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!['I’ve learnt a few things about the perfect conditions for slumber, says Bryony Gordon](https://www.telegraph.co.uk/content/dam/health-fitness/2023/08/18/TELEMMGLPICT000346082275_16923669570860_trans_NvBQzQNjv4BqpVlberWd9EgFPZtcLiMQf0Rf_Wk3V23H2268P_XkPxc.jpeg?imwidth=680)
There are a few key qualities I really envy in others: patience; lustrous hair; the ability to fall asleep absolutely anywhere at any time. It’s the latter skill that I covet above all others. You know the kind of person I’m talking about – the kind you inevitably get seated next to a long-haul flight, crammed in economy, where your limbs are splayed like human origami.
And yet despite all of this, your co-traveller still manages to snore through even the most heavy turbulence. “Gosh, are we landing?” they ask, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, when the pilot comes over the tannoy to announce the plane’s descent. “I swear I only closed my eyes five minutes ago!”
But you know that it wasn’t five minutes ago. You know this because you have been conscious for every second of the 15-hour flight, kept awake, in part, by the absolute rage you feel towards your fellow passenger for being able to sleep the sleep of the righteous at 35,000ft, in seat 58F.
The truth is, I find it hard to sleep anywhere other than my bedroom, with its superking mattress that cost more than my monthly mortgage, the mattress topper that cost more than the monthly gas bill, and the duck down duvet that has to be a 10.5 tog all-year round, because that’s the only weight of duvet I can fall asleep under.
I’ve spent 43 years tossing and turning on this planet, and during those sleepless nights, I’ve learnt a few things about the perfect conditions for slumber. I know the exact softness of my pillow (very soft), the precise fabric of my bed linen (proper cotton, a thread count of at least 200, obviously), and if you think I’m being a diva, then you should see me without any of these things, and the six or seven hours of shut-eye a night that they give me.
It’s because of this somewhat pricey routine that I consider myself one of those rare people who gets lots of sleep. I have one of those trackers that I wear on my finger like a ring, which gives me a “readiness” score every morning depending on how well I have slept.
It’s always good. Or at the very least, it’s good compared to the Silicon Valley billionaire who created the scoring system. Because I’ve just discovered something quite shocking: despite my dedication to my bedtime routine, I am chronically sleep-deprived. And so are you, no doubt.
How do I know this? Let me explain. Last week, I found myself staying at a friend’s house in northern Spain. She had very kindly lent me her place so I could meet a book deadline, and I had visions of myself living the life of a writer in the Mediterranean, getting up with the sun to churn out thousands of words before lunch, when I would retire to the beach in my straw hat for a leisurely afternoon of sea swimming and tapas. I would be a delightful cliché, and I would love every moment of it.
Except, that didn’t happen. It didn’t happen because for most of the time I was there, I was asleep. It didn’t matter how many alarms I set: I was out for the count for a good 10 hours a night, at the very least.
Aided by the quiet, the air conditioning, and the pitch black that comes in European homes with shutters to shield inhabitants from the punishing sun, I regressed to a sort of adolescent version of myself, lying in bed for hours on end. So much so that when my husband and daughter arrived to join me, along with another family, I had managed to write all of about 600 words.
“You obviously needed it,” said my husband.
Every day, I would slink down to breakfast, mortified, the clock approaching 11am. “Morning!” my friend would say through gritted teeth, having just entered her fourth hour of amusing her 18-month-old baby. “Sleep well?”
“Oh I was up all night with insomnia,” I would lie, in an attempt to excuse the late start. “How did you sleep?”
“I didn’t,” came the curt reply, as the baby pulled her hair.
As she attempted to squeeze in a 20-minute nap later that afternoon, I lay on my sun lounger reading about a new Japanese creation that allows people to sleep up right. “Giraffenap”, as it is known, is the same size as a public phone booth (remember those?) and features a series of platforms that support your body weight, while also blocking out noise.
“There are probably many people who have been unable to get rid of their physical fatigue and stress and have endured sleepiness and continued to work,” said a Giraffenap spokesperson, no doubt referring to his colleagues. “Now, we are approaching an era where we break down such stereotypes. Take a nap while standing and recover your mind and body in a short time.”
I had to stop my husband from ordering two immediately.
Then I read about the new trend sweeping TikTok. “Bed rotting” is a self-care technique, which involves staying in bed all day, doing very little – along with the “lazy girl job” movement that has appeared on social media, it seems to be a reaction to what the young folk refer to as “hustle culture”. Don’t tell the Gen Zers that most people have been bed rotting since the dawn of time, when it was known as a hangover.
Hangover or no hangover, I can’t help but feel that all this bed rotting and giraffe-napping shows only one thing: that we all need a lot more sleep.
While I think my average of six to seven hours a night is good, it turns out it’s actually on the low end. The average adult under 65 needs between seven and nine hours a night to function optimally. If you find yourself feeling tired during the day, the chances are you are suffering from sleep-deprivation. Which means… excuse me, I just drifted off there for a moment.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Exhaustion. It’s always been a bit of a status symbol, of course – there isn’t a political leader in history who would dare admit to needing a full eight hours of kip. But could it be that things are changing? Are all the Gen-Zers intent on rotting in their beds actually doing society a massive favour?
It seems to me that staying awake in order to squeeze more working hours into the day is a false economy, one that only leads to lower levels of productivity in the long-term. A case in point? Once I had caught up on my sleep, I found myself writing almost 5,000 words a day. I was on a roll, and the only thing that could stop me? A cup of cocoa, and lights out at 7.30pm. Now that’s a treat well worth getting out of bed for, I’d say.
How chronically sleep-deprived we really are
It seems to me that staying awake in order to squeeze more working hours into the day is a false economy