I expected to spend a quiet, comfortable hour in the sauna with 50 other people, but a few minutes into the “Up” session, I was struck by a deep bass sound echoing through the neon- and LED-lit space. Our two guides synced the heat and towels in choreographed movements, stopping to toss essential-oil-soaked snowballs onto the hot stones when the beat dropped. As one untitled EDM song ended and another began, we were asked to raise our arms above our heads and breathe to the beat, then handed scratch boards and asked to move to the beat, too.
After about 40 minutes, we entered the ice bath, where the doctor asked us to sit in the 90-degree water for two full minutes. We were immediately ushered into the bath, and after feeling my legs immediately ache and go numb, I stepped out and said, “This is one of the worst things I’ve ever done,” perhaps a little too loudly.
Welcome to Othership: an “immersive” sauna and ice bath experience originally started in Toronto by CEO Robbie Bent in his garage with a group of friends who are now the company’s co-founders. Othership opened its first U.S. store on July 17 in the Flatiron District; another store is set to open in Williamsburg later this year. The “Studio” offers a number of different classes and activities: instructor-led Down, Up, and All Around classes designed to help students master sauna and ice bath skills; Social Events, a sauna party that serves as an alternative to going to a club; and Free Flows, self-guided sauna and ice bath experiences that typically take place in a quieter setting. According to the company’s website, all are designed to help you “harness and regulate your emotions in a world you can’t control.” Only the price of entry to the space is regulated: a 75-minute class costs $65, and a basic package with a (slightly) discount is $244 for five people and $444 for 10 people.
All classes begin in the Tea Room, a multi-level area with sofas around a fireplace where students can enjoy tea and water and get to know each other before entering the sauna. After a brief introduction to the next 75-minute class, the guide will lead students in groups into the sauna and begin the class.
Confused by the experience and convinced it might be a cult, I signed up for one of Othership’s specialized mentoring sessions and brought a friend along. This time, the first half of the course is divided into four parts. The first part begins with instructor Harry Taylor playing a wooden flute, “made from the cedar you’re sitting on and that covers these walls,” he explains softly between notes, and the second part is set to a backdrop of wind music, accompanied by more synchronized towel dancing. The third part plunges us into total darkness and silence, with the sounds of heavy breathing and a gong.
The trainer then pulled out his guitar, which had been in the sauna with us. (I couldn’t stop thinking about how hot the guitar must have been—I couldn’t even touch the glasses I was wearing.) He began the next part, his favorite, by saying he was going to play his and his wife’s favorite song, “Hallelujah” by Jeff Buckley. (She’s also an Othership trainer.) Not only does he perform the song, he invites and encourages others to sing along. My friend and I felt so uncomfortable that we gave in, but surprisingly, most of the room sang along. After our time in the ice bath was up (I managed to hold out for a few seconds again), we were led back to the sauna, where we spent about 15 minutes getting breathing instructions while the guide’s favorite classic, “Moonlight,” played in the background.
Then Taylor turned on the lights and asked everyone to share their impressions and thoughts about the course. Some talked about what was going on in their personal lives; some, already fans of the studio, raved about how Othership had changed them and how the meditation app Othership (subscriptions start at $17.99 per month or $130 per year) had helped them get over a recent breakup; and one of the evening’s newcomers described how she felt like she had literally been “transported into another dimension.” “Welcome aboard,” Taylor responded.
The instructor then explained that we would get another pass to come back, and three passes for our friends and “cool, energetic” people we knew to bring back. Isn’t that how cults start?
The third lesson followed a similar pattern, but this time the theme was the Elements, and (thankfully) there was no instrumentation or choir. Most of the elements were paired with essential oil-themed snowballs, and the sessions were sometimes relaxing and relied heavily on more traditional meditative visualization exercises. (There was one new section, though—fire—where we were guided into a collective primal scream.)
The session also ended with group therapy. While I was fascinated by how many people opened up, I couldn’t help but wonder if these shared experiences felt like a repeat of what Othership was trying to sell us, and at times it felt a little insincere and forced. I felt like I was in a room full of people, playing out a very traditional tradition in a very artificial space.
“My day is made better when I hear genuine words,” founder Robbie Bent wrote in a promotional email to customers who, like me, had attended a preview of the space before it officially opened to the public. “It’s anti-social media, watching real people share their real, everyday lives.” In another email, he wrote, “What makes Othership special and amazing isn’t the saunas, ice baths, or performances. It’s the community that gathers inside. The people we sit with, laugh, and share a transformation.”
At one point, I overheard two people talking about how similar this experience was to traditional Scandinavian practices, and was struck by its effectiveness. Another recognizes this. The “Values” section of their website states that they “honor sacred and cultural practices from history and the present, from saunas and steam baths to Turkish baths and steam therapy. We share these teachings with respect for all those who came before us and those who will come after us.”
On Wednesday, about 30 minutes after my usual bedtime, I returned to the bright, crowded sauna for the fourth time. This time, I was alone, to take one of the much-advertised “social” courses. A few minutes into the class, which is essentially two hours of free time during which you can move between the sauna and the ice bath as you please, one of the instructors enters the room and dances with a towel while another plays drums to the music. At one point, a man stands at the front of the room and tries to do a handstand, but a staff member tells him he “can’t do it.” He immediately stops, stands on the first level of the sauna, and starts dancing to the music, while his friends cheer him on. I guess that’s allowed.
After sitting in the sauna for over 30 minutes, I was tired of the people around me. I needed a break, so I headed to the ice bath. As I stood on the edge of the 90-degree tub, Caleb Spaulding, one of the Othership guides, offered to take me through the cold plunge, telling me that I needed to stay in the tub for at least three seconds to really feel the benefits of the cold water immersion. After he taught me the proper breathing technique (inhale through your nose and exhale through your mouth, like breathing through a straw), I stepped into the sauna and stayed there until he told me 30 seconds had passed, at which point I instinctively stepped out. Of course, I can’t say I felt like a new person, but I definitely felt energized and felt like I was high after a run. However, I soon felt cold and headed back to the sauna.
There, I struck up a conversation with the woman sitting next to me, who had heard about Othership through another wellness center she attends, and we both made similar jokes about the hydrogen-infused water they dispensed (is that like saying “water is water”? Doesn’t water already have hydrogen?). She really enjoyed the experience, and was so intrigued by the towel dance that she approached the guide and asked if he could teach her how to do it herself (which is apparently a lot harder than it sounds).
Although I found it easier to communicate than in previous mentoring sessions, I wasn’t feeling particularly well. I was tired (I didn’t get home until after 1 a.m.) and dehydrated—hung over. Worse, I slightly regretted not staying in the ice bath for more than 30 seconds. Could I stay a little longer? Did I really like this place now?
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