle for a grocery store too. Second on the list is a local bathhouse.
Therapeutic bathing practices, with origins stretching back centuries or even millennia, are found in nearly every corner of the globe. Popularized during the Roman Empire, bathhouses are now more common in collectivist-leaning societies, such as Korea, Japan, Turkey, Germany, Russia, Finland, and Sweden.
In recent years, however, many aspects of bathing culture have become increasingly commodified and individualized. Influencers like Gwyneth Paltrow and Andrew Huberman have promoted personal saunas, cold plunges, and sensory deprivation tanks – marketing them as revolutionary methods for optimizing health and productivity. While benefits from these practices are undeniable, traditional communal wellness experiences available in bathhouses offer unique benefits that foster a sense of community and connection, and I’m seeing them come back into vogue with a modern twist.
Individualized Wellness Misses the Point
A few years ago, I noticed that key components of bathhouses were being subdivided, commodified, and popularized by wellness influencers like Gwenyth Paltrow and Andrew Huberman. Individualized saunas and cold plunges have been on the rise since before the pandemic. Athletech News reports: “At home wellness products are poised to emerge as the number one growth leader across the entire wellness sector with a projected expansion to $887.5 billion by 2027, according to the latest trend forecast from The Global Wellness Summit (GWS).” You can read the article here.
Beyond home wellness, businesses like Pause, where individuals can book time to sit alone in an infrared sauna or float in a sensory deprivation tank, have gained popularity.
Knowing that I love bathing culture, my husband gave me a gift certificate to Pause for my birthday last year, and, to both of our surprise, I hated it. I opted for the “Float Therapy'' experience and felt claustrophobic—stressed that I would somehow get stuck in the coffin-like floating tank filled with water and a gazillion pounds of epsom salt that made my skin tingle (and not in a good way). Don’t get me wrong. My dream house would probably have a sauna and one of those hippie outdoor bathtubs in it, but this is not a replacement for bathhouses, nor is it an option for most people.
The commodification of wellness in the West often strips away the cultural and communal aspects that make these practices so enriching and meaningful. I’m not a fan. Instead of spending $30,000 on a “Wellness Pod” that looks like it’s straight out of a Black Mirror spoof, individuals, gyms, schools, and cities should invest in more bathhouses! Universal healthcare would be nice too, but I digress…
Bathhouses foster a sense of community and connection, something sorely lacking in today’s hyper-individualistic society. The isolation that comes with pursuing wellness in a commodified form can exacerbate feelings of loneliness and detachment, which are often at the root of many modern mental health issues.
The Banya
My first exposure to the wonderful world of bathhouses was through a makeshift Russian banya started by my grandfather, Nahum. Nahum immigrated from the former Soviet Union in 1981 with my grandmother, mother, and uncle in tow. After passing through Rome, my mother’s family landed in Richmond, Virginia. My uncle went to high school there and supported the family with his minimum wage job at a local KFC, while my mother attended undergrad and, at my grandmother’s urging, focused on her studies. A few years later, while my mother moved to Chicago to attend medical school and find a husband, my grandparents and uncle eventually settled in Los Angeles.
A lieutenant and later a survivor of Russian war camps in Siberia, Nahum softened his hard edges with his love of poetry and dancing. He recited volumes of Pushkin from memory and waltzed like an aristocrat from the Gilded Age. He felt deeply connected to the ocean, evidenced by his lifelong obsession with fishing and his insistence on never living more than a three-mile walk from the Pacific. While Nahum loved Los Angeles with the fervor of any immigrant escaping a war-torn authoritarian hellscape, he needed to complete his version of the American Dream with a little touch of Mother Russia.
Together with his buddy Lazaar, who, like Nahum, served as the property manager of his apartment building, Nahum rebranded the eight-person capacity wooden sauna and perpetually underheated kidney-shaped pool in Lazaar’s Santa Monica apartment building as “The Banya.” Since my mother’s parents weren’t the sort of Jews who observed Shabbat but still embraced what some refer to as yiddishkeit (loosely defined as Jewishness or a Jewish way of life, or shtetl vibes), Nahum decided that Friday night would be Banya night.
Akin to a traditional Jewish housewife who pauses her day on Fridays around 1 p.m. to bake challah, clean, and cook a festive meal, Nahum would leave his property manager duties to prepare the Banya experience for his friends and family. This entailed packing his speedo, a felt cap that prevented his bald head from overheating, a bottle of Absolut Vodka (his fave) and zakuski (Russian drinking snacks) into his car. He would then drive to the more upscale part of his neighborhood, Brentwood, where he plucked eucalyptus branches from the trees (sometimes found in private front yards, to my embarrassment), carefully pulling them into twine-tied bouquets to create a fresh venik. A bundle of small leafy branches brought together in the shape of a handheld broom, the venik is an essential part of the Russian banya experience. Nahum would arrive at Lazaar’s building at least an hour before anyone else so he could turn on the sauna and get it nice and hot. He would then take an industrial-sized, yellow mop bucket, fill it with warm water, and soak the venik for at least 20 minutes to soften the stiff branches and leaves.
I started attending Nahum and Lazaar’s Banya during my college years, which were bookended by two distinct cancer diagnoses. During my first trip back to LA, the winter after my freshman year, I was watching a 90’s romcom with some high school friends when my pink Razor vibrated from a call from my father. He told me that I needed to come home immediately. Upon my arrival, my parents sat me and my brothers down to tell us that my mother had been diagnosed with colon cancer. Stage three. She was only 45 years old. The prospect of losing my mother at 18 marked my first experience with anxiety, which then progressed into dissociative tendencies. I cried and despaired and then didn’t shed another tear for three years. Any problem I faced in college felt inconsequential compared to my mother’s near-death experience. After a couple of years of intensive treatment, my mother went into remission, and, for a while, we could breathe easy.
As soon as she was able, my mother started going to the Banya again. I tagged along to be closer to her. My relationship with the Banya was a slow burn. There was something about wearing a bikini next to my family and a bunch of older, half-clothed Russian men and women that made me feel both embarrassed and exposed. After being mercilessly fed images of perfect skin and bodies in the media, I came face to face with the moles, skin tags, stretch marks, back hair, and wrinkles of my nearest and dearest. There was also a constant barrage of comments about my body: “You’re too thin,” “What’s that pimple on your chin?” “Have you gained weight?” “Would you ever consider getting breast implants?” This “cultural” difference between folks from the former Soviet Union and Americans, even at 37, is something I still can’t get used to, no matter how hard I try.
Nevertheless, the coziness of being with my entire family and close to my healthy mother felt wholesome and nurturing. I would quietly observe Nahum and my dad take turns brushing and massaging the soaked venik across the bodies of my mother, brothers, and other Banya attendees while they lay flat in the sauna. The purpose of this action, known as parenie or platza, is to drive hot steam down the body, which improves circulation, stimulates the dilation of capillaries, and promotes blood flow and oxygenation throughout the body. The intense heat leads to intense sweating, ultimately removing toxins and waste substances from the body. After ten minutes of parenie, the next move is to jump into a cold plunge – in our case, this was Lazaar’s freezing swimming pool. Additional benefits of this hot/cold combo include:
Normalized function of the sweat glands, which in turn, slows the development of wrinkles and other signs of aging
Unblocking of sinuses from the steam and aroma of the venik
Removal of lactic acid, salt, and urea from the body and facilitation of the absorption of nutritional substances and oxygen
Muscle relaxation and endorphin production, which releases stress-induced tension and alleviates muscular pain
After a few rounds of sitting in the sauna, receiving a pareinie, and jumping in the pool, we would move to the rec room in Lazaar’s building. Lazaar and Nahum would cover a folding table with a paper tablecloth and lay out the zakuski, cold beer, and plastic shot glasses for vodka. I would nurse a bottle of beer and pick at brown bread topped with butter and red caviar, watching with amusement as my mother teased some of the more conservative Russian men and women. Meanwhile, my father, grandfather, and Lazaar toasted endlessly to health, happiness, and good fortune.
A few months after my college graduation, my mother called to tell me that Nahum had stomach cancer. It felt impossible to comprehend. Just weeks before his diagnosis, he had traveled all the way to Ithaca, New York for my college graduation where he drank, danced, and leapt over a bonfire at a friend’s graduation party (a Finnish tradition he picked up during his days in the military). I was devastated, but my parents were hopeful that new advancements in medicine could cure him or at least help him live longer.
I ended up living with my grandparents after graduation during the summer of 2009 to be closer to my “internship” at a West Hollywood catering company where I made fancy sandwiches for Hollywood execs, actors, and film crews. While my grandfather battled cancer, he continued his tradition of going to the Banya every Friday evening. He substituted the alcohol for beet juice, but everything else miraculously felt the same. My parents would drive up from the suburbs, and these weekly gatherings invigorated Nahum and everyone around him.
Eventually, I moved out of my grandparents’ apartment and, over the course of my adult life, have moved to three different cities on my own. With every move, first to San Francisco, then to New York City, and then back to Los Angeles, I would vacillate between feeling energized by my new surroundings and overwhelmed by the loneliness that comes from uprooting your life and building a community from scratch. During moments of isolation and dissociation, I would explore the city and locate a bathhouse that would bring me closer to home—closer to myself. In San Francisco, it’s Archimedes Banya, in New York, it’s the beloved Russian and Turkish Baths, and, back in Los Angeles, I switch between Wii Spa and City Spa, depending on whether I’m in the mood for something serene or a bit grittier.
Stomach cancer took Nahum’s life too soon. However, with the exception of his last few months, he lived for five years with cancer and still managed to enjoy a decent quality of life. During those five years, he celebrated my mother’s 50th birthday and danced with my grandmother during their 50th wedding anniversary. He helped me purchase my first car, kicking the tires on the used 2004 Volvo to make sure it was in good shape. He went on fishing trips with my father and continued to swim in the Pacific. And, most importantly, he maintained his Friday evening ritual of going to the Banya. I have no doubt that the warmth of his people enmeshed with the heat of the sauna kept him alive far longer than anyone anticipated.
A Modern Revival
Despite the individual commodification trend, I have also noticed a resurgence of interest in bathhouses and communal wellness practices. People are beginning to recognize the value of slowing down, disconnecting from technology, and engaging in rituals that promote both physical and mental well-being as a collective experience. This revival is evident in the increasing number of new bathhouses opening across major cities in the U.S. and beyond.
New York-based Bathhouse, Othership, and World Spa all opened their doors over the last few years and have incorporated various aspects of traditional bathing cultures with a millennial aesthetic and digital components to drive mass appeal and adoption. The Williamsburg location of Bathhouse miraculously survived the pandemic and has opened up a new location in the Flatiron district. I recently learned that Bathhouse mines Bitcoin to, in their words, “test out on a small scale, heating a couple of pools.” Othership has an interesting digital component via a beautifully designed breathwork app that includes “immersive sound,” “guided sessions,” and “immediate results.” There is a strong gathering and community component, and in stark contrast with Nahum and Lazaar’s Banya, messaging around enjoying an alcohol-free experience. Wellness in third spaces sans alcohol…bathhouses may be following pickleball as a new go-to leisure activity!
This trend isn’t limited to New York. Berlin’s Liquidroom combines German bathhouse culture with the city’s legendary nightlife, touting that “light, music, and sound are central elements at the Liquidroom.” Sauna House is a modern bathhouse experience that focuses on “people and the planet over profit.” With locations in Asheville, Durham, Charlotte, and Bonita Springs, the founders of Sauna House are bringing bathing culture to the South.
As we continue to explore new ways to enhance our health and wellness, let us not forget the timeless practices that have sustained communities for centuries. In the humble bathhouse, we can find a space where healing, connection, and tradition converge, offering us a path to a more balanced life filled with joy and pleasure.
Do you have a bathhouse you absolutely love? Please send it my way. I want to know about it!
Bathhouse Reading/Viewing List
The Lost Bath Houses of Los Angeles - A fantastic article about the rise and fall of egalitarian bath house culture in L.A.
In Search of Lost Time in Europe’s Sanatoriums - Sanatoriums lie at the intersection of bathhouses and spas. I love Alice Gregory’s description of wellness vacations of yesteryear in this beautifully-written expose.
At the Bath House - A lovely personal essay through the lens of a Korean-American woman detailing her experience of attending Korean bath houses with her mother and grandmother.
Spirited Away - One of my all-time favorite movies with probably the best depiction of a bathhouse I have ever seen.
I Still Hide to Smoke - The brilliant Hiam Abass, who you’ve likely seen in “Succession” and “Ramy,” plays a fiercely independent masseuse at a hammam in Algiers. The film depicts the hammam as a safe place for women to gather, talk about their lives, roll a cigarette, and stay away from the men passing laws to limit their freedom. An incredible film based on a play of the same name.
Eastern Promises - If you want to watch Viggo Mortenson fight naked in a Russian bath house, this one’s for you!
Hamam & Co - Inspired by the 1970’s magazine Wet, Hamam is a digital and print media company that celebrates bathing culture.