“It’s time for your lice check,” a woman who goes by “Ms. K” whispers directly into my ear as she starts running her fingers into my scalp and through each strand of hair. I’m in a dark room, Eastern flute music playing in the background as I sit across from my partner who’s also having his hair caressed by a stranger. We close our eyes so we don’t burst out laughing.
“OK kiddos, nobody wants to start their first day of school,” coos “Ms. A,” my partner’s lice checker, in a soft, velvety voice, most likely noticing the dumbfounded looks on our faces. “We’re going to be really thorough, because a lot of critters and cooties can hide pretty well.”
Our inspectors move on to drawing lines and circles into our heads with metal sticks before brushing our hair with combs as tingly, shivery sensations crawl from the back of my ears down to the middle of my spine. At first it’s uncomfortable, because honestly, I’ve never felt this sensation before and I’m not sure I’m doing whatever I should be right. But after 10 minutes of leaning into the uncertainty and nearly falling asleep, our session ends as we’re both “cleared” of lice and they tell us to “get back to class.”
You might be wondering, am I a child? The answer is no. This also isn’t some kind of kink. I’m in my thirties, and I have not-so-fond memories of lining up for lice checks back in the early 2000s in elementary school. But I’m here to experience at Tinglesbar ASMR Spa & Collective in Toronto, Canada. Dubbed the world’s first dedicated ASMR spa, I’m with a group of strangers pretending to be fifth grade students for a role-paying ASMR experience—and yes, I’m completely terrified.
As a cynical person who hates viral internet trends transplanted to IRL scenarios (think Labubu milkshakes on sale at Erewhon), I thought I’d never be able to take this seriously, especially when it came to strangers touching me or whispering in my ear. ASMR, or autonomous sensory meridian response, is a sensation triggered by sounds, touch, feel, that send a tingly sensation through the body, usually around the neck and spine area. Its loyalists claim that it triggers a sense of total relaxation and calmness, eases anxiety, and even helps with insomnia. The term was technically coined in 2010, and since then, ASMR videos have skyrocketed on YouTube and TikTok, garnering billions of views. Some of the genre’s content creators have made ASMR a full-time job, and year after year it remains one of the most searched terms on the platforms.
In the past couple of years, spas and wellness retreats offering ASMR experiences have popped up in the US, UK, and Canada, offering back scratching, hair and face brushing, and soundscapes. But Tinglesbar stands out for its role-playing offerings, which include Harry Potter role-play that aims to “un-petrify” you, a Fairy’s Fortune role-play “offering sweet fairy whimsy and gentle answers from your mystical guide,” a doctor’s visit that “blends light tapping, gentle examinations, and reassuring conversation to melt away tension,” and a 1940s beauty salon experience, in addition to the group hangouts. The particulars can be customized, depending on one’s “ASMR triggers.” Prices range from CAD$139 for a solo session with $50 add-ons for role-playing, or $25 to $75 for group hangs.
Despite the hype, it’s not a phenomenon I’ve explored or taken seriously. Add the student role-play with a bunch of strangers who paid to do this, and it has me wondering: Can all these grown-ass people all just pretend to be children? What brought them all here? And perhaps the most important question: Can I be converted into a believer?
The moment we step into the space, we’re told to stow away our phones so we can fully be transported into the classroom. There’s a table full of art supplies such as markers and paint, sounds playing from a speaker to imitate the ambience of a schoolyard, even snacks from our childhoods like Goldfish crackers and fruit snacks handed out to each of us in a brown paper bag. A woman in a smock and large tortoise-shell glasses introduces herself as Ms. G, our “art teacher,” and greets us all by asking us how our summer break was as we awkwardly smile back. Today’s assignment? Decorate and paint our own canvas pencil case. To avoid breaking the ice with strangers, everyone immediately goes heads down into crafting.
Courtesy of Tinglesbar
Courtesy of Tinglesbar
“How was the fourth grade for everyone?” Ms. G asks as we wonder who will speak up first. As an extrovert uncomfortable with awkward silence (and probably more issues I need to figure out in therapy), I blurt out that I loved “cross-country running” as a fourth grader. The others nod and smile; some say they weren’t really athletic, but I’m relieved I could break the silence in what seemed like a room full of introverts. But as Ms. G continues to ask us about our favorite classroom memories and movies from our past, I start to notice that more of my “classmates” are sharing their experiences with one another, whether trading a nostalgic snack or comparing each others’ artwork.
As we craft, “students” in pairs are called into a room for the “lice checks.” To be clear, this isn’t an actual check for lice but a teacher-student ASMR simulation. Each student that comes out after their check looks as if they’d enjoyed an hour-long massage, but it also melts the sort of awkwardness that’s so common among adult strangers. It feels like we’re bonded by the vulnerability of the odd shared experience and want to compare notes before “storytime.”
“I felt very tingly when she was just brushing my hair, touching my hair and whispering. I love that. It was a really nice experience,” our classmate Larissa Jhessin tells us. I admit to her that I was fully skeptical and had moments where I had to refocus to take it seriously. But once I got to that space, I did feel the goosebumps which, because of how new they were, put me in a realm of the unfamiliar and meditation.
This is Jhessin’s sixth time at Tinglesbar but her first in a group setting. As a college student who works full-time, she says she has been using ASMR for years to help her deal with high stress environments and to sleep. “I know for people who have never experienced it before, it could be weird,” she says of the role-play element. But “they should try it at least once. It brought back many great childhood memories.”
This is exactly what Tammy Lung envisioned when she had the idea to open Tinglesbar in 2018. As a child, she found herself immersed in the makeup channel or the British-TV show Art Attack because of the goosebumps and sense of calm the sounds gave her. Those “super soothing” sensations, which she couldn’t define into a single concept pre high-speed internet days, were always part of her life, but they were also isolating because she didn’t know if anyone else felt what she had.
“It wasn’t until like my early twenties I specifically looked on YouTube for makeup videos to help me fall asleep, and that’s kind of when I found this term that kept coming up: ASMR,” Lung tells me. “It led me down a rabbit hole to all sorts of content, and I would just watch that every night throughout university to help me with stress or anxiety or sleep.”
Everyone who enjoys ASMR is different, Lung emphasizes. Some love the sounds of chewing and tongue clicks while others enjoy full narration, often in whispers or different accents. There’s also a whole section of ASMR that focuses on the sounds and sensations of inanimate objects, for example, keyboard tapping, slicing vegetables, even a YouTube short ASMR video of a Labubu being sliced in half which has garnered 5 million views. For Lung, some of the most relaxing sounds come from makeup tutorials; the sound of brushes gliding over a face, the pop of a lipstick canister, or the patting of powder into the skin as if you’re in a makeup chair. While some people don’t need the element of role-play to feel the sensations of ASMR, Lung says the scenarios can help break down people’s walls to make the most of the experiences.
“It’s a lot of what you used to feel as a child in the form of care and comfort, and we don’t get that as much. You don’t get hugged as much. You don’t get your hair brushed or back scratched,” she says. It’s important “to relive the more simpler, gentler times of your life that you haven’t been able to feel in a really long time and in a soothing, calming way,” Lung adds. “It’s like a massage for your brain.”
For Milan Seki, a 32-year-old content creator who runs Invisible Strangers, a group dedicated to organizing meet-ups with introverts in Toronto, this is exactly the type of nostalgia she was hoping to experience while socializing with new people.
“I think like a lot of millennials and Gen Z love to go back and re-experience that. Specifically I really liked the little details like the lice check where you have the ASMR experience and then the story at the end,” Seki says. “It really puts you in the moment, which I think we were all craving.”
As a proud introvert, Seki told me that she did have some reservations before coming to a group ASMR role-play session but that the element of crafting and cosplaying was helpful to share a balance of socializing but also being immersed in an activity. “We have to be kids again,” she said, and I agree. We both wonder if our parents would enjoy the experience too.
As I walk out of the “classroom” and into the real world as a full-grown adult with responsibilities, I wonder what exactly I’ve taken away from the experience. Tingles? Check—though it may take a few more sessions for me to get comfortable with people whispering and touching me. Immersion into the role? Check—but it does leave me wondering if anyone had left the role-play feeling weirded out. What’s clear is that in this extremely antisocial era of AI chatbot companions, dating apps, and shitposting for engagement to feel social, my classmates and I very much organically started to talk to one another again, without a drink at the bar for the nerves or being introduced by a mutual friend.
So how do we replicate this? Perhaps sitting in a room full of strangers role-playing as children is the easiest way to meet people in real life again. Maybe letting someone you don’t know caress your scalp away from the armor of your phone is the single most real thing you can do to feel human again. And while I personally may not necessarily be using ASMR as a daily sleep medicine, this experience taught me one thing: Even the most introverted of introverts crave companionship, even if it’s in disguise. And ASMR? It can be their sanctuary.
