Do you ever think if farmers from a century ago could see what we call a workout these days, they would genuinely be so confused? When they tirelessly endure a full day of manual labour to get paid, but we pay to do pretty much the exact same movements? There is literally a station called Farmer's Carry in Hyrox.
Not to incur the infamous defensive wrath of CrossFit fanatics, but the fitness competition is ultimately a first-world privilege. Sure, it’s a fun bonding activity and a novel personal challenge. Yet if you can’t picture pitching the concept to developing nations; where they are required to purchase not only participation, but training at gyms that specifically provide a dedicated programme (yeah, look it up), then the debate settles itself.
It’s just how the times have fashioned our attitudes. We do crash diets rather than cultivate healthy eating choices. We take pills to sleep rather than incorporate plans to fix terrible bedtime patterns. We shell out thousands for Botox rather than inculcate a lifestyle that actively resists aging.
The only reason why cure looks sexier than prevention is because the latter involves time and effort. And the modern age has convinced us that those are things we can’t afford. Whereas it is certainly much easier to throw money to achieve a quick fix, despite the cost of meagre durability.
For a people who are barely willing to get up to switch the light on and would much prefer telling their robot assistant to do it for them, let’s not be too ambitious. For a society that outsources feeding pets with automatic dispensers, let’s not get carried away.
What self-help books are right about is how we would naturally give up when the time taken to reach the goal is too short; and necessary actions are subsequently big to bridge the gap between where we are and where we want to be.
If we could simply reframe our expectations from overnight success to small building blocks that set us up for lasting benefit, we might realise that tiny adjustments can eventually ripple larger effects. As psychology proves—what we mistake for willpower is often a hallmark of habit.
90 days of lifestyle modification may seem daunting, but repetition in minute doses usually isn’t. Whether it is using streak-based motivation AKA the Duolingo method, or tying it to an existing daily routine, we have to trust that these little shifts will attain results should we have the patience to see them through.
The greatest impetus is that even if you avoid starting now, the time passes all the same. So why waste three months of what could be foundational moments of helping your future self? Perhaps if we embark on a long-term, balanced way of living, probably then we wouldn’t need to engage in a race to tell us how fit we are for only that particular chapter of life.
I've been wearing smartwatches and fitness trackers around my wrist for years, but I’d never worn an Oura Ring before. I hadn’t considered myself much of a “ring guy,” but I admittedly wasn’t a watch guy before I started wearing an Apple Watch. Now I can’t go a day without it. After wearing my Oura Ring Generation 3 for more than two months, I can almost say the same thing about the tiny sleep monitor that currently lives on my finger at all times.
As a sleep tracker, the Oura Ring 3 is remarkable. As a fitness tracker, it’s not bad, could be better. As a piece of wearable tech, it’s comfortable to wear constantly and consistently, even in bed.
Let’s get straight to it. Does the Oura Ring do enough to replace a smartwatch? No. I think it serves an entirely separate function. To answer the trickier question of “Is an Oura Ring right for you?” it depends on what you’re looking for in a wearable health tracker.
If you want extensive amounts of data about your sleep and daily health tracking, as well as an accurate step counter, yes, it is. Want all that in a package that doesn’t look techy whatsoever? An even better reason to choose one. If you want a completely smart device that will show you texts, calls, and reminders and, most important, tell you what time it is, buy a watch.
My Oura Ring journey began like any other—with a sizing kit. After you choose your make and model, Oura will send you a box of ring sizers ranging from sizes 6 to 13. They recommend you wear the smart ring on your index finger, but—due to a Little League–related accident in my youth—I’ve found it most comfortable to wear on the middle finger of my non-dominant (left) hand. Indecision frequently haunts me, so I was initially worried that my chosen size (11) would be too tight or too loose, but after weeks of everyday wear, I can safely say I don’t think about it too much anymore.
Once your device (it feels strange to call something this small a “device”) arrives, it’s time to download the app. The setup process is pretty easy and the onboarding is gradual. Certain data, like stress levels, resilience, long-term trends, and reports tabs, are inaccessible on day one. To start, I primarily relied on the ring for sleep and restfulness data. In this way, the Oura Ring puts its best foot forward.
Oura offers several style and finish options for your ring. You can opt for Heritage, the original design with a raised plateau segment, or the fully rounded Horizon. Each has a selection of metal finishes to choose from. In terms of tech, the rings are all identical. No plus or pro offerings, just one ring to rule them all. Each Gen 3 has three sensors on the inside of the ring that use biometrics to track daily functions, including heart rate and blood-oxygen levels.
About a month into my time with the ring, I went on a family vacation and multiple people asked me if my Horizon Oura Ring was a wedding ring or an engagement band. That’s how slick it is. It’s that normal looking. The fact that it’s so high-tech and looks like any other SGD450 ring made it easy to incorporate Oura into my daily routine.
Since you are supposed to wear it all the time yet it’s also an electronic device, one of my first questions was “When will I charge my Oura Ring?” The answer: during showers. The ring itself is waterproof up to 330 feet; that means swimming is no problem, and the same goes for doing the dishes, washing your hands, etc. This is meant to monitor you at all times, remember? That makes it a great choice for swimmers who want to track their workouts.
Every morning, I wake up to see how I slept and to confirm the previous day’s activities, then I slip my ring off to shower and back on before I start my day. It ends up fading into the background of my busy life. Sometimes I’ll check the app to see my daily stress levels, but generally I only think about my Oura Ring in the morning and at night.
While heart rate and blood-oxygen sensing are the newest features of the Oura Ring (only available on the Gen 3), sleep tracking is the most impressive feature, and it has only improved with each iteration. This is where the form, factor, and function fully align to accomplish something a smartwatch has yet to do: provide accurate, seamless data about my sleep health.
At first, I felt the insights were a bit obvious. But I soon realised that I trusted the data, since it reflected how I was actually feeling in the form of a score. Now I wake up each day, ready for my scores to tell me how I slept, not the other way around. Even knowing simple information, like when exactly I fell asleep and precisely how many sleep minutes I get per night, feels like a breakthrough in understanding my body. And that’s just scratching the surface.
The main thing I gravitate toward is the scores. Each morning, once the ring determines I’m fully awake, I will get scores from 0 (typically above 50 if I slept at all) to 100 that rate both my sleep and my readiness for the day. I cannot emphasise how much I love these stupid numbers. Seeing a high readiness score can reinforce a feeling that I’m going to have a good day, while a lower sleep score is an excellent validation of why I feel like shit. In fact, this is where the sleep tab of the app truly comes into play. Broken-down stats on REM and deep-sleep time, or my overall sleep efficiency, allow me to quickly compare each night’s sleep with my norm.
Eventually, the app will start providing a Resilience rating. Mine currently reads “solid,” but with proper self-care, I can raise that to “exceptional” over time. This aspect is actually quite vague and difficult to engage with, but another Oura Ring wearer I spoke to called it her favourite feature. To each their own.
The health data is impressively accurate for a device like this, but it’s not perfect, especially the further your health is from the baseline of what’s expected. An example: I was born with a congenital heart condition, a bicuspid aortic valve, so I have a very strange-sounding heartbeat. My heart also has to pump twice as much as most people’s to produce the same blood flow. The point is, I already have a reason to be suspicious of how accurately the Oura Ring can monitor my heart health, confirmed by its rating of my “cardiovascular age” as thirteen years older than I am. Do I have the heart of a man in his early forties? Maybe, but I’m sure plenty of forty-year-olds have stronger hearts than I do.
The issue is, if I were unaware of my condition, this would be concerning. And everything that the Oura app can recommend is general, lowest-common-denominator health advice. Eating fruit and working out won’t actually do anything substantial for my cardiovascular readings. This is all to say, you are probably never going to get life-saving data from this thing. The most it can do is help you get better sleep and exercise more, which can admittedly feel life-changing.
In terms of general health tracking, like daytime stress and heart-rate data, the Oura Ring and app are very comprehensive. It’s easy to get lost in the sauce, and every week I swear either I’m gaining access to new features or the app is being updated. The amount of information here can be a little overwhelming.
When tracking my activities and exercise, the Oura Ring 3 has advantages and downsides compared with the smartwatches I’ve used. As a pedometer, it’s more accurate at tracking my steps and daily calorie burn than my smartwatch. It also provides way more data than I’ve ever gotten from my Apple Watch, but it’s worth mentioning that I don’t subscribe to Apple Fitness+. For this review, I received Oura’s subscription to test out all of the ring’s features, but there will be more on how that works later. Just know that for now, I was very impressed by the amount of fitness data provided. But when it comes to workout tracking and recognition, the ring lags.
This is one of my favourite features of the Apple Watch. When I start an elliptical workout or a bike ride or even a long walk, it will accurately identify it 95 percent of the time and ask me if I want to record the workout. As a result, I always have digital records of all my workouts on my phone, fully automated. Its tech wasn’t always this accurate, but Apple has invested a lot of time and money into it. I can’t say the same for Oura, unfortunately.
For starters, having to open the app to retroactively confirm and log my workouts is one more step than I’m used to taking. Beyond that, I found the functionality often lacking. Once, my Oura Ring correctly identified a forty-minute elliptical workout. More commonly, though, it will misidentify it as (maybe?) a walk, as it does most non-running workouts. Most days, I have to confirm four or five walks in my exercise log, meaning the ring doesn’t know the difference between a trek to the subway and a short hike.
Up front, an Oura Ring will cost you from approximately SGD450 before tax, depending on which style and finish you choose. The newer Horizon models will generally run you slightly more than the OG Heritage design, and fancier finishes like Brushed Titanium, Gold, and Rose Gold will add to the price tag. While that’s not nothing, I live in a city where a cup of coffee rarely costs less than five bucks. Four or five hundred dollars for something you will use every day is reasonable compared with, well, the state of everything else.
What really irks me is the subscription model that’s tacked on to that. After an included free month of fully featured access, Oura begins charging SGD9 per month for access to in-depth sleep insights, heart-rate monitoring, body-temperature readings, blood-oxygen readings—pretty much everything you would use it for.
It isn’t so much the cost that frustrates me (it’s fairly affordable compared with direct alternatives like Apple Fitness+) but rather the dread of that payment hanging over my head every month until I want to stop using the device—all to use its basic functions. What baffles me is how fundamentally useless the Oura Ring 3 is without a subscription. It just feels like another company trying to bleed its users dry when we’ve just invested hundreds of dollars in a product. You’ll have barely unlocked access to all the features after one month of use, making the free month feel like even more of a “lite” version of the true experience than is advertised. A free year would’ve at least been a compromise.
I really, really like the Oura Ring Horizon Gen 3. I like how it looks and how much of a conversation starter it has proved to be. Most of all, I like how it’s confirmed something I’ve always known but never had the data to prove: I get a pretty healthy amount of sleep. My bedtime is way more consistent than I expected. Even a small insight like this has started to change how I think about my sleep and, by extension, my mood and energy levels.
Even as an Apple Watch user for several years, I’ve found a way to slot the Oura Ring into my life and teach me something new about myself. That’s something I can’t say about most products I try. If I ever take this thing off, it’s either because I’m taking a shower or my subscription has finally lapsed.
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At Esquire, we’ve been testing and reviewing the latest and greatest products for decades. We do hands-on testing with every gadget and piece of gear we review. From portable monitors to phone cameras, we’ve tested the best products—and some not-so-great ones for good measure.
To review this Oura Ring, I tried it out for many weeks before even sitting down to start writing. Plus, I spoke with other Esquire staff members about their past and current experiences with the product to get the fullest picture possible.
Originally published on Esquire US
Why is there the phrase “knickers in a knot” but not “boxers in a bunch”? This April in Singapore, the hottest day of the year was recorded at 35.9°C. The worst to me? It was only April. Coupled with the average humidity level of 84 per cent, and sparingly light winds if Mother Nature had mercy, you wouldn’t be able to imagine what our crotches feel like most of the time.
One Tuesday a couple weeks back in May, after an early morning game of basketball with the boys, we sat by the sidelines. While beads of perspiration gathered up and trickled past furrowed brows, we broached the unlikely topic of underwear. Now, as straight men, our conversations are unintentionally skin deep: that “work is relentless”, that someone “tried this omakase place”, that something is “ridiculous in this bear economy...” That morning, though, we debated singularly on the relevance of underwear amid climate change and the perpetual Singaporean summer. Considerations around protection, support, a sense of security and propriety were pit against concerns such as comfort, ventilation, odour, and even confidence.
What felt like nine sweltering minutes went by before the group dispersed into the shower cubicles. Our crotches had been exactly like sweat-drenched, heat-radiating boxers in a bunch.
Though I am not overzealous about free balling, I contemplate it from time to time to cope with the dreaded double whammy of heat and humidity here. For some, freeballing in summer has the same energy as attending a fancy party with minimal make-up—it is about comfort, confidence and a touch of fabulous. Yet, for others like me, it may not be so much a flex as it is pragmatic. Combining the opinions of those around me and on Reddit, it seems reduced perspiration, a lower chance of bacteria growth and odour, and better ventilation are compelling reasons cited by men when asked why they might free ball.
Regardless of motivation, going commando in public, akin to rocking up bare-faced to a soirée, is a ballsy move. My advice as an aesthetics doctor is to invest in some self-care.
At the core of comfort and confidence is self-care. Thankfully, skincare and grooming have burst through the seams of the feminine realm, slowly seeping into the daily lives of men, queer or not. Those who are not yet on board may see skincare regimes as means to achieving the pretty Korean star look, but as a mostly reticent member of the male species myself, I implore even the quintessential macho guys to take skin and body care more seriously. In my field of work, treatments sought by male patients are very commonly for acne scarring, the regrettable result of sheer negligence that does not plague women as much.
Especially for severe acne scarring, treatments are typically customised, taking advantage of different cool equipment and technologies for optimal effect. Bear with me as I geek out: one of those that amaze me is Ultherapy, a non-invasive treatment that lifts, smoothens and tightens skin. Bypassing skin’s surface, Ultherapy is able to deliver the right amount of ultrasound energy at the right depths and temperature, in order to trigger a natural response under the skin, jumpstarting the regenerative process that produces fresh, new collagen. Ultherapy is commonly used to lift skin on the neck, chin and brow, and to reduce lines and wrinkles. With an appointment, patients are usually in and out the clinic in an hour tops; some even get it done over lunch break.
For the bolder (or more macho, if you please) among us, one of the injectables that stand out as an especially efficient treatment is Profhilo. It super-charges skin with a high concentration of the formidable hyaluronic acid (HA), stimulating the production of new collagen and elastin, both of which give skin great texture and brightness. Profhilo delivers deep hydration and treats skin laxity, helping to lift and tighten it too.
Coming out of my awe of potion-like chemicals and marvellous technology, I lament the predicament of men who suffer from pubescent acne and its emotional and mental implications. If only men felt empowered too, to begin caring for their skin from adolescence as women usually do. I mean, if we collectively have such poor facial and dermal hygiene, what could it be like where the sun doesn’t shine?
In my advocacy for self-care and living well, comfort down south is just as big a deal as the rest of the body. The ultimate nemesis of modern-day grooming needs no introduction: we have a troubling love-hate affair with hair—too much, too little, too patchy, too thick. Down south though, more want their lawns mown, be they flat or hilly terrains, to prevent ingrown hair and pimples that come with an inevitably sticky, itchy crotch in tropical weather.
IPL, short for intense pulsed light, is an effective way to get rid of hair permanently. It involves long-term treatment every four to six weeks, where high-energy light is used to permanently destroy hair and hair follicles where you don't want them. You'll have less scratching and pinching, just good ol’ hanging.
Where a partner is involved, smell must be the chef’s kiss. There is now a gamut of hygiene products dedicated to the cause. Check out a ball wash, rub or deodorant the next time you are in a drug store—they help to fight odour, leaving us fresh, clean, and hopefully, yummy. It would also be wise to invest in a set for when shorty gets low, low, low.
Next time the mercury level hits over 33°C and the potentially bashful idea of free balling comes to mind, don’t get your boxers in a bunch. Do what is necessary so you can shake, shake, shake it, bruh.
