Feeling short of 'permitted touches'? Yearning to 'explore affectionate communication without being sexualised'? Anna Mundow has the answer
How would you feel? The Republican National Convention takes over your city, Manhattan turns into Alcatraz, fighter jets scream overhead, the riot squad on your street alone could subdue a small country and you cannot find the gas mask you bought after September 11th. You would be afwaid, you ickle baby. You would want your teddy bear, your fuzzy blanket and a big huggy-wug.
Reid Mihalko understands. His mission is to "teach men and women to create safe space", for goodness' sake. That is why he and his partner, Marcia Baczynski, created cuddle parties. "In today's world," Mihalko's manifesto explains, "many of us aren't getting our recommended daily allowance of welcomed touch. . . . Cuddle parties change that in a way that's conscious, healthy and nutritious".
Here's how. A group of complete strangers - say 15 - assembles in Mihalko's Upper East Side apartment on a Sunday morning or evening. Mihalko hugs each newcomer (free sample), then collects the $30 (€25) entry fee. (That is Enya in the background, by the way, not a faulty air conditioner.)
Behind a partition of Buddhist prayer flags each newcomer dons his or her pyjamas and returns to the party clutching his or her soft toy. Mihalko explains his cuddle philosophy, recites the cuddle-party rules and may ask participants to get down on all fours, nuzzle each other and moo. Just to break the ice.
For the next three hours adults who may be teachers, doctors or managers in real life become polite infants. Asking permission before they hug or smooch, they roll around on pillows and duvets, join giggling clumps of other huggers and, when Mihalko shouts "puppy pile", fall down with everyone else before the final group hug. (Sorry, I should have warned you not to eat while you read this.)
Then they go back onto streets where people avoid even eye contact. That, apparently, is the problem. "For some of us permitted touch only occurs when we pay for a massage or get patted down by a security guard," Mihalko laments. In the old days we called it being uptight, and the treatment was crude but effective: get blasted, have fun. Today that will not do. "Men and women need to explore affectionate touch and communication without becoming sexualised," Mihalko, a self-described "bi-coastal sex and romance coach", explains.
At the beginning of each party participants form a circle and pledge: "I won't touch you anywhere adult, if you don't touch me anywhere adult." They also learn the 16 rules. For example: "1. Pyjamas stay on. 2. No sex. 3. Ask permission to kiss or nuzzle. . . . 5. If you're a maybe, say no. . . . 10. Get your cuddle lifeguard or cuddle caddy if there's a concern, problem, question or should you feel unsafe or need assistance. . . . 11. Crying and giggling are both welcomed and encouraged. . . . 16. Always say thank you and practice good cuddle manners."
Cuddle lifeguard? That's a neutral observer who intervenes if things become overheated. Mihalko also warns at the outset that "if sexual energy crops up in the room, a bell will sound and everybody will have to raise hands to be counted".
Greg Stoddard, who wrote about his cuddling experience on Nerve.com, began his party evening by hugging a woman called Marcia. Soon "a woman at the end of a boy-boy-girl conga line asked if she could touch Marcia's curly hair. Marcia said yes. One of the gents . . . asked to touch Marcia's leg, which she also permitted. . . . Somebody asked to play with Marcia's feet, and soon everyone in the room was physically connected, with Marcia as the hub".
A typical cuddle party attracts people ranging in age from their 20s to their 60s, although 36-year-old Mihalko is also designing events for "elders" only, for women only and for homosexuals. He also plans training sessions for party hosts nationwide, particularly in California, where, after all, the enlightened were forming puppy piles before Mihalko was born.
Back then, of course, there was also a lot of booze, dope and primal screaming. At a cuddle party, by contrast, the hardest thing you will encounter is the complimentary bagel. (You may, of course, buy T-shirts, pyjamas and other regressive items at the Cuddle Gear store.)
Carla (not her real name), a 34-year-old psychology student, has attended eight cuddle parties. "I like the environment," she explains. "It's a good stress reliever. . . . It's a new way to meet people and better than going to a bar, because people don't have to use alcohol as a crutch. They are free to be themselves." Ah, yes.
Odds are heavily against George Bush crashing a cuddle party while he is in town. On the other hand, the White House has acknowledged that the president travels nowhere without his special pillow, and nobody on the planet has a bigger security blanket. Is he courting the cuddle vote? Or does he just need a great big hug?
