Discovering Hygge in the Heart of Winter

Julie Fergus, ASID
Dec 29, 2025
2 min read

I recently learned a new word: hygge (pronounced hoo-gah). It’s a Danish concept centered on coziness, comfort, and contentment—especially during the darker months of the year. As I read more, I had a quiet realization: this wasn’t new to me at all. I’ve been living this philosophy my whole life. I just never had a name for it.

Hygge is about welcoming winter rather than resisting it. Instead of battling the darkness and cold, it invites us to soften our surroundings, slow our pace, and create warmth through simple rituals—candles, dim lighting, shared meals, and a sense of presence. As soon as I understood that, I thought of my mother and Christmas Eve.

Growing up, Christmas Eve in our house always felt different. Mom turned the lights down low and lit candles for a soft warm glow. The atmosphere slowed down on its own. It wasn’t elaborate or overdone—just warm, calm, and intimate. I remember feeling held by that light, as if the house itself was sheltering us from the cold outside. I loved it deeply, even if I didn’t know why at the time.

Now I do.

That experience shaped how I respond to light to this day—and explains why I have always resisted harsh, bright lighting, long before I could articulate a reason. When compact fluorescent bulbs became popular, and later bright white LEDs, something about them felt immediately wrong. Not just aesthetically—but emotionally.

Those lights stripped away the warmth and glow that candlelight and traditional incandescent bulbs provide. The spaces felt colder, flatter, and strangely uncomfortable. At the time, I couldn’t have told you why—only that my body knew before my brain did. Hygge helps explain this instinct.

Warm light—similar to firelight or sunset—signals safety and rest. It mirrors what humans have gathered around for thousands of years. Candlelight flickers, shadows move gently, and the room feels alive. Cooler, brighter light does the opposite. It mimics daylight, signaling alertness and productivity. That can be useful during the day—but at night, and especially in winter, it can feel jarring and out of place.

When we replace warm, glowing light with stark brightness, we don’t just change the look of a room—we change how it feels to be in it.

Hygge isn’t about nostalgia or rejecting progress. It’s about honoring how our bodies and minds actually respond to our environment. It’s the understanding that comfort matters. That atmosphere matters. That winter calls for a different kind of light.

This is why I gravitate toward candles, dimmers, warm bulbs, and lamps over overhead fixtures. Why I prefer rooms that glow instead of glare. Why winter evenings feel richer when the lighting invites you to linger rather than rush.

Learning the word hygge gave language to something I’ve always practiced instinctively. It reminded me that creating warmth—literal and emotional—is not indulgent. It’s essential.

So instead of fighting the darkness in winter, I lean into it. Lighting the candles. Lowering the lights. Letting the glow be enough.