Let’s cut the bullshit right off: if you’re asking what to wear to an Indian head massage, you already know this isn’t your grandma’s spa day. You’re not here for lavender candles and lukewarm chamomile tea. You’re here for the touch. The pressure. The slow, deliberate strokes that turn your scalp into a live wire. And if you’re smart, you’re here because you’ve tried the cheap, half-arsed versions in back-alley salons - and you know the difference between a real session and a handjob with extra steps.
What the hell is an Indian head massage?
It’s not just a scalp rub. It’s a full sensory takeover. Originating from Ayurveda in India over 1,000 years ago, this isn’t some New Age fad - it’s a centuries-old ritual that targets pressure points from your crown to your shoulders. But in London, it’s been upgraded. Think of it as a full-body orgasm that starts at your hairline and ends with your balls humming like a tuning fork.
Practitioners use their thumbs, knuckles, and fingertips to dig into your temples, the base of your skull, the back of your neck - places most people don’t even know are sensitive. You’re not getting a massage. You’re getting a neurological reset. And yeah, it’s fucking erotic.
How to get it? (And where not to waste your cash)
You don’t just walk into a Boots and ask for ‘head massage’. You need to know where to go. In London, there are two types of places: the tourist traps and the real ones.
The tourist traps? They charge £40 for 30 minutes in Mayfair, play sitar music on loop, and have a therapist who’s clearly doing this to pay rent. They wear robes. They use coconut oil. They ask if you want ‘extra relaxation’. You leave feeling like you got a handjob from a confused librarian.
The real ones? They’re hidden. Maybe above a curry house in Walthamstow. Maybe behind a nondescript door in Shoreditch. You find them by word of mouth. Or by scrolling through private Telegram groups. Prices? £60-£90 for 60 minutes. No fluff. No chit-chat. Just a woman (or sometimes a man - don’t judge) who knows exactly where to press to make your spine turn to liquid.
One session I had in Peckham? The therapist didn’t say a word for 20 minutes. Just worked her fingers into the occipital ridge. By minute 25, I was crying. Not from pain. From release. I hadn’t felt that deep in years.
Why it’s popular? (And why you’re obsessed)
Because it’s the only massage that doesn’t require you to take your pants off - and still leaves you harder than a brick wall.
Here’s the secret: your scalp has over 14,000 nerve endings. More than your dick. More than your nipples. When you stimulate those points with slow, rhythmic pressure, your brain floods with oxytocin, dopamine, and endorphins. You get high. Not from drugs. From touch. And your body? It doesn’t care if you’re clothed. It only cares if the pressure’s right.
Men come back because it’s the only sensual experience that doesn’t feel transactional. No stripping. No expectations. Just pure, unfiltered sensation. And when you’re done? You don’t feel like you got laid. You feel like you got reborn.
Why it’s better than a blowjob?
Let’s be real. A blowjob gives you 7 minutes of ecstasy. An Indian head massage gives you 70 minutes of slow, building, soul-crushing pleasure that doesn’t end when you cum.
After a blowjob, you’re tired. You’re embarrassed. You’re wondering if she liked it.
After a real head massage? You’re silent. You’re still. You’re staring at the ceiling like you just watched the universe unfold. You don’t want to move. You don’t want to talk. You just want to sit there, breathing, feeling every nerve in your body vibrate like a plucked guitar string.
It’s not about sex. It’s about surrender. And that’s why men who’ve tried both will tell you: the head massage wins. Every time.
What to wear? (The answer will shock you)
You wear nothing.
Not because it’s mandatory. But because clothes get in the way. A shirt? It bunches up. A hoodie? It traps heat. A turtleneck? You look like a confused monk. And the oils? They stain. They smell. They cling.
Most serious practitioners ask you to remove your top. Some even recommend going completely bare from the waist up. Why? Because the massage doesn’t stop at your scalp. It travels down your neck, into your trapezius, across your shoulders. If you’re wearing a shirt, you’re blocking the flow. You’re limiting the depth.
I’ve had sessions where the therapist used warm sesame oil. It dripped down my chest. I didn’t care. I was too busy feeling my spine melt. You don’t need to be naked from the waist down. But above? You need to be free.
And if you’re worried about looking ‘too eager’? Don’t be. This isn’t a dating app. This is therapy. With hands.
What emotion will you feel?
It’s not one emotion. It’s a cascade.
First? Disbelief. ‘This is just my head. How is this making me feel like I’m floating?’
Then? Vulnerability. You’re not in control. You can’t see what’s happening. You’re completely at the mercy of someone else’s hands. And that’s terrifying. And beautiful.
Then? Euphoria. A slow, deep, bone-deep wave that starts in your forehead and rolls down like a tsunami. Your jaw unclenches. Your shoulders drop. Your breathing slows. You forget your name.
And finally? Peace. Not the kind you get from meditation apps. Not the kind you fake on Instagram. Real peace. The kind that makes you want to quit your job, move to Goa, and live off chai and scalp rubs.
That’s the point. This isn’t about sex. It’s about reconnection. With your body. With your nervous system. With the part of you that’s been buried under stress, screens, and silence.
Pro tip: How to pick the right therapist
Look for someone who doesn’t smile too much. Who doesn’t say ‘enjoy’ or ‘relax’. Who moves like a surgeon - quiet, focused, precise.
Ask if they use traditional Ayurvedic techniques. If they say ‘I do hot stone’, run. If they use essential oils instead of sesame or coconut, run faster.
Check if they have a separate room. No couches. No TV. Just a mat, a blanket, and a quiet space. If they offer tea after? Good sign. If they offer a discount for ‘repeat customers’? Even better.
And don’t be afraid to say: ‘I want it deep.’ Most therapists will adjust. The good ones? They’ll go deeper than you asked.
Final truth
This isn’t a massage. It’s a ritual. And like all real rituals, it requires surrender. No clothes. No expectations. No phone. Just you. And the hands.
If you’re looking for a quick fix? Go get a handjob. If you’re looking for a transformation? Book the head massage. And strip down.
