Bathhouses, Saunas, and the New Culture of Bathing

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Photo courtesy of Hürrem Hammam Wellness & Spa

During the Roman Empire, bathhouses were more than a clean place to rinse off the grime from the grind; they were central to daily life. Bathhouses featured a sequence of rooms ranging from cold to warm to intensely hot, designed not just for bathing but for conversation, connection, and even the exchange of gossip and the gospel.

Nowadays, bathing is often seen as a daunting task that doubles as a mini spa moment. For many of us, it’s just another necessary part of our daily routine, the last step in the process of winding down for the evening. But in the past, bathing was rarely solitary—it was a sacred, communal ritual that fostered connection and ceremony. Considering how bathhouses are spaces of indulgence, where entertainment met excess, and decadence and debauchery coexisted with God-divined cleanliness, it begs the question: How could we have fallen so far from grace into the lone bathtub?

Meet me at the bathhouse

The art of intentional sweating dates back thousands of years. Ritualized bathing, sweating, and bathing again is a tradition that predates even the resurrection of Christ, and was practiced in ancient civilizations from Greece and Rome to the Indus Valley’s Mohenjo-Daro. Over the past decade, the rise of personal saunas, cold plunges, and other buzzy wellness trends like cryotherapy and hot yoga have made their mark all over metropolitan cities like New York City, offering an after-work sweat. These stepping stones have revived ancient rituals, bringing back the timeless practices of sweating and bathing in hammams, banyas, hot springs, and bathhouses.

Depending on how well the algorithm has curated your For You Page (FYP) it’s almost impossible to not scroll past one of those dazed-and-confused post-bathhouse testimonial videos. In metropolitan cities, a trip to the hammam has become a quiet status symbol, often slipping into conversation with a hint of bragging. Bathhouse in Brooklyn has even become a first-date destination, where many of my friends settle for steam to set the tone for a new kind of intimacy. It seemed like these sweat circles were one big members-only club that everyone was invited to, but I wasn’t specifically keen on paying a subscription for.

A prime example of this growing cultural phenomenon is the Russian and Turkish Baths, a century-old East Village staple that has long been a favorite for locals but has recently gone viral, drawing tourists from all over. The 133-year-old institution is a testament to timeless wellness, with its Russian Room—a humbly engineered gas-heated chamber with ten tons of rocks—radiating intense, all-day warmth, complemented by a bracing 39-degree cold plunge. Russian and Turkish Bath is definitely a function-forward space instead of one that implements design, lighting, and decoration as a part of its experience. This bathhouse is definitely a clean and orderly space, so much so that they ask that customers shower prior to certain experiences, but its design isn’t as updated: It features brick walls, wood paneling, open showers, wet rooms that lead into the hallway, and do-it-yourself Banya massage table.

Dmitry Shapiro, general manager of Russian and Turkish Baths (and son of one of the owners), insists that while social media has increased more awareness to the public, “it’s not the reason we’re popular.” But one thing he can’t deny is how the clientele has changed. “It’s gotten younger and more diverse,” he explains. “I think people have learned about the health benefits of bathhouses and have chosen it as a gathering place over a bar.” Shapiro was pleased to hear that people liked their TikTok content while attending a conference hosted by Culture of Bathing last month. “This is definitely an international movement,” he adds.

During the conference, High Line cofounder Robert Hammond emphasized the physical, mental, and social benefits of the bathhouse in the post-pandemic era. “People thought COVID would wipe it out, but it actually strengthened the appeal,” he argues. “People realized these spaces were safer, and the desire for real-life connection grew.”

Hammond preaches this testament of how being around other warm bodies is probably the best medicine one could receive, “You don’t even have to meet people [at the bathhouse]; just being around others, sweating together, creates a sense of community,” he continues. “You’re sharing an experience, and that’s what society is missing.” Hammon describes this bond formed through shared bathing as a “spiritual euphoria.” He adds, “You get a real-life high from it.”

Breaking down the bath

“Euphoria” may be a strong word, but it’s easy to see why stepping out of a sweat-filled haze could inspire someone to make bathhouses a ritual. In these intimate settings, safety is largely a given—in order to truly feel relaxed and safe, true comfort comes from shedding social norms. At the bathhouse, nobody cares about your follower count. There’s no hierarchy based on where you sit in the sauna, or a job title to uphold. Stripped of these personal markers, all that remains is the simple, primal pleasure of sweating. In a society driven by social media and status, it’s no wonder that more and more people are seeking refuge in a space where roles cease to exist.

Even in a status-conscious city like Miami, the luxury Turkish hammam Hürrem offers an escape from Miami’s informed social roles, welcoming those already accustomed to heat and humidity. Designed with historical accuracy and Turkish craftsmanship in mind, the 20,000-square-foot space evokes the grandeur of Topkapi Palace and the intricacy of extravagant Istanbul hammams. With intricate tilework, mosaic chandeliers, and sweeping open-air architecture, Hurrem has 15 different features ranging from marble-clad scrub rooms, a restaurant, a salt room lined with hand-selected rose-hued salt bricks sourced from the pristine Himalayan mountains, and a bath space touched with marble finishing.

While Miami is typically known for its Latin and Caribbean culture, Hürrem fuses Turkish and Caribbean wellness traditions. “In Latin American and Caribbean traditions, heat, water, and collective relaxation rituals play a significant role,” explains Pınar Çetiner, senior interior architect at Juno Design & Manufacture. Herbal saunas, steam baths, and heat-based practices have been used for centuries for purification, relaxation, and healing,” she explains in an email. “This is where I believe Turkish hammam culture aligns perfectly with these practices in Miami.”

Çetiner notes that hammams have historically served as centers for health, social connection, and cultural events for centuries. According to Medical News Today, sweating helps flush toxins, promotes relaxation, boosts circulation, and eases muscle tension. Regular sauna, hammam, and steam room use can even strengthen the immune system. But for many, the appeal goes beyond just physical benefits.

“People find they can practice mindfulness and meditation more effectively in these environments,” adds Çetiner. “With the rise in health awareness after the COVID-19 pandemic, interest in these practices has surged. As a result, more people are turning to heat-based rituals to support both physical and mental well-being, manage stress, and detoxify naturally.”

Let the isolation sink in

While business is booming for bathhouses, some people are worried about the sacredness of Turkish bathing practices being lost—reduced to a commercialized wellness trend destined for the next Goop newsletter. Paris-based Turkish artist Deniz Bedir has qualms with the modern “Turkish Hammam,” claiming it has lost its cultural significance and become “more for tourists.” For him, the most authentic experience occurred in 2018 while visiting his familial hammam for the first time in Kızılcahamam, Turkey. “I recall my mom telling me she went with my late grandmother and the other elder women would take care of each other,” he says. “It wasn’t like a spa—it was a communal space.”

This sense of community and ritual is echoed by Los Angeles–based artist Gabi Abrao, who captured the allure of the bathhouse in a single tweet: “In the bathhouse, you are timeless and eternal. You can’t bring your phone. Your makeup will melt off your face if you wear it. If you faint, we will catch you.” If the bathhouse is truly a sanctuary of ritual, release, and reverence—then why have I spent so long depriving myself of the simple pleasure of sweating among strangers?

Despite the promises of community connection and the reassurance that someone would catch me if I fainted, I opted to dip my toes in with a private hammam experience at Aman New York. Unlike traditional hammams, this luxury hotel leans more toward the spa experience (translation: polished and private). Visitors enter a marble-clad room, its centerpiece a heated stone slab radiating intense warmth. After a practitioner scrubs off layers of grime, a bucket of ice is poured followed by your choice of a cold plunge or a warm soak (I did both). This version suited my preference for a quieter experience that left me feeling comfortably nourished.

Still, I couldn’t shake the guilt of feeling like I had broken an unspoken rule by opting for solitude; and that if I had surrendered to tradition, someone would have been there to catch me if I fainted.

Originally Appeared on Architectural Digest