Sub-zero temperatures, Danish hygge, and why sarcasm rises faster than the mercury.
You know you’ve slightly lost perspective when you fly to Copenhagen in February for a 2.5 hour wellbeing session… and the entire trip takes less than 24 hours. Door to door.
Sub-zero diplomacy. Landed Monday night. Minus seven.
The captain announced it like we’d arrived in Marbella. I stepped off the plane and my eyebrows froze mid-expression. Apparently, that’s not even “big coat” weather. Big coats are for minus twelve. Which was forecast for the morning I was leaving. The Danes were calmly discussing layers. I was googling “early signs of hypothermia.”
Still, the evening was worth every frozen extremity.
Met the founder over a couple of beers. Proper conversation. No slides. No positioning. Just his story.
He built the company from scratch. Grew it carefully. Then had the self-awareness to realise it needed bigger exposure and broader reach and handed the reins to a growing UK business.
That takes confidence. And restraint.
He’s understated. Quiet. Observant.
And here’s the uncomfortable bit.
He watches people like a hawk.
Now, this is mildly unnerving because reading people is what I do for a living. I profile. I watch micro signals. I clock tone shifts. I notice eye movement. I’m normally the one scanning the room. Sitting opposite someone who is quietly scanning you is… odd.
I could feel him studying me.
“Does he believe what he’s saying?”
“Is that smile genuine?”
“Why did he hesitate before answering that?”
It’s a strange sensation being on the receiving end of your own trade.
We talked culture.
English directness.
Danish restraint.
Swedish consensus.
Finnish silence that lasts long enough to cause mild existential reflection.
He now lives in Spain. Sunshine most of the month. Flies back once a month to Copenhagen to see his team.
Which, frankly, feels like the best wellbeing strategy discussed all week.
I was there because Trev couldn’t travel.
Trev has joined us with genuine passion for mental health and wellbeing. Proper belief in it. Real energy for it.
Small snag.
He snapped his Achilles playing padel.
Now, for clarity, padel is like tennis but on a smaller court, played in pairs, fast rallies and just enough competitiveness to make middle-aged men forget they have tendons.
It is a team sport.
Apparently not a tendon-friendly one.
So the wellbeing advocate is in a boot, and I’m on a sub-zero sprint to Copenhagen.
The irony writes itself.
Denmark, of course, regularly ranks among the happiest countries in the world. And much of that is credited to hygge.
Hygge is often lazily translated as “cosy.”
That undersells it massively.
Hygge is a cultural operating system.
It’s psychological safety without calling it psychological safety.
It’s shared warmth in a country that is physically cold for a large part of the year.
It’s low ego, low showmanship, high belonging.
It’s dinner where nobody performs.
Coffee without agenda.
Candles because atmosphere matters.
Not showing off because connection matters more.
In a climate where the weather can feel mildly hostile, hygge is social insulation.
It says: the world may be cold. We don’t have to be.
Which makes what we discussed in the session fascinating.
Because here’s what I’ve noticed about the Danes under pressure.
They don’t explode.
They’re cool.
Sarcasm ticks up.
Humour gets drier.
Eye contact shortens.
Someone zones out so efficiently they could win Olympic gold in passive disengagement.
It’s subtle. Polite. Refined.
In some cultures stress makes you louder. In Denmark it makes you sharper.
And sharper can look impressive.
No one is shouting.
No one is storming out.
Performance stays high.
But connection drops half a degree.
A joke that diffuses but also distances.
A polite smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes.
A quiet withdrawal that nobody names because naming it would feel… dramatic.
That’s the bit that matters.
Mental health at work isn’t just about preventing collapse. It’s about noticing when you’re icing over.
Pressure isn’t the enemy. Without pressure there’s no growth.
But unexamined pressure quietly erodes warmth.
By the time I left, it was heading towards minus twelve. Big coats deployed. I was layered like a Scandinavian duvet.
Less than 24 hours after landing, I’m back in the UK, writing this in the back of a cab, reflecting on how my week involved profiling a founder who was profiling me, sub-zero temperatures and padel-related tendon failure.
Was it a long way for 2.5 hours?
Yes.
Was it worth it?
Also yes.
Because in that room there were quiet admissions.
“Yes, I do get sarcastic when I’m stressed.”
“Yes, I withdraw.”
“Yes, humour can be armour.”
That’s the work.
You don’t need to fall apart to focus on wellbeing.
You just need to notice when you’re cooling.
If your humour gets sharper.
If you’re physically present but emotionally in Spain.
It might not be the temperature.
It might be pressure.
