I Finally Tried a "Shower Orange,” and It Was Oddly Wonderful
I like to maintain a healthy distance between my groceries and my bathroom. I’ve never been one for a shower beer or even, really, a glass of wine while in the bath. So when I first heard about the phenomenon of the “shower orange” sometime in the last year or two, I was far from tempted. Then I kept hearing about it, and, as I am wont to do, I knew at some point I’d be trying this controversial trend out for myself. It was only a matter of time.
And that time? It was just the other night on a particularly gloomy winter day when I was in need of a hot shower and a pick-me-up. At last, I tried the shower orange hack and I emerged with a whole new appreciation for citrus, showers, and self-care.
What Is a Shower Orange?
Though the concept first appeared on my radar (re: TikTok feed) in the last year or so, you can find people talking about shower oranges on Reddit as far back as a decade ago. The idea is this: You take an orange with you into the shower, and peel and eat it while you’re in there with the water running. The citrus scent supposedly blooms in the steam. You can eat the fruit without worrying about having messy hands and face, and the whole experience transcends a mere shower snack.
At least, that’s what the proponents say. Cynics wonder why you would ever do this. So is it a nice way to romanticize a mundane task, or a taboo for a reason? I was in the latter camp — and then I tried it myself.
What Happened When I Tried a Shower Orange
My questions going into this experiment were: What do you do with the peel? When during your shower do you eat the orange? Would the orange peel really create any meaningful lasting aroma in the shower? Why would this ever be a superior experience to eating an orange, say, at the kitchen table?
The only way to learn was by doing. I popped my orange in the freezer for a few minutes while I turned on the hot water in the shower, because a comment I read somewhere suggested starting with a cold orange to maintain its refreshing factor. Then, I retrieved my chilled fruit and brought it into the bathroom, where the mirror was already fogging up with steam. Two seconds after stepping into the shower, I dropped my orange — still in its peel, thank goodness — on the shower floor. Gross! And exactly why I feared this concept in the first place.
After picking it up, I decided to eat it right away, before things got soapy, and got to work peeling it. Some shower orange fans claim to let the peels drop directly into the tub, but I hated the idea of having to clean up soggy pith parts later, so I opted to place them on my floating shower shelf. I was immediately struck by how good it smelled. The citrus smell does bloom, in fact, and within seconds the whole space reminded me of walking around on a sunny day in southern Spain, surrounded by orange trees, a gorgeous feeling to have when actually in New York in the peak of winter.
Though the smell was a treat, when I was left with the fruit itself I was at another crossroads. Do I let it get wet? Do I eat it all right away? This was the most awkward part of the experience, but I ended up eating the orange all at once while standing outside of the water stream. Being as messy as I wanted to was actually liberating, as the second any orange juice dribbled down my chin, the shower rinsed it away. My only tip to my future self would be to do this when I’m actually a little hungry — I’d already eaten dinner, and about halfway through the orange I found myself not wanting the rest. But I persevered! I finished my orange and enjoyed the rest of my hot shower in citrus-scented bliss.
The Weird and Wonderful Magic of the Shower Orange
Though there were some hiccups, in the end I do think a shower orange takes two great things and marries them in a shockingly symbiotic way. I don’t eat a ton of oranges in an average week because I don’t love the feeling of peeling them or the mess they make, but devouring this one reminded me how delicious they are — so sweet, vibrant, and made to be messy.
It also underscored the natural power of citrus scent, which is said to be stress-relieving, and I agree. The way the shower filled up with an orange aroma was calming and mood-boosting at the same time. There was also something really pleasing about the cold orange and hot water; the sensory experience felt like a new kind of self-care.
Another question I had going into trying out this trend was: Why an orange? Why not a juicy peach or mango, or a citrusy grapefruit? Besides the fragrance factor, I do think there is something intrinsically romantic about an orange. Just look at “orange peel theory,” which went viral on TikTok last year. It’s the idea that you can gauge how much someone cares for you by how they respond when you ask if they’ll peel an orange for you.
There’s so much poetry involving oranges, too, like Wendy Cope’s well-known poem, “The Orange,” which starts, “At lunchtime I bought a huge orange — The size of it made us all laugh,” and ends, “I love you. I’m glad I exist.” Oranges have connotations of abundance, savoring the present moment, and luxuriating in life itself. I wasn’t expecting this side effect, but peeling an orange for myself in the shower did feel like self-love and self-care shaking hands. It felt like a weird but wonderful gift I was giving to myself.
I will not be bringing an orange into every shower I take from now on. I don’t always (or up until recently… ever) want a snack while rinsing off, and the few minutes it took to eat while letting the hot water run felt a tad wasteful. But, from time to time, I think I will set aside an orange for a short shower set prescribed specifically for this citrusy moment of self-care. Maybe I’ll try it in the morning, when I suspect fresh orange juice and an awakening aroma could be just what the doctor ordered.
Further Reading
I Just Discovered the Smartest Way to Store Paper Towels in Your Kitchen (It’s a Game-Changer!)
Everything You’ve Ever Wanted To Know About Article’s DTC Furniture
We Asked 8 Pro Travelers What They Never Pack in Their Carry-On, and Here’s What They Said