Bernard O'Shea: My late-blooming journey into the Danish cosy culture of Hygge

My path towards being a late adopter of Hygge (pronounced 'hoo-ga') fixed my slipper-wearing shame

Bernard O'Shea: 'Slipperculitis' is the subconscious wearing of slippers around the house that happens mainly to men in their mid- to late-40s. The afflicted don't realise it's happening to them until Christmas

In Meik Wiking's, The Little Book of Hygge: Danish Secrets to Happy Living, he writes: "Hygge is about an atmosphere and an experience, rather than about things. It is about being with the people we love. A feeling of home. A feeling that we are safe and shielded from the world and allow ourselves to let our guard down."

I ventured down the proverbial rabbit hole of academic research (disguised as a Google search). I unearthed a concept that Medical News Today describes as the "Danish way of achieving a sense of comfort, togetherness, and well-being".

Hygge, as it turns out, has been a fixture of Danish culture since the early 18th century, born from a need to make the lengthy, cold winters more tolerable. Imagine a bunch of Danes sitting around a fireplace in a log cabin, wrapped in chunky sweaters, sipping mulled wine, and nodding enthusiastically at the phrase 'Isn't this hyggeligt?' (That's 'cosy' to you and me).

As intrigued as I was by this charming cultural phenomenon, I wanted to see if my cynical odd-shaped Irish head could take to it. If Hygge is a radio, I want to open the back and fiddle with the wires... find some flawed component and cry, 'This doesn't suit me'.  But how do you urgently throw yourself myself headfirst into a warm, fuzzy and slow-paced lifestyle experiment?

I didn't have to venture too far as I quickly realised my wife has been trying to 'hygge-up' our home since day one. My wife is a chronic sufferer of this incurable illness called 'Addictalampacandlecushionitious'.

'Addictalampacandlecushionitious' is the awful addiction some people have to constantly buying and putting lamps, candles and cushions all over the house. This terrible affliction compels people to trawl endlessly in homeware stores. It has resulted in me not being allowed to turn on a 'big light' because it's too harsh. There's a verbal confrontation if I throw the several million pillows off the couch to sit on it, and god forbid if I ask 'Why are you lighting candles in the middle of the day?'.

Don't get me wrong, I'm obsessed with furniture and mainly Danish design, but there's a big difference between furniture and furnishings. All the soft, comfortable hygge accessories that have adorned Pinterest and Instagram for the last decade don't do it for me. That was until I was infected with my chronic 'slipperculitis'.

'Slipperculitis' is the subconscious wearing of slippers around the house that happens mainly to men in their mid-to late-40s. The afflicted don't realise it's happening to them until Christmas. They are then surprised but delighted to open up a gift from a loved one in the form of a new pair of slippers. It's then the light bulb moment happens. What they thought were 'house shoes' were, in fact, slippers. This can devastate the subject's ego as they realise they have started their voyage into the comfortable clothing stage of their lives.

Then there are our kids, who have a natural flare for the Hygge. They love the idea of the fire on (even though we spent every penny we saved to get underfloor heating in). Every evening our youngest roars "Movie Night", gets into his PJs, and quarries out a cubby hole for himself on the couch using one of the throws (which we use to cover up his milk and yoghurt spills) as a cosy blanket. It used to be my cue to go out to the garage to work on scripts or write some music, but now, with new slippers, I'm embracing family comfort time.

In the twilight of my cynical resistance, I discovered that Hygge is not a wave to be fought against but a current to be gently carried by. Its rhythm is not in the candles, cushions, or even in my newfound love for slippers, but in the soul-soothing comfort it imparts, the warmth of togetherness it fosters, and the unpretentious contentment it arouses and, of course, leaping off the couch and roaring "Ah Jesus, you're after spilling milk all over the couch again. That's it: turn on the lights and get the Febreze."