When the water is ten degrees and the sky above Tooting Bec appears to be about to collapse, it takes a certain kind of stubbornness to wait in line for a swim. Nevertheless, they arrived. When one of London’s oldest lidos reopened at the end of March after a silent and empty winter, more than 400 people a day actually poured through the gates. Although it would be easy to dismiss this as an anomaly of pandemic-era anxiety, the statistics reveal a more complex picture that predates lockdown walks and banana bread.
For decades, British cities have been losing their lidos, those massive concrete remnants of municipal optimism. The obvious culprits are indoor pools, inexpensive package vacations, and councils squeezed dry by funding cuts, according to Christopher Beanland, who wrote an entire book tracking the history of the world’s most photogenic swimming spots. His explanation also includes something about evolving tastes, such as cars and cigarettes displacing a slower, more traditional form of recreation. It’s difficult not to interpret that with a hint of nostalgia and perhaps even some condemnation.
| Category | Details |
|---|---|
| Trend Name | Urban Wild Swimming |
| Notable Locations | Tooting Bec Lido, Hampstead Heath Ponds, Serpentine Lido |
| Key Era of Origin | Early 1800s, popularized as “lidos” in the 1930s |
| Major UK Decline | Nearly 400 public pools closed since 2010 |
| International Example | Seine River, Paris — cleaned for 2024 Olympic swimming events |
| Notable Advocacy Group | Studio Octopi’s Thames Baths campaign |
Observing this now, it’s odd how completely the instinct has changed. Lidos are intentionally constructed by hotels. Birch, a country home outside of London that promotes itself through communal spaces and shared tables, recently opened one with ice cream-colored tiles that practically perform its own retro nostalgia. Seeing a wellness facility dressed up as a throwback from the 1930s and marketed to people who have never used the original is strange. Depending on who you ask, that may or may not be a reenactment.
The lines separating what constitutes “urban wild swimming” have become increasingly hazy, and it appears that this is part of the allure. For example, the Serpentine Lido appears suspiciously like a lake because it is essentially one, complete with ducks. Swimmers are given a rope to mark the boundaries, which gives them a sense of security but also allows them to feel as though they have ventured into an untamed area. Similar psychology is used in Hackney’s West Reservoir. This also applies to Hampstead Heath, where, depending on the time of year and the person posting about it that week, the ponds have created a mythology all their own that is equal parts comfort and spectacle.
Paris took the concept to a higher level of ambition. In preparation for the 2024 Olympics, the city spent about €1.4 billion cleaning up the Seine. This project may seem insane at first, but keep in mind that the river had been impassable for more than a century. In the end, triathletes raced through water that most health officials would have shuddered in the past. The cleanup’s ability to prevent rivers from reverting if no one continues to monitor them will determine whether or not regular Parisians are able to maintain that privilege.
London’s own aspirations are similar, albeit more gradual and peculiar. Drawing on the largely forgotten history of the Victorian floating baths that once dotted the Thames, Studio Octopi has been advocating for a filtered swimming pool inside the river for the better part of ten years. Though it’s still unclear whether ambition of this kind survives contact with planning permission and London’s infamously protective relationship with its waterway. Tracey Emin’s name lends the campaign a certain cultural weight. Every Londoner has the right to swim in the river that flows through their city, according to the campaign’s clear language. That’s a bold statement about a tidal estuary that, on a bad day, smells slightly of diesel, but it sums up the current atmosphere.
Beneath all of this enthusiasm is a deeper question that isn’t asked nearly enough. Outdoor swimming has always been associated with a certain amount of class signaling, such as who gets to be photographed at the pond and who gets to refer to a swim as “wild” rather than just “swimming“, as people in places like Snowdonia might put it. Cities are adept at repackaging activities that rural communities have long continued to carry out in secret. Locals have been swimming in Llyn Padarn, a lake at the base of Snowdon, for generations without much fanfare. Recently, the lake has been featured in international magazines, with food trucks and litter issues following closely behind.
The significance of what is taking place in lidos and reservoirs throughout British cities is not diminished by any of that. The Royal Life Saving Society UK has spent years highlighting that swimming pools actually save lives by teaching people how to swim safely in the first place. The wellbeing case for swimming is well-established.
It’s important to acknowledge both that urban wild swimming provides a genuine and healing experience and that its current popularity speaks as much about urban alienation buses, screens, and apartments without gardens as it does about any renewed appreciation of nature. That might be alright. Perhaps the desire to wait in line for cold water and an open sky in March is sufficient justification.
i) https://kalkinemedia.com/uk/news/market-updates/londons-hidden-summer-swim-spots-are-drawing-crowds
ii) https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2020/jan/29/swimming-wild-trend-social-media-cliche
iii) https://www.londonmarathonevents.co.uk/swim-serpentine/training/best-outdoor-swimming-spots-london-serpentine-secret-lidos-and-urban-oases
iv) https://theecologist.org/2014/sep/13/urban-plunge-open-swimming-heart-city
v) https://osmaps.com/discover/guides/outdoor-swimming-in-london-historic-lidos-docks-and-ponds/