Cuddles are like cups of tea, aren’t they? You would be mad to turn one down. But would you pay £65 for an hour-long cuddle, in bed, with a total stranger? The fact that no euphemisms are being employed here only makes the idea more unexpected. In search of answers, I have signed up for cuddle therapy, a self-explanatory alternative practice that also serves as the dictionary definition of “hmm”.

It starts with a chat in a dark, quiet room with Rebekka Mikkola, the founder of Nordic Cuddle. Is there a special type of Nordic cuddle? One that takes place near pine, at risk of wolverine attack? No. It’s just that Mikkola comes from Finland, a nation she describes as not very huggy. She holds my hand as we talk. Then we try a standing hug, breathing in unison. She strokes my back. After a while, we move on to the bed. We try a few positions, her head on my chest, then mine on hers. There is full body squeezing, leg entwining, fingertip massage. It is deeply familiar, yet also odd and disorienting to be doing this with someone I met 20 minutes ago. A few rungs below risky business, but definitely richer than a rich tea biscuit.

Touch is our most powerful sense, as it registers physical acts in contact with our body and usually harnesses the other senses, too. We are necessarily wary of it these days, because men have been historically, well, you would have to say, not the best. Mikkola thinks, however, that we risk stigmatising platonic touch, which has been shown to reduce anxiety and increase confidence, empathy and wellbeing. Loving contact triggers the release of the bonding hormone oxytocin and boosts serotonin, as well as lowering blood pressure and strengthening the immune system, she tells me, mussing my hair. It is incredibly soothing. As we lie in each other’s arms, she peppily talks about academic research and something about my vagus nerve. The problem is, I am falling into what she calls “the cuddle coma” – a state of sluggish content and low brain function. Relaxed as a baby, but also as eloquent as one. I try some relevant questions and the words come out fuddled. “How does the … nice. Keep boundaried?”

Every session begins with a consultation, Mikkola explains, in which she discusses the client’s history of, and relationship to, touch. It gives her a sense of who she is getting into bed with. In her 1,000 hours of practice, she has experienced nothing inappropriate. Consent is highlighted throughout – she softly says what she is going to do and asks if it is OK. I have harder-to-articulate concerns. What if it … gets weird? Mikkola readily acknowledges that touch is emotional. About 40% of the time, people weep in her arms. She can’t help but be affected, too. She trains other hug therapists at Nordic Cuddle – if a client has booked with one practitioner too many times, they are encouraged to try another.

I love a good cuddle, but for others this set up would be nightmare fuel. I think about my friend Kate, proudly hug-averse. She will give very old friends a high five once a year if they apply for a visa, but in general: anti-tactile. I wonder what she would make of cuddle therapy, so I text to find out. “Is for people with damaged attachment issues. Thought of u,” I explain. “Sweet Jesus,” she replies, which is the end of the conversation.

Touch is crucial to our biological flourishing. Is this an appropriate way to get it? Or inescapably tragic? Nordic Cuddle’s clients primarily come from IT or academic backgrounds. Easy to be judgmental, but I wonder, too, about older people, bereaved people or those in ill health; those who are afforded least in the way of loving touch, but need it most. The fact is, people have always paid for intimacy, but not everyone wants to visit sex workers or sports masseurs or make multiple appointments at the salon just for the shampoo at the start. What is wrong with a competitively priced cuddle? I am not sure, to be honest. But it feels odd. And powerfully relaxing. And lovely. And odd. There are no easy answers. All we can agree is that the cuddle is real.

Parting is such sweet goodbye

After the session, which took place at a joint Airbnb wellness experience between Nordic Cuddle and Pop&Rest, Mikkola goes for a Nordic handshake. I go for an Asian side-hug. The whole thing is internationally awkward and somehow incredibly British.

Wellness or hellness?

Hug it out. Or hug off, depending on your perspective. 4/5