





It’s one of those mornings when the world is the colour and consistency of an old wet flannel. But it’s OK because I’m inside, drinking freshly brewed coffee by candlelight, my woollen-socked feet resting on a snoring cockapoo. Instead of battling the elements, engaging with my inbox or arranging lunch for the in-laws, I’m experiencing a moment of hygge: a phenomenon first documented in 18th-century Denmark that’s been crucial to Danes ever since. Pronounced “heurgha” (imagine the sound you make clearing your throat), the word defies literal translation (though it may be a distant etymological cousin of the English word “hug”) and can be an adjective, verb or noun. Confused? Welcome to Denmark!

Pronounced “heurgha” (imagine the sound you make clearing your throat), the word defies literal translation Helen Russell

The best explanation of hygge I’ve encountered during three years in the land of Nord is: “the absence of anything annoying or emotionally overwhelming; taking pleasure from the presence of gentle, soothing things”. Candlelight is hygge (Danes burn more candles per head than anywhere in Europe, according to the European Candle Association). Bakeries are hygge. Dinner with friends is hygge.

However you define it, hygge comes into its own when the nights draw in. So with Britain facing its worst winter in 50 years – based on the record early arrival of Siberian swans rather than any meterological forecast – it’s high time that everyone learnt the Danish art of hygge.

Danes do “cosy” like no other nation. Your average home will look like something out of an ideal home supplement: lots of natural materials like wood and leather, lamps artfully positioned to create soothing pools of light. Helen Russell

Help is at hand. Scandophiles living within the M25 can enrol in an adult education class at Morley College, London, where they’ve actually started teaching hygge as part of their Danish language course. For everyone else, here’s a guide based on years of immersive research, expert interviews, and the scientifically justified consumption of several hundred Danish pastries by candlelight. Because although the concept may be about appreciating the little things in life, hygge is A Big Deal in Denmark.

“We are hygge fundamentalists,” says Meik Wiking, CEO of The Happiness Research Institute in Copenhagen: “You hear hygge being talked about all the time – by everyone, no matter who they are. It’s like a form of Tourette’s.” It is, Wiking explains, a key performance indicator of any Danish social gathering. “We talk about hygge things coming up that we’re looking forward to; we point out when something hygge is happening right now; then we like to talk about what a great 'hyggelit’ (hygge-like) time we’ve had afterwards.”

Denmark is regularly voted one of the happiest countries in the world, so could this recognition of hygge moments and gratitude for times past contribute to the high levels of contentment? “It may well do,” says Wiking. “Studies show a clear link between gratitude and wellbeing. But another important thing to remember when it comes to understanding hygge is that it’s about experiences rather than 'stuff’.”

It turns out Luther Vandross was right: the best things in life really are free – or at least needn’t set you back more than the price of a few Ikea tea lights. “Danes have been proven to be less materialistic than other cultures – and we appreciate low-cost activities and the simple things in life, like having a coffee and lighting some candles to create a cosy atmosphere,” says Wiking.

And Danes do “cosy” like no other nation. Your average home will look like something out of an ideal home supplement: lots of natural materials like wood and leather, lamps artfully positioned to create soothing pools of light.

“Danes take hygge lighting and design very seriously,” agrees the British Ambassador to Denmark, Vivien Life, who had a crash course in hygge when she took up the role in 2012. “Lights are used to make spaces feel relaxed and warm, and you see a lot of low-slung dining-room table lamps as well out here.” As the ambassador diplomatically points out, such light can be very flattering: bathed in the warm peachy glow of candlelight or hygge lamps, cheekbones are accentuated and eye-bags imperceptible, making everyone look a little more like Helena Christensen or Mads Mikkelsen – or, as my husband calls it, “grotto-fabulous”.

Hotness aside, hygge is so hallowed in Denmark that it’s also considered a cure for the common cold or flu, with doctors regularly prescribing “tea and hygge” in lieu of Lemsip (hardy Vikings don’t do over-the-counter medicines). Danes will even hygge on the move: I once passed a camper van on the motorway with lighted candles in the windows (this is probably illegal, but Danes aren’t too hung up on health and safety: see “hardy Vikings”).

Anyone who’s ever watched the television series Borgen or The Killing will be familiar with the slate-grey skies and notoriously bleak weather enjoyed by Danes for much of the year, and hygge has a strong connection with the climate in Denmark. Yet, you can still hygge during the 20-hour days of high summer with an ice cream on a park bench or a beer in the garden – and Danes get their wick on with dinner by candlelight no matter what the weather.

But it’s in winter that hygge becomes a necessity. It’s so cold and dark from October to March (think Lord of the Rings’ Mordor) that Danes traditionally had to pull together and hunker down to get through it. Although there’s now central heating and Netflix (thank God), a culture of togetherness persists. Whereas southern Europeans can loll around outside restaurants and cafés come autumn, Danes are dunked, mercilessly, into the new season and have to get hygge to avoid the kind of brutal cold that makes your forehead freeze with the effects of nature’s Botox.

During my first winter of living Danishly in rural Jutland, temperatures hit minus 20, the fjord froze, and even the dog got seasonal affective disorder. But Danes are pros at making the best of things by embracing hygge. My adopted country folk know how to have a nice time without punishing themselves or denying themselves anything – very useful come January when everyone in Britain is on diets, manically exercising, abstaining from alcohol or subsisting on kale. Danes don’t binge or purge and there’s not much yo-yo dieting in Denmark. Instead, people are kind to themselves. This, in turn, makes them happier, and so nicer to each other.

“Research shows that people who are able to be kind to themselves rather than harshly self-critical tend to have better mental health and higher life satisfaction,” explains Dr Mark Williamson, Director of Action for Happiness, a think-tank and social change movement, “and allowing ourselves some hygge time to boost our own wellbeing leaves us better placed to contribute and help others.” Hygge’s emphasis on spending time with family and friends is also making Danes more content, according to Williamson: “The most important contributor to our psychological wellbeing is the strength of our relationships, and hygge definitely tends to encourage more close and intimate time with loved ones.” Williamson would like to see more of the Danish approach to life in Britain, he says, adding: “A more hygge-focused culture could contribute not just to happier individuals and families but also to more caring communities and a happier society as a whole.”

Danes may have a head start on hygge, but by making a few small changes to our outlook, the rest of us can get in on the act – wherever we are. “Brits already get hygge to an extent,” says Life, “think country pubs with roaring fires. We just don’t have a name for it.” Wiking agrees: “Hygge exists outside of Denmark, the difference is that in Denmark, we focus on it – it’s prioritised.” So all Brits need to do is turn a grotto-fabulous spotlight on hygge and start savouring the moment? “Exactly,” says Wiking, “it’s simple!”

Here are a few of my own suggestions for great ways to start: eat that pastry. Enjoy a glass of wine, guilt free. Celebrate the first day you can wear a scarf again, or break out the opaque tights. Turn a 3pm cuppa into an event with friends. Luxuriate in a hot bath. Warm your pants on a radiator. Bake a cake and invite someone round to share your hygge – and let the warm, fuzzy feelings flow.

Susanne Nilsson, 37, is a hygge teacher at Morley College, London I come from a town called Haslev, about 60 kilometres from Copenhagen, but I’ve lived in England for the last 10 years and I’ve been teaching here for six years. Danish is not an easy language to learn. The pronunciation is tricky, and “hygge” is a good example – it’s a simple word but the exact sound is difficult for the English to get hold of: the “y” should have the same sound as the “u” in pure or cure. Then the word can be used in many practical but different sentences describing Danish life – as a noun (hygge), an adjective (hyggelig) and a verb (at hygge sig). As in “hygge is important”, “I’m going to make sure my house is hyggely”, and “I’m hyggeling this corner of my house.” But teaching hygge is a kind of shortcut to a Danish cultural experience, because it is not just about a place or things but a state of mind, a shared experience. It helps that my classes are small, about 10 people sitting close together, so it is easy to get a hygge feeling going while we are discussing it. I guess it is just something in the Danish character that we like to get together in small groups and huddle. It is so much a part of the Danish psyche that everyone understands what we mean by it. There are similar words and feelings in other Scandinavian languages, but there is no equivalent in English. I completely understand why the English might find the concept of hygge appealing, but you are maybe doing yourself down a little if you say that life here is incomplete without it. Can the English get hygge? Well, it’s not impossible...

A Year of Living Danishly by Helen Russell (Icon, RRP £12.99) is available for £10.99 plus p&p: call 0844 871 1514 or visit books.telegraph.co.uk.