Lifestyle
Is this $130 ‘head orgasm’ in Orange County worth it? We tried it
I’m getting a brain massage — and it’s sublime.
I’m lying on a heated massage bed, cocooned in a soft, weighted blanket, as Kayla Faraji caresses my cheeks with billowy, pink goose feathers. She slides them down the sides of my neck and around my bare shoulders, sending chills up my spine.
“Now I’m scratching, scratching your chest,” Faraji whispers into my ear, especially breathy. “These are golden nails.” She drags long, prickly iron nail tips up my arms and along my collarbone, filling my ears with a raspy scraping sound.
Kayla Faraji tickles reporter Deborah Vankin’s hands with pink goose feathers.
(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)
It’s all part of an hour-long ASMR session at Faraji’s new Kas Wellness in Costa Mesa.
“It’s deeply relaxing and restorative — and there’s such a need for that right now,” Faraji says of our session. “I feel like ASMR is the future of wellness, the new massage.”
Kayla Faraji does “tracing” on reporter Deborah Vankin’s arms with bamboo chopsticks.
(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)
ASMR, or autonomous sensory meridian response, is the pleasurable tingling feeling brought on by gentle auditory, visual or tactile stimuli — think the sound of cellophane wrap crinkling, oil droplets sizzling, fingernails rhythmically tapping a desktop or a hairbrush swooshing through thick, wavy locks. The feeling is sometimes called a “head orgasm” because, for those who respond to it, ASMR can not only calm the central nervous system, but may bring on a sense of euphoria, giddiness or acute alertness.
Only about 20% of the population, however, experience “the tingles,” as the sensation is often referred to. But for those who are ASMR-sensitive, studies show there are health benefits: It may temporarily alleviate stress, sleeplessness, low mood and chronic pain as well as aid focus. People who experience ASMR also show lowered heart rate and blood pressure because it activates the parasympathetic nervous system for relaxation.
Over the last decade, ASMR has exploded in popularity — the term was coined in 2010 by cybersecurity analyst Jennifer Allen and in 2025 “ASMR” was a top search term on YouTube. But until recently, the ASMR community has primarily coalesced online. ASMR enthusiasts — a.k.a. “Tingleheads” — typically have watched videos online of a practitioner whispering while combing a client’s hair, for example, or dipping rose petals into paraffin wax and, after they harden, tapping the edges on a hard surface to trigger a sense of relaxation or bliss.
Faraji, in addition to opening Kas Wellness, also posts ASMR videos on TikTok, where she has more than 300,000 followers. One of her videos — in which she chews gum while dripping warm massage oil onto the back of a client’s neck — has garnered more than 26 million views.
But ASMR‘s online dominance is changing as more and more brick-and-mortar ASMR studios pop up around the country.
“There’s been a lack of real-world opportunities for people to intentionally have their ASMR triggered by an expert,” says physiologist Craig Richard, author of 2018’s “Brain Tingles.” “It’s only starting to happen in the real world where you can go and explore it through an intentional ASMR practitioner, like you can walk in and get a massage.”
Kas Wellness has opened in Costa Mesa, one of two in-person ASMR studios in the L.A. area.
(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)
As the founder of ASMR University, which compiles and shares research findings around ASMR, Richard keeps an updated list of in-person ASMR studios internationally — and they’re still rare, he says. “As of January, there are 16 businesses that stimulate ASMR in person in the U.S., four in Canada, 11 in Europe and one in South Africa,” he says.
In addition to Kas Wellness, the L.A. area also has Soft Touch ASMR Spa in Pasadena, which caters to women and nonbinary clients. But little else.
ASMR practitioner Kayla Faraji.
(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)
Faraji says she conceived Kas Wellness as a full-scale “luxury ASMR boutique” with spa vibes. The space is a mash-up of textures: Rows of warm, flickering candles illuminate a cool, polished concrete floor; velvet curtains ripple by plush and furry throw rugs. There’s a candy dish in the lobby, which is awash in hues of cream and white, offering visitors gummies infused with passion fruit and the calming herb ashwagandha.
Kas Wellness offers one signature ASMR service — or “sensory journey” — for one hour, 90 minutes or 100 minutes. Clients may upgrade to a “four hand session,” in which two practitioners work on them simultaneously. As in a massage, guests undress “to the level of their comfort,” Faraji says (I did from the waist up) and slip beneath crisp white sheets on a treatment bed in a private room. Practitioners — there are four at Kas Wellness — then stimulate the head, face, chest, arms, hands and back using “tingle tools,” as they’re sometimes called, or “triggers.” One is a so-called “sparkle brush,” filled with tiny beads that rattle as the brush sweeps through hair; another is a soft “sensory brush” that provides a form of white noise when swooshing over skin; jade stone combs feel cool to the touch and give off a hollow scratching sound.
Tools used for an ASMR session include pink goose feathers, skeleton hands, bamboo chopsticks, metal golden nails, green jade combs, sensory brushes and a pink sparkle brush.
(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)
Faraji likes to use her own nails as a sensory trigger.
“The human connection is such a part of this,” she says. “We try to spend time incorporating real touch as much as possible.”
That said, the ASMR experience is distinctly different than a massage, Faraji explains.
“Fundamentally, the concept of a massage is manipulating your tissue and muscles through pressure,” she says. “ASMR is the complete opposite — we use light sensory touch to relieve stress. We’re not kneading or applying pressure or manipulating your joints. It’s surface touch. We have so many nerves in our body and they’re all firing — it takes your body out of fight or flight.”
For an additional $20, guests can don robes and enjoy the lounge area before their treatment. It features hanging macrame chairs, a tabletop mindfulness garden and refreshments such as sparkling water, hot tea and Japanese whiskey. There’s also a meditation corner, where visitors can scribble what they want to let go of in their life on pieces of water soluble paper, before dropping them into a dish of floating candles and watching their troubles dissolve. Then they’re encouraged to light a candle and meditate on positive intentions they want to bring into their lives.
Kayla Faraji caresses Deborah Vankin’s head with green jade combs, which make a hollow “click-clacking” sound.
(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)
Kas Wellness also offers custom sound baths for up to eight guests at a time. Faraji leads the sound bath experience and, by request, ASMR practitioners will gently brush clients’ hair or scritch-scratch their arms while they listen to her play the singing bowls.
Kas Wellness may be rooted in ASMR, but the overall effect feels more robust: part high-end massage studio, part spa, part sound bath destination and part meditation center.
Reporter Deborah Vankin lights a floating meditation candle after her ASMR session.
(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)
“It’s about the mind-body-soul connection and ASMR is just the anchoring modality,” Faraji says of her new boutique. “It’s equally important to have the gratitude breathwork at the end [of a session] for mindfulness. Because if your mind isn’t well, your body will never feel calm.”
After my treatment, I lingered in the lounge, where everything felt especially pronounced: my bare feet on the cool cement floor, my toes sinking into the plush rug, even the scent of my hot peppermint tea. I’m not sure if I’d felt the tingles, per say, but I was relaxed for the rest of the day.
“ASMR is such a universal thing,” Faraji says. “When we’re younger, physical touch is such a big part of our creativity — girls will sit and braid each other’s hair and there was that rhyming game, where you tickle each other’s backs [like] spiders crawling up your back. But as we get older, we have less access to soft nurturing touch, especially if you’re single. I think that’s why ASMR resonates with so many people. It’s just comforting.”
Lifestyle
Why Gen Z is movie-maxxing : Pop Culture Happy Hour
Inde Navarrette and Michael Johnston in Obsession.
Focus Features
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Focus Features
Two big horror films, Obsession and Backrooms, just smashed all box office expectations. So much of their success has been driven by Gen Z, which is now the biggest moviegoing demographic. But what makes a movie a Gen Z movie? Today we’re bringing you an episode of NPR’s It’s Been a Minute. Host Brittany Luse talks about this trend with Sam Adams and Reanna Cruz.
If you want to hear more about these movies, check out these episodes:
In ‘Obsession,’ love hurts. It really, really, really hurts.
‘Backrooms’ brings YouTube horror to the big screen
Zendaya brings ‘The Drama,’ we bring the spoilers
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Lifestyle
10 new books you won’t want to miss in July
I regret to inform you I’ll need to keep this introduction brief. Not because there’s any lack of things to say about July’s crop of notable new releases; it features award-winning journalists and several different flavors of anxiety about our bleak ecological future and data-dominated present, as well as the welcome returns of several beloved novelists.
No, these books certainly deserve some love, dear readers. It’s just that I’m finding it a bit tough to type while bearhugging a box fan. And since it seems that may be my last best chance to get through this latest U.S. heat wave here on the east coast without sweating through my shirt, I feel some urgency to get back at it.
So enough with the ado. With any luck, you’ll soon be cracking open one of these great reads on the beach — or in front of a decent air-conditioning unit, at any rate.
You Won’t Get Free of It: Stories of Mothers and Daughters, by Rachel Aviv (July 7)
Aviv, New Yorker staff writer and finalist for this year’s Pulitzer Prize, has a fairly extensive purview in her role as reporter at large. Still, when reviewing her latest work, Aviv noticed a crucial throughline: “I realized that, to some degree, I’d been writing about mother-daughter pairs for the last decade,” she explained to the Paris Review. Seeing this, she decided to collect and revise half a dozen of those stories, which cover ground from a daughter’s troubling fugue states to the immigrant nannies who must leave their own children behind, to Alice Munro’s daughter, whose claims of sexual abuse went unheeded yet regularly resurfaced in her mother’s fiction.
Country People, by Daniel Mason (July 7)
In Mason’s first novel since North Woods, 2023’s critical darling and book club stalwart, readers are plopped right back in the New England woods but the time scale has shrunk considerably. Whereas North Woods spanned centuries, his new novel confines itself to a single year, during which Miles, loving family man and lackadaisical Ph.D. candidate, plans to finally buckle down on that derelict degree of his and reassert his worth to one and all! At least, that’s the idea. But plans don’t stand much of a chance when there are eccentric neighbors to befriend and mysterious local legends to investigate.
Catch the Devil: A True Story of Murder, Deception, and Injustice on the Gulf Coast, by Pamela Colloff (July 14)
This is the first book from Colloff, a veteran investigative journalist for ProPublica and The New York Times Magazine. She has won multiple National Magazine Awards for stories focused on miscarriages of justice – such as her 2019 piece about Paul Skalnik, a grifter, fabulist, sexual predator and snitch, whose fabrications can be linked to dozens of wrongful convictions in Florida, including some sending the innocent to death row. Here Colloff expands upon that investigation, which gets a lot more room to breathe in the transition from magazine article to full-length book. What emerges in this disturbing account is a portrait of one man’s callous cruelty, and the law enforcers who had no problem tolerating a deal with the devil, provided it kept juicing the conviction rate.
Cloudthief, by Nathaniel Rich (July 14)
Though it’s his fiction we’re discussing here, it’s important to note Rich’s reporting has earned plaudits, too, as well as a few film adaptations. No matter the medium, climate change is usually on his mind, as well as the blunt, rather bleak, prognosis he offered on Fresh Air in 2019: “There’s a huge range of outcomes … ranging from the not very good to the apocalyptic.” Which is to say I’m surprised to find myself describing his newest response to global catastrophe as a rollicking good time – and not just because I’ve never said those words, in that order, in my life. This spry, funny caper features a freelance environmental reporter who inadvertently breaks bad, careening under the influence of lust and a light wallet toward the novel’s big centerpiece: the planned heist of a massive data center.
Data Empire: The Power of Information to Organize, Control, and Dominate, by Roopika Risam (July 14)
And now, for another book centered on data – albeit from a rather different angle. This illuminating history from Risam, a Dartmouth professor, traces the practice of collecting information – and the power conferred by possessing it – from the bones that were humans’ first archives, to the omnipresent systems that shape (or outright determine) life today. As Risam asks, “What has it meant – and what will it mean – when records that once served only to help us remember, come to rule?” A pressing question (see: those data centers), which you’re probably better served trying to answer with the help of Risam than, say, Alexa or Claude.
It Will Come Back to You: Stories, by Sigrid Nuñez (July 14)
For someone with nine novels to her name, Nuñez got a later start than you might expect, having published her first book when she was already in her mid-40s. More than three decades later, now a spry 75 years old, the National Book Award winner has gotten around to publishing her first collection of short stories. The 13 stories here have been culled from across her career, but each one resonates clearly with the warm timbre of her voice: simple, unadorned prose and mundane setups, from which she consistently manages to tease out glimpses of truth, elusive and profound.
They Stole a City: Wilmington’s White Supremacist Coup and the Families Who Live with Its Legacy, by Lauren Collins (July 14)
The only coup d’etat to succeed on U.S. soil is, at most, a distant historical afterthought these days. To be honest, I can’t recall reading a single textbook entry that even remarked on the 1898 race massacre in Wilmington, N.C., an action led by white supremacists that left many (historian estimates say up to 300) Black Wilmingtonians dead and permanently scarred a community newly aware of its simmering animus and vulnerability to violent overthrow. So I’m grateful for Collins’ new chronicle of the infamous event, which fills in some serious gaps in the American collective memory and explains how its perpetrators cultivated the disorienting silence that persists in the historical record today.
Yellow Pine, by Claire Vaye Watkins (July 21)
I don’t think I’ve ever actually laid eyes on the Mojave Desert but after reading Watkins’ latest novel, it feels like I can picture it more vividly than some streets I’ve actually lived on. No, it’s “not a beginner’s wilderness,” as Watkins concedes in Yellow Pine, but this landscape so redolent of death is also deceptively robust with life, if only you’re patient enough to find it. Too bad, then, that it’s also on fire. And choked by drought, irradiated by military test sites and soon to be sacrificed to a massive new solar array named, inexplicably, Yellow Pine. But those aren’t the only complications confronting the book’s main character, Rose, whose aspirations of becoming a kind of climate hermit warp a bit under the pressure of a rekindled love and the pendulum swing of rage and despair at the state of the world.
Cool Machine, by Colson Whitehead (July 21)
Ray Carney is back, for what regrettably appears to be the last time. The lifelong Harlemite, hard-luck furniture dealer and ambivalent crook starred previously in Harlem Shuffle and its sequel, Crook Manifesto. His perspective is our window on the changing eras of the historically Black neighborhood, from the mid-1950s on. In this, the final installment in Whitehead’s brisk, exceedingly entertaining Harlem Trilogy, readers catch up with Carney around the start of the 1980s, following him deeply into Reagan’s decade. The novel also represents the end of an era for Whitehead, whose attention has been exclusively occupied with these characters since he won Pulitzer Prizes for consecutive novels, The Underground Railroad and Nickel Boys.
Beginning Middle End, by Valeria Luiselli (July 28)
The gifted young Mexican writer returns this month with her fourth novel, the second she has written in English and her first since Lost Children Archive launched to widespread plaudits more than seven years ago. Her new book, like her previous one, also concerns the travels of a small family – only this time, the road leads not through the American Southwest but Sicily. And the history sought by its mother-daughter main characters is not a record of bureaucratic cruelty but something much more intimately personal: the links shaped and tested by generations of shared heritage and experience.


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