We’re now more than halfway through trying different philosophies of finding happiness. Kalsarikannit was a laugh, Ho’Oponopono was more moving than expected, and Shinrin-Yoku got me breathing the fresh air. Now it’s time to try the trend that has taken the world by storm in the past few years; Hygge (pronounced Hoo-Guh).

What Is It?

Hygge can be a difficult concept to pin down. It’s not something clear-cut you can do, but an entire atmosphere and mindset. It’s broadly about finding cosiness, especially in the dark Danish winters. Think thick blankets, crackling wood fires, and a hot cup of tea. It’s oh so instagrammable, and perhaps that’s why its become so popular. Self-care is the ‘in’ thing, but it has become twisted by social media into a contest of who can ‘self-care’ in the most aesthetically pleasing way. Actual self-care like brushing your teeth, or washing your dishes, doesn’t make quite the same Insta content as sipping a cup of tea whilst you stare out the window. ‘Real’ Hygge is about winter cosiness, sitting around with family or friends eating comfort food and talking. However, surprise surprise, it’s been fully capitalised on by various companies and is now focused on – you guessed it – buying stuff you don’t need! Hygge has become the new way to sell people candles, blankets, tea sets, wool socks and wood burners. I will not be buying any of this crap, because I am an intellectual who sees through this capitalist agenda (read: I’m a student, and my bank balance does not stretch to Woodwick candles).

Giving It A Go

The first hurdle to Hygge is that you’ve got to put the screens away. As someone who spends most of my time sitting in my room alone, I rely on my phone to speak to other human beings and avoid going completely stir crazy. The idea of sitting alone with my thoughts for a couple of hours was, not ideal. I pledged to give it a go and lasted about 40 minutes before caving and checking my phone. Alas, no messages. The other obstacle is that student halls are renowned for being cosy enclaves of Scandinavian minimalist design. I would describe the building I live in as “brutalist” if I was being kind, or “falling apart at the seams” if I was being honest. I’ve done everything I can do cover every peeling paint job or blue carpet with rugs, or clothes rails, or fairy lights, but there’s only so much that can be done. Even with 3 blankets strewn over the back of my desk chair or the end of my bed, it’s still a dodgy student halls room.

Despite the problems, I endeavoured to make the best of my situation. I decided that my copy of “Introduction to Nietzsche” was really not the relaxing Hygge vibe I was aiming for, so I picked up “The Ocean at the end of Lane” by Gaiman instead. I bought myself a copy of the book a couple of months ago and still hadn’t gotten around to starting it. Cosied up under my blankets, I started to turn the pages. It’s a good book, so I can’t blame Gaiman for my failing, and yet after about half an hour, I was over Hygge. Mid-exam-season my brain gives up functioning and enters a survival only mode in which attempting to read a book may as well be one of Hercules’ labours. My attention span reaches about 20 minutes on a good day before I start spinning around on my chair and longing for snacks. I had my aromatherapy pumping the soothing scent of Ylang Ylang into my room, but it wasn’t working. I am aware that this paragraph is going to make every baby boomer insufferably smug about the ‘kids these days who have to look at a screen every 30 seconds’, but yes, I was that girl. I can happily go without my phone for days when I’m surrounded by friends, but when your flatmates ditch you and you’re home alone for a week, my phone is my only source of human interaction. I wanted to facetime my mum, or one of my mates, or (ideally) my dogs. My head was just not in the game, and the Hygge was not paying off.

Realistically, I think the problem with Hygge is its really going to work out for you if you’re a student. If you’re a middle-class mum sitting with your children around the fire in your adorable country cottage, you’ve already got 90% of the Hygge vibe down. If you’re a student, however, your room is probably more akin to a cell than something you see in an interior design magazine. Every surface is covered in various glasses that you’re saving until you do one mega washing up session, or random bits of paper with scrawled exam notes. I had a friend come visit my flat, and the first she said to me was “Wow, I didn’t know these rooms could actually look this homey, every other one I’ve been in is dingy” and she then proceeded to send a video of my room to the other residents who are clearly living in filth. With that as evidence, I’m going to have to conclude that I’ve done as much as can be possibly done to make my room into a Hygge Haven, but that it’s simply a feat beyond the reach of man.

Scoreboard

Cost: 3/5

Have to give this one a middle of the road score. You can do it for pretty much zero cost, as long as you avoid all the #spon cosmo articles about “10 Hygge essentials from Anthropologie”.

Time Commitment: 4/5

You don’t really have to carve out time to do this. It’s primarily a winter thing, so you’re most likely sat indoors bored out of your mind anyway.

Joy Factor: 3/5

My Hygge experience wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be, but I feel like it didn’t really have a fair shot. Under the right circumstances, it could do better, maybe I’ll have to give it another go.

Total Score: 10/15