天美视频

In the larger conversation of , or wellbeing, or (already an on-the-way-to-outdated term) self-care, people are often quick to say 鈥淎nd I don鈥檛 just mean bubble baths and yoga,鈥� or 鈥渂ubble baths and candles,鈥� or 鈥渂ubble baths and manicures,鈥� or really, bubble baths and anything. Bubble baths have become the mascot of superficial self-care, the epitome of fragility shallowly masquerading as resilience.

I get the disdain. I鈥檝e even shared in it. The language of self-care has increasingly been used by corporations looking to take a movement of self-acceptance, growth, and health, and turn it into profit. To turn practitioners back into consumers. Bubble baths, in this sense, are a symbol of everything that鈥檚 wrong with so-called self-care: consumer-orientation, short-term pampering that does little for long-term wellbeing, focus on middle-class white women as though our (self-disclosure that I do fall into this demographic) experience (and income) is the norm.

What鈥檚 being disparaged in 鈥渂ubble bath self-care鈥� is treating a single 鈥減ractice鈥� 鈥� but really a set of products 鈥� as though it鈥檚 going to magically fix the problems of a heavy workload, a hostile environment, and the impacts of stress on a body, for the low low price of $5 and an hour. 鈥淏ubble bath self-care鈥� pretends that the issues of stress can be resolved by the individual in the aftermath of stress, rather than addressing the issues that create the need for self-care in the first place.

I get it. I鈥檝e spoken the phrase 鈥渂ubble bath self-care,鈥� with condescension in my mouth.

And.

Recently, a couple of people in my life began to tell me about their bath rituals. They鈥檙e both former competitive swimmers, so it made sense that they loved water. As I opened myself to their experience of floating in water, I got curious. I felt the tenderness in their voices, heard the way they spoke of their bodies in the water, saw the soft look in their faces as they remembered their mental and emotional state following a bath.

So, I decided to try a bubble bath, for perhaps the first time in my adult life. I took their advice and bought one of the 鈥渂ath bombs鈥� (ugh) from a company they thought highly of, and dusted out the tub that had only been used to wash the dog.

I won鈥檛 go through moment-by-moment; baths are, in fact, a rather dull experience. Which may be a main draw into the water. Below, my defense of bubble baths as a legitimate practice for wellbeing.

First, it鈥檚 a rare place in my life that I鈥檓 able to be alone, and to be alone and feel however I want. I鈥檓 almost always ; as I write this I鈥檓 at a table with four others. Part of me wonders if that鈥檚 a result of a cultural imagination that primarily understands woman alone as being sad. (If you鈥檙e uncertain, go to a and search for 鈥榳oman alone,鈥� and feel the overall tone of the photos. is so noteworthy an exception 鈥� a time women are seen alone and happy 鈥� that it became a meme.)

In the bathroom, it鈥檚 acceptable for me to be left entirely to myself. I鈥檓 allowed to quietly stare at the swirling suds or a flickering candle or the wall and not be asked 鈥淲hat are you doing?鈥� (I can鈥檛 be the only one who has this problem.) Baths are where I get to reflect, meditate, even pray 鈥� for a full hour 鈥� without interruption or distraction (Apart from the distraction of my own thoughts, which goes back to the meditation piece). I can be happy, sad, reflective, concerned 鈥� the entire array of human emotions are available to me and expressed on my face, without commentary.

A second benefit: Water is a place I can鈥檛 do anything that dominant culture would consider 鈥減roductive.鈥� Having been raised in the millennial children-are-future-workers mentality, I鈥檓 almost always doing something productive. Even my down time: I鈥檓 learning French. I鈥檓 knitting a blanket for my in utero nephew while listening to podcasts in my career field. I鈥檓 reading books that I鈥檓 interested in but also, let鈥檚 be honest, are at the top of the pile because of their connection to my field. And while I enjoy achieving, I recognize there鈥檚 something sickly about it 鈥� and yet I have a hard time stopping. Being surrounded by water is a really functional way to have to stop. Knitting isn鈥檛 possible, and it鈥檚 not worth the risk of losing a book or phone into the water.

So far everything I鈥檝e said could be done without the product of bubbles (or bath bombs, or jelly bombs, or suds bars, or whatever other marketing nonsense surrounds hot water). And 鈥� I bought more. This is maybe personal preference, maybe (definitely) a major area for me to work on: body positivity, self-acceptance, maybe even someday self-love. Right now, I appreciate the visual barrier around my body. The suds and salts and sparkles keep me from focusing on, or even noticing, the 鈥榝laws鈥� of my body; they keep the internalized male gaze from following me into the tub. With that distraction reduced, I can focus on sensations and emotions instead. The sparkly scented sudsy bath products are what make me actually enjoy baths and, more importantly, take an hour to be with my thoughts, my feelings, and myself.

So yes, I spend a few dollars to get myself to do something that I otherwise don鈥檛 do 鈥� be alone and tend to all the parts of myself, not only my body. For me, it鈥檚 not an issue of consumerism, but also an issue of producerism; if buying something helps me to enjoy a practice enough that I鈥檒l stop being a cog in the capitalist machine for an hour, here鈥檚 my debit card. The practice is, in the end, forming me away from a capitalist mindset, forming me away from mindless consumption and towards more mindful materialism. That is: towards taking seriously and with deep consideration the material components of my body and the world. Making me more incarnate.