Bath Time With... is a new series from 39BC. We visit the bathrooms of our muses and friends — and find that a private space has a way of unlocking a uniquely intimate conversation about routines, rituals, and the objects they can't live without.

First up: Evie Henderson, London-based founder of The Yellow World and her Substack, Evie's World.

I love a bath. I always have.

When I first tried 39BC, I said it made my skin feel shiny and oily and sexy. That’s the word. Sexy. Luxurious in a way that feels private.

My first real memory of a bath isn’t sweet. It’s me at about eight years old, deciding to shave my legs because I’d seen my mum or my sister do it. I cut my thumb really badly. I didn’t cry because I was so embarrassed. I told my mum I’d dropped the razor and picked it up. I didn’t want to admit I’d shaved my legs. I mean I was eight.

I remember that feeling of being alone in the bath, trying to “beautify” myself. It went terribly wrong. But shaving your legs in the bath is definitely a rite of passage.

Before that, I remember sitting on the loo seat while my mum was in the bath, just talking to her. She was quite private — she’d always have a flannel over her chest — but I would sit there and talk. As a teenager, I’d sit with my knees up on the toilet, telling her about school, heartbreak, whatever drama I was having. The bath was where she talked me off the edge of a cliff.

When I think of the bath, I think of safety. It’s nurturing. It wraps you up. It’s like being in the womb. You lock the door and it’s understood: this is your space.

In my family, we’re bath people. My mum, my sister, even my dad. Bath in the morning, bath in the evening. I’m known for coming home at 4am and running a bath. It doesn’t matter what time it is.

For me, it’s about warmth. Especially in winter — that feeling of being cold to the bone and knowing you won’t feel properly warm again until you’ve had a bath. Sometimes I’ll have three in a day. I could easily have two at night.

I like my bath scalding. Practically boiling. I get in when it’s halfway and let the water keep running so I can adjust the temperature around my body.

And here’s the tragic part: I don’t have a bath anymore.

We rent. Three bathrooms. No bath. It’s one of my biggest sadnesses. I’ve begged my landlord to build one. When I was pregnant, I’d literally Uber to my mum’s house just to have a bath. Now I only shower. It’s not the same. It’s just not.

When I do have a bath — in a hotel, at a friend’s house — lighting is crucial. Dim. A window cracked open so I don’t suffocate. Sometimes I put a flannel over my chest like my mum used to. I love Epsom salts. I love a bath oil. I don’t like bubbles. I hate that tight, squeaky-clean feeling. I can’t get out of the bath without moisturising, but an oil ties me over if I don’t have time.

The bath isn’t about coming out transformed physically. It’s about a mental transformation. The event is simply staring into space.

If I feel overwhelmed, sad, tired, cold — I look to the bath as a reset. Like therapy. People love cold plunging. I love boiling plunging.

I’m not an hour-long bather because mine are so hot. Fifteen to twenty minutes max. But I’ll have multiple. In hotels, I’ll have one in the morning, maybe one midday, definitely one at night. Bathing with my son doesn’t count — I can’t have the temperature I want. There’s nothing worse than a lukewarm bath.

After I put my son to bed, my time is my own. That moment is sacred to me. I’ll shower now (because I have to) but that night shower is about washing off the day. It’s the separation between being a mother and being myself. I need that in order to sleep.

And honestly? One of the best parts of the bath routine is lying on top of your duvet in your towel afterward, all nice and clean. Too warm to get dressed. Maybe scrolling. It’s a danger zone because it’s hard to get up again, but it’s heaven.

My best thinking happens in the bath. I don’t take my phone in. Maybe a podcast, but that’s it. Time slows down. I can see things clearly. I can map things out without feeling flustered.

I’m working on a project with my sister right now, in food — something I never expected to do. Since my mum (visionary chef, Skye Gyngell) passed away, it’s been really meaningful to connect to that part of her. I can get obsessive when I start something. Tunnel vision. Mood boards. Writing. I’ve found writing such an outlet — I don’t know if I’m good at it, but I love doing it. That’s enough.

And when it comes to 39BC, my favourite is Silk Veil. I love tuberose. It’s feminine and rich but not overpowering. It’s the kind of scent you want to savour. I almost hide the bottle so no one else in my family uses it. I love that it lingers. It’s a scent I’d be happy to be associated with — something someone could recognise me for.

If someone says they don’t like baths, I’d tell them to add a proper oil to their routine and then we’ll talk.

The bath is the cure for almost everything.

If you’re tired, have a bath.

If you’re heartbroken, have a bath.

If you’re overwhelmed, have a bath.

And if you’re lucky enough to have one — don’t take it for granted.

Photos: Suzannah Pettigrew