The British sauna boom

It is unfortunate timing when the UK’s biggest sauna festival falls on the hottest weekend of the year so far. There is no worse place to spend an afternoon like this than inside a wooden box specifically engineered to make people sweat. But at Hackney Wick Community Sauna in east London – which was set up during lockdown in the garden of a quaint old bathhouse – no one seems to mind. A cheery techno remix of Kelis’s song Milkshake spills on to the street, tempting even the uninitiated in.

Organiser Tom de Wilton greets me in a bucket hat and swim shorts, drinking a medicinal cup of healing cacao and offering me a sip. Behind him, a hundred or so people drift around the garden wrapped in towels and linen co-ords, heeding the invitation email which warned us to keep our clothes at least partially on for activities including  “shamanic sauna journeys”, “ecstatic dance”, “Wim Hof breathwork” and both “sauna astrology” and “sauna disco”.

“It’s our fifth year,” De Wilton tells me, shouting slightly over the music. “Honestly, we’re happy with the weather.” He spent years building treehouses around the world before burning out in a tech startup and discovering sauna culture while travelling. Since then, he has dedicated himself to bringing communal bathing culture to Britain. “Germany, Lithuania, Finland, Morocco, they all have their own sauna cultures,” he says, shouting louder still. “Saunas are everywhere but we don’t know what British sauna culture is. It’s our job to create it, nail down the vibe.” 

The British sauna boom, once confined to spas and luxury hotels, is spreading rapidly. Saunas are appearing in car parks, shipping containers, canal boats, and on beaches from Margate to Glasgow. “They’re gonna be everywhere,” says De Wilton, who is eager to distinguish his vision from what he calls “the sauna bros”. “You know,” he says, grimacing theatrically. “The Andrew Huberman crowd with their Apple watches and red-light therapy, optimising themselves every second.” He mimes checking biometrics on an invisible wrist monitor. “Saunas should be social and relaxing. Crack open a beer and have some fun!”

“Aufguss time!” someone nearby squeals, dragging their bikini-clad companion toward the largest sauna at the back of the garden. The line starts forming half an hour before the Aufguss ritual – a traditional “sweat bathing” experience. People take turns dipping into the metal cold plunge baths while the sun beats down until at last we are greeted by Chris – a sauna master who has been practising for five years. He’s wearing just a sarong and invites us to be naked, as it’s the best way to experience his work. His offer is exclusively taken up by the middle-aged men in the group. 

Inside, cedar benches rise steeply toward the ceiling and the air feels thick as we squeeze in. Latecomers are funnelled into the small sides of the bench half taken up the heated furnace. “You might find this very intense,” Chris says, in warning. “If you want to leave, just go – but don’t try and come back in.” 

For 15 minutes, he swirls a towel, circulating steam on to us. Almost everyone, even those with no clothes, are wearing felt sauna hats which look like little elfin mushroom caps. There are hats from Las Vegas, Edinburgh, Georgia, and Kazakhstan, though by the time I begin to count them I understand the need for brain insulation – my mind goes completely inert. 

Back outside, festivalgoers recline on benches and bean bags drinking Aperol spritzes and eating vegan chilli from compostable bowls. Someone in silver hot pants discusses polyamory beside the plunge tubs. A man with a moustache and tiny sunglasses announces to nobody in particular that the sauna has “completely changed his relationship to stress”.

Two women called Polly and Evie have moved the disco ball from the dance floor into a sauna called the “Lunar Lodge”. A crowd of sweaty saunagoers are pumping the air to the music, leading us in Zumba-like movements. I don’t think I’ve ever been hotter in my life, I shout to one of my fellow dancers. She laughs: “Get used to it honey! The whole world might be like this someday.”

Illustrations by Oscar Ingham / Observer Design