So you want to polar bear plunge...

Nothing says "New Year, New You" like jumping into freezing water with a hundred other weirdos.

This one’s for my cold-weather comrades. If you’re ringing in the new year somewhere that involves wearing shorts and sipping margaritas on the beach, well, this post isn’t for you. Unless, of course, you’re curious about what kind of insanity we northern folks get up to when our entire social calendar revolves around freezing temperatures and questionable decisions.

Enter the Polar Plunge — the New Year’s Day tradition around here (specifically in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, but I hear other cities with equally questionable judgment have jumped on the bandwagon too). The concept is simple: find a freezing body of water, preferably Lake Michigan, and jump in on January 1st. That’s it. No swimming required. No staying in the water. You just need to get soaked for the sake of fun (and possibly to get some attention from your friends and Instagram).

Now, some people claim it’s a symbolic act — like washing away the sins of the past year or cleansing your soul (and your frozen body). Others do it because it’s honestly just absurd, and who doesn’t love a good spectacle? Some of us even get peer-pressured into it because our friends insist it’s “fun,” and spoiler alert — they’re not wrong. It is fun. In the way that jumping into a lake of ice water can be described as fun .

Photo by Adam Bouse on Unsplash

But, listen, if you’re planning on doing this, you can’t just “wing it.” You can’t just plunge in and hope for the best (unless you’re really into hypothermia). Here’s your guide to surviving the Polar Plunge:

1. Towels. And I mean Towels.

Bring a whole fleet of them. And not those puny little hand towels either. You’ll need at least two fluffy bath towels, preferably the kind that feel like a hug from a cloud. After your plunge, you’ll want to rip off your wet clothes, dry off as best as possible, and then throw on something warm. The more towels, the better. You'll probably use one just to mop up your tears of regret.

2. Warm Clothes That Are Easy to Get Into.

This is not the time for skinny jeans, people. You’ll be shivering, damp, and possibly in some kind of existential crisis, so trying to pull on a pair of tight pants while your body is still in shock is a Very Bad Idea. Sweatpants, sweatshirts, and anything that you can shove your shivering limbs into in 3 seconds or less are your best friends here. Don’t forget fresh socks! Wet feet are the quickest way to ruin your whole post-plunge vibe. And slip-on shoes are your ticket to sanity. Trust me, your frozen fingers won’t have the dexterity to deal with laces.

3. Blankets, Sleeping Bags, or a Snuggie.

This is the most crucial item. After your plunge, you’re going to want to wrap yourself in something that feels like a warm hug from the inside of a toaster oven. If you have a Snuggie, this is its time to shine. The post-plunge look isn’t about style, it’s about survival. If you can manage to get your entire body into a wearable blanket, do it. Bonus points if it has a hood. Bonus bonus points if you can somehow secure a hot drink in the other hand to complete your “I’m recovering from frostbite” look.

And there you have it! Now you're ready to plunge — or at least know what to wear when your friends inevitably drag you into an absurdly cold body of water on New Year's Day. Go forth, embrace the weirdness, and even if you hate it, at least you’ll have an epic story for next year’s Polar Plunge.

For more details, check out the official unofficial Polar Plunge, Milwaukee website.

Author's Note: I tried to find a photo from our Polar Plunge last year to add to this post, but let’s just say the lighting was... well, it was 5 p.m. in Wisconsin, which means it was already basically midnight. The only “good” photo we have is so blurry that, combined with our questionable swimsuit color choices and the extremely generous distance from the camera, it looks like we’re all jumping into the lake nude. Spoiler alert: we were definitely wearing swimsuits. But in the interest of preserving everyone’s dignity—and sparing you from the horror of seeing a bunch of frozen, half-naked people in what could be mistaken for a very awkward art project—I’ll just leave it to your imagination. You’re welcome.