A variety of books on ‘How to Hygge’ are available in many bookshops.
Waterstones Online declares that ‘if you’ve not found your hygge yet, we have plenty of lovely books to tell you how.’ The OED defines hygge as: ‘A quality of cosiness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment or well-being (regarded as a defining characteristic of Danish culture).’ Photos tagged ‘hygge’ (that’s pronounced ‘hoo-gah’) on Instagram often involve candles, porcelain mugs holding hot chocolate or tea, an abundance of blankets, books and soft lighting. Everything that makes you glad to not be outside in the frozen darkness of 4pm during British Winter Time.
Liturgy of comfort
If liturgy is a daily routine or ritual which expresses what we love and desire, and thus an act of worship, then hygge is a cultural liturgy of comfort. Back to the Waterstones website – on the same page in related titles are books on the Marie Kondo approach to minimalism. That fits. It’s a small and simple step from getting rid of possessions which do not ‘spark joy’ to closing off and fleeing from the hard day at work or the conversation with a family member which didn’t ‘spark joy’. Hygge would have us disengage from that which is emotionally disturbing and mentally taxing by swaddling ourselves in the familiar. That isn’t real comfort – it’s distraction.
There’s a page in my notepad with the heading ‘Winter Survival Tactics’. I add to it from time to time, whenever inspiration strikes or I copy someone else’s good idea: film nights with friends, an unashamed increase in both number of cups of tea consumed in a day and cinema trips made in a week, chapel evensongs, live music, trips to National Trust estates. Winter Saturdays are for laundry, cleaning, painting, reading, art exhibitions, and evenings are for pubs with fireplaces and friends. Winter Sundays are for free coffee from Waitrose before church, roast dinners with friends, napping, digital detoxes, the purposeful slowing down of life.
Locked into the comfort zone
Self-care is good and proper but the search for hygge threatens to skew our desires so that we’re primarily concerned with our own comfort, and the danger here is that comfort is the place we stay. Small, unnoticeable steps towards it result in it becoming the goal of our lives and the orientation of our hearts. Seeking this kind of comfort above all means constantly choosing convenience over compassion, and perfection over humble service.
Just as colouring-in books for adults in the pursuit of mindfulness have tipped their caps and humbly moved to the back of the shelves, I expect that this too shall pass. But our search for the contentedness offered by both the mindfulness and hygge trends won’t, because there’s something woven into our humanity that aches for the lasting comfort of peaceful relationships and toil-free work, and the deep comfort of being fully known and fully loved. That which is in us and searches for this kind of comfort will not be suppressed.
Desperately insufficient
It’s hardly surprising that in such a time of political unrest in the West, we’ve fallen head over heels for something which promises to soothe us, and high street shops are only too willing to sell us Hygge in bulk. But it’s desperately insufficient in this fractured time of post-truth and Trump. Real comfort in these times is not found in a solitary cup of tea and a string of festoon lights, or an Instagram-worthy fireside photo. It’s found in inviting others in to drink tea with us and ask questions of each other and of the world around us. Real comfort is to be actively part of communities which care for each other, and are transforming individual lives and therefore the culture at large as they do so. A better hygge would be to ensure the comfort of others before our own, and to be willing to bear the sacrifice.
