Jessica Furseth | Vox

How to handle the winter blues, no matter where you live

2024-05-11T16:31:17-04:00

Chasing the light isn’t the only way to enjoy winter. Cecilia Blomdahl documents her life on Svalbard, a Norwegian island close to the North Pole. | Photo courtesy of Cecilia Blomdahl

“I get emotionally down with the short days and feel like hibernating,” says Annabel Lagasse. So she gets on her bicycle and heads up the hill to London’s Hampstead Heath, where the Winter Swimmers Club meets by a natural pond, come rain or shine; when we spoke in December the water, was 39 degrees Fahrenheit. Lagasse describes swimming in near-freezing water as visceral and sensual: “It’s an exciting shock. Afterward, you feel that calm, and a greater alertness too.”

There’s nothing like the dim light in the depths of winter to make us feel like we’re really just plants: We seek out the sun and wither without it. At its most serious, that moody winter tiredness is called seasonal affective disorder (SAD), which the Diagnostic Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5) lists as “Major Depressive Disorder with Seasonal Pattern.” The symptoms are similar to regular depression: sadness, loss of energy, difficulty concentrating, and hopelessness. But SAD has a few unique features too: an extreme desire for sleep, strong cravings for carbohydrates, and it’s strictly seasonal: SAD disappears entirely in spring. According to the American Psychiatry Association, up to 5 percent of people experience clinical SAD, which lasts about 40 percent of the year. Additionally, 10 percent to 20 percent get a milder version more fitting of the term “winter blues,” called subsyndromal SAD.

Lagasse’s pond mornings have become a beloved ritual: “When it’s cold, dark, and wet, you think you don’t want to go, but often it’s worse in your head than it actually is.” This is why experts recommend pushing yourself out the door in winter, to get the benefits of bright morning light. A course of SAD-specific cognitive behavioral therapy can also be very effective. You should always see a doctor if you’re struggling — SAD responds to antidepressants and can be every bit as serious as any mental health condition.

Scientists are still uncovering how SAD works, but the key is light. “SAD has been linked to the shortage of daylight,” says Timo Partonen, research professor at the Finnish Institute for Health and Welfare. In addition to sunlight, bright artificial light can be used for treatment — Partonen explains that you might be able to lessen the symptoms of SAD if you start using a light box omitting at least 10,000 lux a couple of weeks before symptoms tend to start. Just make sure to get in front of it before 10 am: “It should be at least five mornings a week, up to one hour each time,” says Partonen. Eight out of 10 people who have SAD see good results from light therapy, which has been found to reduce the amount of melatonin secreted into the bloodstream.

In the US, SAD increases the farther north you go: 1 percent of people in Florida and 9 percent in Alaska have SAD. But Europe is different: Partonen says that while only 1 percent to 2 percent of Central and Southern Europeans have SAD, there’s a lot more subsyndromal SAD: “In the Nordic countries, a larger portion of the population has milder SAD symptoms,” says Partonen, explaining that subsyndromal SAD is probably a physiological reaction, affecting people whose bodies are sensitive to light. “But when it comes to [full] SAD you also need to have a predisposition to depression.”

There’s nothing like the dim light in the depths of winter to make us feel like we’re really just plants

Light is crucial because of how it impacts the body clock. Your circadian rhythm doesn’t just impact alertness, but everything from blood pressure and glucose release to memory consolidation at night — all things that could impact your mental state.

Russell Foster, head of the Sleep and Circadian Neuroscience Institute at the University of Oxford, says we still don’t understand the fundamental causes of SAD. “In harsh winter conditions, we want to snuggle in, we want to conserve energy,” he says, “but is that driven by biology, or is it a social phenomenon?”

While SAD makes you tired, extra sleep isn’t restorative because what you really need is light. Foster, also the author of Life Time: Your Body Clock and Its Essential Roles in Good Health and Sleep, explains that we’re most sensitive to light at dusk and dawn — while light at lunchtime is nice, it hardly does anything to ground your body clock. “Dog owners are supposed to have lower rates of depression,” says Foster, who thinks the reason is clear: “You have to get out of bed and take them for a walk, and you get the morning light!”

Attitude matters too when it comes to SAD. “Developing new thought patterns can change the wiring in your brain,” says Kathryn Roecklein, an associate professor of psychology at the University of Pittsburgh. While trauma can cause depression in part because it changes our physiology, it works both ways: Positive habits can change our physiology as well.

Cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) for SAD might work for up to 70 percent of people, says Roecklein. While general CBT aims to change unhelpful thinking about the self, SAD CBT focuses on thoughts and behaviors unique to winter. “A lot of people with winter depression have summer, spring, and fall activities they really enjoy [and miss]. One approach is to [find] winter activities that are similarly enjoyable, social, and maybe include physical activity,” says Roecklein. So if you can’t go cycling in winter, you could snowboard instead, and if you miss the heat, you could go to a steam room. Any CBT-trained therapist can create a SAD program; Roecklein recommends Kelly Rohan’s guide and workbook.

Even if the arrival alongside the November gloom is a dead giveaway that it’s SAD, depression rarely exists in a vacuum. “If there are parts of your life that particularly bother you [when you have SAD] … you might want to do some thinking, feeling, reconsidering,” says Jennifer Griesbach, a therapist in New York City and teacher at Gestalt Associates for Psychotherapy.

While no one actually wants to be moody and Netflix-bound for months every year, self-care for SAD can start to feel like going against nature. After all, seasonality is only natural, and bears in hibernation don’t drag themselves to spin class.

“This is a problem not just with SAD, but of living in the 21st century,” says Griesbach. “How do we work with the difference between what society wants for us and what our bodies want?” Griesbach recommends experimentation and paying close attention to how we feel afterward: “Sometimes you need to go to bed early, and sometimes you need to go out. It’s hard to tell the difference, but we can get better at it.”

While SAD makes you tired, extra sleep isn’t restorative because what you really need is light

Chasing the light isn’t the only way to enjoy winter. Darkness is truly magical for Cecilia Blomdahl, whose YouTube channel documents her life on Svalbard, a Norwegian island close to the North Pole that experiences two and a half months of darkness during polar night. “I look forward to polar night like a kid looks forward to Christmas,” says Blomdahl, who left her native Sweden eight years ago. “I see this as a season to slow down and appreciate the serenity the darkness brings. There’s so much beauty in the darkness.”

Blomdahl admits polar night comes with challenges: “There’s nothing telling your body to wake up, so naturally, all I want to do is sleep!” A wake-up light helps, as does sticking to healthy routines. Blomdahl learned that in 2021, during one particularly tough polar night: “I’d just started my own business and was very stressed, and didn’t have a good routine at all. That really showed me the importance of a good sleep schedule and prioritizing things that make me feel good, like exercise and being outdoors.”

If the idea of strong-arming yourself to be active when your body just wants to cosplay as a couch cushion still just feels plain wrong, you might be intrigued to learn that even for people who don’t have SAD, “feeling like it” isn’t required to enjoy winter. “Last night I went outside at 6 pm and it was 14°F. You do have to force yourself,” says Trude Witzell, a photographer living in Trondheim, Norway. “Of course, after dinner, you just want to go to bed when it’s cold and dark like this!” (This interview was conducted in Norwegian and has been translated into English by the author.)

Hibernation isn’t the solution; researchers were confident about this, as we’re creatures driven by light. Winter requires many of us to work a little harder, though. SAD can make it difficult to tell whether we should be pushing ourselves out the door for a bundled-up morning walk across a frosty park, or if this is the night for lighting a candle while reading under a blanket. But we can use this slightly more difficult season to learn how to listen to ourselves and do what will truly make us feel good.

Most evenings, Witzell heads down to the fjord for a swim, often in the dark because at midwinter, the sun sets at 2:30 pm: “It’s incredible to lie back and look at the dark sky.” Norwegians have a saying, dørstokkmila, meaning the doorstep mile, that is especially relevant this time of year: “The hardest step to take is the one out your front door.”

Brexit has turned me into a prepper

2024-02-16T14:36:16-05:00

According to a survey of the grocery sector, one in 10 UK residents are stockpiling food in advance of Brexit. | Alan Powdrill/Getty Images

I’ve never stockpiled anything before, because I live in the middle of London, an incredible city that has everything. There are no fault lines or threats of tsunami waves here. I’ve always been skeptical of doomsday preppers, as I’m pretty sure modern life will end with a (climate-induced) whimper and not with a bang, meaning those canned peaches will be long expired by then.

But against these odds, Brexit has turned me into a prepper. I feel ridiculous counting the tins of beans in my larder, but everything about Brexit is ridiculous. I keep expecting to wake up from this madness, but there’s no escape — just endless headlines declaring that “riots will hit the streets after Brexit and the UK will be unstable for years,” the queen will be evacuated, and we will run out of medicine and may never see a piece of fresh fruit again.

No one knows what will happen if Britain crashes out of the EU in 24 days; as of today, there is no plan. I laughed at the Y2K preppers, stockpiling canned goods and batteries in anticipation of computers failing to cope with the year 2000. But now I’m starting to understand: on March 29, at 11 am sharp, we step off the cliff.

While in the European Union, Britain benefits from more than 750 international treaties, meaning we can trade freely with not just the EU but also more than 40 other countries. It’s like canceling a gym membership: When you are no longer a member, you can no longer use the treadmill. With each passing day it’s more likely that there will be no deal, and the warnings have come thick and fast: we could run out of nurses, bike parts, insulin, fuel, cheese, toilet paper, and body bags. When the British civil service’s no-deal preparedness plan, Operation Yellowhammer, leaked in September, an MP described it as “preparing for Brexit in the same way [we’d] approach catastrophes.” Maybe Theresa May will work something out between now and the end of the month, but every day there is more useless, infuriating news.

It’s like canceling a gym membership: When you are no longer a member, you can no longer use the treadmill

Still, I can’t really bring myself to believe that Britain will plunge into the ravine like Wile E. Coyote — surely that won’t be allowed to happen? A lot of people certainly seem to think fears are overblown. So I was a bit sheepish when I admitted to my partner why I’d added all those extra bags of coffee to the supermarket cart and ordered that case of my favorite Italian wine. I also did a bumper shop of toiletries, over-the-counter drugs, the only face cream that my difficult skin tolerates, and the medication I need to ensure I don’t have endless UTIs. Reading the packaging only added to the uncertainty — some of the items are made in the UK, but chances are at least some of the ingredients are imported. If the imports pile up at the border, at least I will be caffeinated and moisturized.

This is some very bougie prepping, I am aware! But honestly, I don’t really, truly expect the supermarkets to be empty in case of a no-deal Brexit. I do anticipate import delays and shortages during a transition period, though, and probably price hikes in the longer term. Or, should I say, I really hope that will be the extent of it, because a no-deal Brexit comes with stark warnings about food security. The UK imports 30 percent of its food supply from the EU, and our “just in time” supply chains mean most goods are brought in as and when needed, meaning any complication at the border will be felt within days.

This is why my friend Matt, a fellow Londoner, is prepping for the worst-case scenario. Matt has filled his cupboards with tinned beans, rice and pasta, and tinned fruit for his kid. “Who’d have thought food security would become a major issue with Brexit,” he tells me, exasperated. He also bought a camping stove: “I’m not eating cold beans while I watch the rioting.”

It may sound extreme, but we both remember when London experienced days of riots in 2011, which started as a protest against police abuse of power: “Those [riots in 2011] weren’t even about food scarcity and job losses and electric blackouts. It took police days to contain that, and people weren’t looting for food,” says Matt, who’s also bought low-power LED lighting and a windup radio. “The worst place to be is the middle of a city: totally reliant on logistics from outside.”

While having the means to stockpile is a privilege, one in 10 Brits are already filling their larders in anticipation, according to a survey of the grocery sector, which found that an additional quarter are considering starting. When Quartz reviewed 3,000 posts on Mumsnet, the popular UK parenting forum, pantry staples were the most common items for stockpiling, followed by over-the-counter drugs and children’s clothes in a size up. Wine, spices, dried herbs, umami paste, and stock cubes also came up — you don’t want to have those lentils plain. Most heartbreaking of all are the reports of stockpiling medicines, including insulin, cancer medication, and other drugs needed not just to thrive but to survive.

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When Mary Paulson-Ellis from Edinburgh tweeted a photo about her “No Deal Brexit stockpile,” it showed a spread of seeds: carrots, lettuce, potatoes, onions, and sunflowers. “It was somewhat tongue-in-cheek, but it’s also true that some naive part of me believes I can dig my way out of disaster,” Paulson-Ellis tells me. She’s not stockpiling anything else, at least not yet. “That’s [mostly] because part of me rebels at the very idea. How could it come to this!” Paulson-Ellis admits she’s given thought to how to maximize her vegetable yield this year, but still, she’s making sure there will be something pretty to look at if the worst happens: “I have a sense that perhaps, the most important part of my stockpile will be the sunflower seeds.”

As I picked up some extra rice, lentils, tinned tomatoes, and long-life almond milk this weekend, I figured that it will be a nice donation to a food bank if I am proven wrong. I desperately want to be wrong. But prepping is a very human response to threat; neuroscientist Shmuel Lissek told ‘Scientific American’ that the idea of impending doom triggers an ancient bias in us. “The initial response to any hint of alarm is fear,” he said. “This is the architecture with which we’re built.”

If Brexit ends up being as bad as the starkest warnings indicate, a cupboard full of beans won’t get us very far, so we might as well stockpile a nice Italian red. I alternate between feeling livid and heartbroken about what’s coming, but there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. So I’m buying coffee beans and wine instead — that’s one thing I can control. If it all goes wrong, a happy sunflower and a glass of Amarone might be just as important as the beans in order to keep calm and carry on.

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How Did Birkenstocks Convince Us the Pain of Breaking Them in Was Worth It?

2018-10-04T01:51:09-04:00

The first time I left the house in a pair of Birkenstocks I felt like I was walking along the streets of Athens — not for the straps and buckles, but for the distinct feeling of walking on ancient cobblestone that pokes sharply at your feet. I wasn’t in Athens, but rather stepping gingerly along a smooth pavement at home in London, and the discomfort came from the soles of my brand-new shoes.

Everyone says the same thing: Birkenstocks are sooooo comfortable! They’re sanctuary for your feet! But as I hobbled toward a bus stop to cut short my first outing I felt more like the princess on the pea: A source of promised comfort was leaving me black and blue.

I know I’m not alone in the Birkenstock struggle -— these shoes require you to trust that the discomfort will be worth it. Just like everyone knows that Birks are heaven once they’re broken in, they’re also widely known for requiring a certain commitment. There seems to be a perverse pride attached: First you suffer, then you collect your reward and enjoy the smug fruits of your labor.

“I hated them at first,” says Pragya Agarwal, a Birkenstock fan in Lancashire, England. It took her about a week to break in her new shoes: “I was disappointed because I’d heard they were supposed to be comfortable. But I didn’t want to seem like an idiot in front of my now-husband, who thought they looked ugly, so I persevered!” Agarwal laughs. “I’m a tad stubborn like that. But eventually it all worked out, and they’re so comfy now.”

But that wasn’t the case for Laurena McKenna, a Londoner who found her brand-new Birks actually drew blood after a day of sightseeing in Rome. “I had to buy Band-Aids and sprays, and [the sores] seeped for the rest of the week,” she says — the photo evidence shows she’s not kidding. McKenna’s had lots of positive experiences with Birkenstocks in the past, she says, but the Roman ordeal was caused by a different model: “I was lulled into a false sense of security! I have three other pairs of Birkenstocks and they have been brilliant, but this style just didn’t work.”

But most people seem to have drunk the Kool-Aid on how it’s all worth it in the end — “Power through! The reward is for life!” as one chipper tweeter said to me — and it’s this reputation that convinced me I’d be willing to tolerate a few blisters before the bliss. Good sandals are hard to find! So when my partner, influenced by over a decade in the Pacific Northwest, suggested Birkenstocks, I decided it was time. A week later a pair of Kairos in black oiled leather landed on my doorstep, box fresh and pretty. When I took the first steps across the kitchen floor I winced, wondering if this was all an elaborate joke. But I decided to persevere, armed with nothing but faith.

“It’s not that the shoes are uncomfortable — it's an indication that your feet are regaining their natural function.”

“So what’s your experience been like?” asks Jochen Gutzy, head of communications at Birkenstock, when I call him at company headquarters in Neustadt, Germany. I can’t help but think he’s a little too delighted to hear about my ordeal, although he claims the suffering is not part of the brand ethos. It’s partially because they’re my first-ever Birkenstocks, Gutzy tells me. Apparently my habit of thin-soled flats, Converse, and brogues have made my feet a bit lazy. “So when you return to a shoe with a good footbed, it starts to train the muscles of the feet. This leads to some counterintuitive reactions,” Gutzy laughs, before assuring me: “I’m not putting the blame on you!” Really? “No, no.” He continues: “It’s not that the shoes are uncomfortable — it’s an indication that your feet are regaining their natural function.”

In fairness, Birkenstock is very open about the fact that this is an orthopedic-inspired product. The German institution has roots back to 1774, when a cobbler named Johann Adam Birkenstock started the proud tradition of designing “fitness sandals” to promote the “natural gait.” The sole, standard across the range, has an “anatomical molding” that follows the shape of a healthy foot, says Gutzy: “The cork-latex core reacts to the shape of your feet. By wearing the shoes, your feet are molding and shaping the footbed.” This is what the famed Birkenstock breaking-in process is all about: the wait for the shoes to mold to your feet, and, presumably, vice versa. ”But when you’re finished with this process, you’ll find these shoes fit your feet perfectly.”

“Any shoe that attempts to support the foot arch can take a while to become comfortable.”

Birkenstocks do indeed have “a good profile”, says Stuart Metcalfe, a consultant podiatric surgeon at Spire Parkway Hospital in Solihull, England. “They incorporate some support for the natural foot arch. This, combined with a reasonably firm cork construction, is beneficial for many people.” Those are the people with normally shaped or mildly flat feet, adds Metcalfe — people with more serious foot problems will need a prescription sole. “While great shoes, Birkenstocks are not a substitute for proper medical assessment and diagnosis.”

Asked if support shoes are supposed to hurt at first, Metcalfe says this is something he often hears from patients. “Some minor aches and pains are not uncommon when we prescribe orthotics,” says Metcalfe, using the medical term for corrective shoe inserts. “Any shoe that attempts to support the foot arch can take a while to become comfortable.” Having said that, Metcalfe thinks sneakers with good arch and heel support can be just as healthy for the feet as Birkenstocks, all without the initial pain. Still, cheap flats are a definitely bad idea — they may seem better than heels, but they stress the Achilles tendon: “I see many many patients with tendon problems from wearing flat, flimsy shoes,” says Metcalfe.

Ever since the Madrid, the first modern Birkenstock model, saw the light of day in 1963, the brand has had a unique place in the culture. While podiatrists have never stopped recommending them, the hippie movement of the ’60s and ’70s was the first in a line of subcultures to embrace the Birkenstock, before the neo-hippies, or “granola-crunching liberals,” took to the brand in the ’90s and early 2000s. These associations are still alive and well today; fashion and consumer culture scholar Laura Portwood-Stacer remembers it was mainly “dorks” who wore them when she was a kid, when they were linked with people who prioritized comfort over style and wouldn’t think twice about wearing them with socks.

But Birkenstocks have started to break free from the old stereotypes. “They came back around the same time as the normcore trend [in 2013-14],” says Portwood-Stacer. “It was the idea it’s so ugly it’s hip.” They were spotted on the feet of influencers such as Chloë Sevigny, Kate Moss, and Rihanna, and elevated to the catwalk by Celine, Marni, Giambattista Valli, and Isabel Marant. This time, Birkenstocks are being paired with cool fashions and painted toenails, a far cry from an unwashed tree-hugger. This re-imagination is probably what tipped Birkenstocks into the mainstream, and moved it from trend to staple.

“It’s not just an ‘ugly’ shoe anymore,” says Portwood-Stacer, pointing to how the brand now offers lots of colors and styles alongside the classics. “So for people who want to look baseline fashionable, if not necessarily hip, there’s a Birkenstock for them too.”

Birkenstock isn’t paying any brand influencers, says Gutzy, but the impact of social media has been significant to accelerate the word-of-mouth spread. “Birkenstock is a love brand. We have a very high recommendation rate,” says Gutzy, adding that they didn’t do any marketing at all before 2013. The Arizona model is the top-seller because it works across setting, says Gutzy; you see the same white Arizonas on doctors in hospitals as in Vogue. “This is the magic behind the product: it’s function, and at the same time it’s high fashion.”

The kind of dedication enjoyed by the likes of Birkenstock isn’t something that can be created by a marketing team, says Portwood-Stacer: “This stuff comes from the bottom up.” This is especially true if there’s an anti-establishment vibe: “If it’s not organic, people will sniff it out.” Dr. Martens, Converse All Stars, and the Iron Ranger boots from Red Wing all have dedicated fans who will push through the break-in pain. But these are also well-made, long-lasting shoes that are sure to be worth the effort, and this is probably the real reason why Birkenstock and other brands requiring upfront investment have clung on between the trend waves. Gutzy tells me my Birks will last a decade if I look after them, meaning a couple of weeks of strife is nothing in the grand scheme of things.

Beyond ensuring I have the right size (apparently the temptation is to get a pair that’s too snug), Gutzy doesn’t really have any advice for how to speed up the breaking-in process. The internet, however, has plenty, and this is where I, deep in a Q&A forum about Birkenstock hacks, read that you can get a hammer out to help with the softening. I dare not tell Gutzy that I did this on my own pair — just a little on the arch! But I’ll tell you this: It worked like a charm.

Yesterday I wore my Birks for a full day and for the first time I didn’t limp afterward. I’d made an extra buckle hole that morning to accommodate my slightly smaller left foot, and that seemed to have done the trick. There’s a pronounced indentation on the footbed now, a testament to the work I’ve put in. Not that Birkenstock wants me to suffer for the pleasure! Gutzy assures me of this, before adding: “But do you know of any medicine that will help you that doesn’t taste a little bitter?” The German accent really sells it. But Gutzy just really wants me, and everyone else, to have healthy, supported feet. And I can now confirm that the legends are true: These are some damn comfortable shoes now! I have to admit that having to work so hard for it has made me even more fond of them.