It was all a tad dystopian. I parked on a scalding day in late winter at an outdoor lot in downtown L.A. surrounded by corporate skyscrapers, the sidewalks lined with housing encampments. There was nothing distinct about the condo-like building Quantum Wellness is in — other than two welcoming Goliathan Buddha sculptures.

I entered into the spa’s glimmering white lobby to try their “zero body dry float,” a bed filled with 400 liters of heated water intended to create a weightless experience that alleviates pressure from the spine and joints and melts away stress. The beds are designed to mimic a traditional float tank — where a person is suspended in water filled with epsom salt, oftentimes in complete darkness — but the perk of these beds is there’s no need to get wet. At Quantum, the experience is 35 minutes long and costs $60.

“We really wanted to focus on calming people’s nervous systems down,” says Jeremy Hoffmann, the founder and CEO of Quantum Wellness Spa. “As far as the dry float goes, I think there’s very few pieces of technology that offer deep rest and restoration. It was a no-brainer.”

The spa offers everything from traditional services such as massages and facials to biohacking, IV drips and energy work. Inside it feels like it was built for a future where humans live underground, seeking to reconnect with what life was once like on Earth. Neon lights make the dark, cool hallway and rooms feel like you’re aboard a spaceship. Reserved moss and mycelium grow from a room with a crystal floor where I heard members vigorously doing breathwork. In the area with cold plunging and a sauna, the walls undulate with patterns that change color, designed to evoke arctic caves and volcanic rock.

At the front desk, I was greeted by a host who accompanied me down the hall and into a glowing cerulean room. “Do you have an intention?” he asked.

“Presence,” I answered.

Hartman prepares for her float experience at Quantum Wellness in downtown L.A.

(Dania Maxwell / For The Times)

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I stepped over the frame of the bed and laid down on a plastic sheet. The host handed me a blindfold and Bose noise-canceling headphones, playing the hypnotic sounds of a space drum with birds chirping in the distance.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.”

Slowly, the host lowered me into the bed. I felt myself sink into the water, the warm fluid-filled plastic finding its way into all of my crevices.

“OK, time to relax,” I thought, taking a deep breath and audibly sighing out the day.

Almost immediately, much like in my morning meditation practice, I began to notice my frenetic, future-oriented thinking. What is the rest of my day going to look like? Maybe I’ll get Sweetgreen for lunch…

But, unlike in a meditation of the same length, at some point, my mind gave up its stubborn ruminations. I continually sighed (a sign my nervous system was downregulating), and I began to zone out to the repetitive sounds of the music. Before I knew it, the bed was rising again.

The experience was notably different from my time just a week prior at WellNest. The spa, open 24/7 in Pasadena, exclusively offers dry floating ($80 for an hour session).

The experience involves wearing a blindfold and Bose noise-cancelling headphones which play soothing music.

(Dania Maxwell/For The Times)

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Like Quantum, it also felt oddly futuristic. Ahead of arrival, I’d received a video that looked like a commercial for a healthcare company explaining how to find the building and check myself in. I escorted myself up a clunky metal utility elevator which opened into a warmly lit waiting room of beiges and pinks and a desk, both empty. If I had any questions, a person named Jane, my “Wellness concierge” whom I never met, texted me to let me know she was there to support me.

I let myself into the room and stepped into the bed, one foot at a time, the warm water inside the plastic sheet sloshing around and making me feel a bit wobbly. Unlike the bed at Quantum, I was not lowered down. Instead, some water filled in around me, but I didn’t feel a firmness that gave the sensation of being tightly held or suspended. In fact, it reminded me a bit of my childhood friend’s waterbed (fun, but not particularly therapeutic).

Wet or dry floating reportedly helps reduce short-term stress and anxiety.

(Dania Maxwell / For The Times)

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Anthony S. Saribekyan, the founder and CEO of WellNest, says he decided to start a dry float business after discovering the wonders of traditional float tanks for his anxiety and stress. The main benefit, he says, of the dry float versus the normal float is the convenience of not having to shower before and after. Both types of floats, he says, contain 9000 pounds of epsom salt. Dry float tanks are also more ecologically friendly because the water is sealed inside the system and typically only replaced every several months to years, rather than being regularly drained and replenished.

So far, the data is limited on the efficacy of dry floating compared to wet floating. One small study found that both types of floating increase relaxation, but that wet floating is more therapeutic.

The float tank (or isolation tank) was invented in 1954 by an eccentric researcher named John C. Lilly, who believed that an experience void of sensory input (sound, light or even gravity) was the key to understanding the nature of human consciousness. Beginning in the ’70s and ’80s, research into the benefits of wet floating took off — and has continued since, with studies funded by the National Institutes of Health. Today, the strongest and most consistent finding about wet floating is that it helps reduce short-term stress and anxiety, even after one session. There’s also been studies, many of which are smaller and more preliminary, showing the benefits of floating for conditions such as insomnia, body image dissatisfaction among people with anorexia, meth dependence and pain intensity, such as the stress placed on the body after a high-impact workout.

Emily Choquette, director of the Torrance-based Float Clinic and Research Center, says she hypothesizes that some, but not all, of the benefits received during wet floating would be achieved with dry floating, too. In studies at the Float Clinic and Research Center, Choquette says they use a zero-gravity chair — which is different from a dry float, but similar in that it creates a suspended feeling without a person being immersed in water. They’ve found the chair to be effective for many of the same conditions as wet floating, but, generally, it doesn’t seem to have as noticeable of an improvement on affect.

At least when it comes to wet floating, Choquette says, there’s enough research now that she’d like to see insurance companies cover it as an adjunct treatment for anxiety, in conjunction with therapy. As for everyone else, she sees it as a beneficial tool for a person’s wellness routine, much like yoga or meditation, something to help us reset amid the “constant bombardment of external feedback.”

As I emerged from the cavernous womb of Quantum and back out into the sprawling urban development, I had to admit: I did feel lighter, like my stress had been dialed down a few notches. Unlike before, when I had been rushing to my appointment, I walked a bit more slowly, cherishing the sun as it grazed my skin. Was it better than the reset I get after a massage in the San Gabriel Valley or a hike in the Angeles National Forest? It’s hard to say after one session, but it seems worth another visit.

Hartman tried two different locations for a dry float experience: one at WellNest and one at Quantum Wellness Spa, where she is pictured.

(Dania Maxwell / For The Times)