While the Danish word ‘hygge’ has come to symbolize Scandinavian coziness and comfort, for others it’s become a way of whitewashing Scandi culture and customs—which are a lot more diverse than hygge might suggest. Longtime resident Alexandra Pereira explains.
I can handle the mini Danish flags in every birthday cake and that everyone knows one another. But one of the intimate factors of Danish life which isn’t as sweet as it sounds, is the concept of hygge.
“Hygge is a veiled term for racism,” a Danish friend said to me once. For me, after six years of living in the smallest Scandinavian country, I agree—it’s a concept that is troubling; normative to the point of coercion. Can modern western cities really be reduced to identity symbolism that’s characterized by pervading darkness? How can we expect our journeys through such cities as the Scandinavian capitals, that seemingly evade the unknown of unfamiliar by way of their co-national concept, to welcome foreigners in 2024?
Hygge, a word deriving from old Norwegian and conceptualized within the Danish lifestyle context in the 18th century, conveys well-being, usually a place or feeling embodying cosiness or contentment. But the fact it relies on degrees of privilege and belonging that shade out anything or anyone that doesn’t feel, look or sound warm or familiar, may well make it a state of very insular and self-centering well-being, and not particularly well-meaning at all.
The resulting ‘hyggefication’ of travel within the Scandinavian capitals of Copenhagen, Stockholm and Oslo has spread thick and fast. Tourists document their identikit travels to the same cafés, restaurants and hotspots of the influencer before them… and you can bet that place is white-washed.
‘Hyggefication’ has led to a ‘lumping together’ of the Nordic capitals (including Reykjavik, Helsinki and the Faroe and Åland Islands) as one big bland design weekend. The Scandi capitals are three distinct cities with different global cultures and diasporas. But where are they in guides, vlogs and Instagram posts? Who are they, and how might we travel to these cities in more unique and up-to-date ways?
‘Send flere krydderier’ (Send more spices) is a communal supper club set up by migrant women in Copenhagen, Denmark. Here, food reflects diversity. Every Tuesday and Thursday, Nørrebrohallen, a community hall surrounded by a skate park in the Nørrebro neighborhood, welcomes anyone to join and eat anything from Somalian sambuusas and Pakistani butter chicken to Lebanese shish tawook.
Nørrebro is home to many naturalized immigrant communities. Bazaars sell every textile and pulse under the sun, pubs and pool halls entertain young and old, a zany lamp seller shifts antique stories and glassware, artists scurry into their studios. A monthly flea market raises money for displaced immigrants living in detainment camps outside the city. Many demonstrations start here, and Nørrebropride’s BIPOC Pride march is almost bigger than the regular one in the city square.
Yet the most you’ll see of Nørrebro in the travel sphere is expensive natural wine bars and small plates restaurants—beautiful spaces in their own right, but not always representative of the neighborhood’s kaleidoscopic beating heart.
The escalating troubles aren’t helped by this purposeful anti-integration, casual everyday racism and consistent eradication of other cultures from the tourist map of Sweden’s capital—approximately zero articles or vlogs showcase the abundance of African restaurants Stockholm-wide.
And when you think of Copenhagen dining, you might not think of Thai. At her successful restaurant in the neighborhood square Blagardsplads—an area pacified from gang activity in the last decade—Ranee Udtumthisarn of Ranee’s is smiling and gearing up for another busy week.
“I always wanted to prove I wasn’t this Thai stereotype,” she tells me. “I had to overcome ‘fordomme’ [Danish for prejudice] with proof, proof proof. Prove that I wasn’t a cheap woman by serving quality ingredients, prove that I wasn’t all the other stereotypes have of Thai women. And after 10 years of trying to prove that I was worth more, I realized I don’t have to f***ing prove anything.”
Many of the Asian immigrants here run restaurants and they prepare food for the Western palate, lacking in heat and imagination.” Ranee cooks up lamb chops and soft shell crab delicacies that blend northern Thai with her own creations. In her renowned cheeky fashion, she also likes to surprise her staff and friends. ‘I served them ant egg last night in a soup’ she says with a wink. “One day I’ll tell them!” Ranee is the polar opposite of a gimmicky chef, but is as renegade as cooks come.
Ranee paved her own way and after 32 years of living and working in Denmark is now well-respected; yet still only really locally. Her name doesn’t make the same waves as other Copenhagen star cooks—despite being rivetingly innovative and mostly local with her menu. “Now, I feel like I don’t so much have to prove anything, as trust my instincts,” she says.
It’s early winter—peak ‘hygge’ time, if you will—and I’m further north, at a Rashid Johnston exhibition at Stockholm’s Moderna Museet. I’m struck by his curation of Black Americana, references to Louis Armstrong, Sun Ra, Alice Coltrane and how he has blended their work and his own with the Stockholm museum’s collection in a confronting conversation on race.
Works such as his own Bruise Paintings are pertinent, and especially moving within this space; the Modern Museet is in a ‘museum island’ set-up, surrounded by vast spaces holding Viking and other militia, Renaissance work and the like. Parts of the city have recently erupted in gang violence within its Black community; African-born citizens or residents within Sweden rose from 235,000 to 250,000 between 2020 and 2022. Many live in the capital, or in segregated, ‘ghettoised’ communities on the outskirts of the cities.
The escalating troubles aren’t helped by this purposeful anti-integration, casual everyday racism and consistent eradication of other cultures from the tourist map of Sweden’s capital—approximately zero articles or vlogs showcase the abundance of African restaurants Stockholm-wide.
These cultures are adaptive and generous to the growing landscape of Sweden—so surely a smorgåsbord is more than shrimp and meatballs? The home page of a popular jazz club features an old picture of unnamed Black players while its events listings tells another story, with very few artists of color billed and an Instagram feed of all-white tattooed men.
Afro-Swedish travel and culture writers like Lovette Jallow and Lola Akinmade Åkerström have explored the complexities of the lived Black experience in Sweden, the so-called progression capital of the world, with Jallow coining the term #Swedengate, a furore based on countless accounts of child immigrants excluded from eating at Swedes’ houses.
Even rapper A$ap Rocky’s 2019 Stockholm imprisonment, following an alleged attack of self-defence, was shrouded by the bizarre intervention of then-president Donald Trump and his manipulative white saviorism, a display of ‘hygge-racism’ within the global context. “We do so much for Sweden,” he said, “but it doesn’t seem to work the other way around. Sweden should focus on its real crime problem.”
In many ways, the altercation was an opportunity for Sweden’s far-right government to say, “Look what happens to our innocent country when a rap tour comes to town.”
“Allyship goes further than saying you’re an ally.”
- Erik Wretman, promoter and booker of Black music/restauranteur
Afrika is a social club launched recently in Stockholm’s meatpacking district, an area of early 20th century sprawling warehouses turned spacious urban studios and nightclubs.
One of the white managers of this Black-owned business joined forces with three well-established Stockholm-dwelling foodie comrades from across the African continent, and after throwing the first hip-hop parties across the capital in the late 90s, Erik Wretman spent decades as a forerunner promoting and booking the Black music scene in Sweden.
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He gives me a tour of the new space with equal gusto. “We wanna have everything from gigs to films to motivational speakers,” Erik tells me. “We will welcome up-and-coming/emerging artists first, then more established creators who are taking care of heritage.” This includes hearty food within a colorful setting, stand-out dishes against the usual pizza-and-beer fare of hipster meatpacking districts.
Murals adorn the walls; the menu features aromatic Eritrean tsebhi (beef stew) with spongy injera bread, Senegalese ceebu yap rice dish and yassa chicken (braised with lemon, mustard and Scotch Bonnets), tender Swahili beef pilau, nourishing mung beans and buttery chaptis—from chefs Mehret Abraham, Coura Mbaye and Rukia Mazera, respectively.
“Allyship goes further than saying you’re an ally,” says Erik. Regular DJs and artists include clubnight collective names Marcus Price, MC Sista Becky and Ami Jammeh plus international guests from the African diaspora.
Further north still, in the tiny Norwegian capital of Oslo, diasporas in great numbers range from American to African to Asian and Middle Eastern. Across Norway, over 15 percent of the country are immigrants. Here, ‘hygge-racism’ has an additional, intranational flavor as it’s coupled with discrimination against the Indigenous Sami people, even in 2024.
Three out of four young Sámi persons in Norway have been discriminated against at least once—yet contemporary Norway prides itself on traditions that originated with the Sami… not a tasting menu passes without reindeer and berries come wintertime.
Wider global community culture is reflected beyond the lauded multi-billion landmarks of the (Edvard) Munch Museum, Snøhetta-designed opera house and the numerous classic seafood restaurants that line the pretty fjord harbor, Aker Brygge—though travel guides rarely reflect this. The Nobel Peace Center is a good jumping-off point that celebrates human rights work—a surer bet than the Kon-Tiki Museum or some of the Viking exhibits, based on glamorizing outright oppressor history.
Late-night venues such as self-described ‘autonomous nomadic queer club’ Karma are also a welcome retreat from the expensive waterfront bars, while art spaces such as the Photographers’ Gallery (Fotogalleriet) make a concerted effort to showcase global work, like Lebanese artist Ayman Alazraq later in 2024, an example of immigrant storytelling that reflects the richly complex present-day Oslo. Neighborhoods like Tøyen are home to Yemeni restaurant House of Mandi plus Eritrean and Somali hotspots such as Saba and Jubba.
Back at Ranee’s in Copenhagen, it’s getting late and candles twinkle in windows across the neighborhood. Ranee bucks the trend of fitting in. Turning 17 this year, her business has already outlived many of the flash-in-the-pan New Nordic haunts, and carves its own identity within Danishness. On the unions and the systems that Scandinavia prides itself on, “They work very well for some people,” says Ranee, “but I found my own flow. I got here in the ‘90s, it was cold, dark and complete culture shock. Acceptance or no acceptance, I am just me. I really don’t know why they called it ‘hygge’ in the first place.”
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Alexandra Pereira is a writer and editor published by Vice, Suitcase, The Paris Review, Fodor’s and Service95. She writes about water, solo travel, folklore and people and also makes theatre at Blood Sport Co and is a contributor at Pariah Press and Union Magazine. She lives between London and Copenhagen.
