A penguin obsession, a singing rice cooker, and the tights nobody sees

Psychology professor Elika Bergelson has strong opinions about comfort. And she's willing to share them.

The penguin thing

It started in sixth grade when her parents handed her National Geographic and told her to learn new words. One article about emperor penguins landed differently. That was decades ago. She's still thinking about them — the way they toboggan on their bellies, how they raise chicks together in "crèches," the sheer strangeness of a bird built for extreme cold. "Solid 10/10," she says. The fascination never wore off. It just became part of how she thinks about resilience and community, even if she didn't set out for it to.

The rice cooker that sings

Bergelson calls the Zojirushi rice cooker "an amazing gadget, well worth its weight on the counter." Here's what it does: you add rice, add water, press a button, walk away. When it's done, it sings to you. There's also a timer so you can schedule dinner to be ready when you arrive home — a small kindness from a machine, basically. She uses it for more than rice. She rates it 11/10, which is how you know she means it.

The secret layer

Bergelson describes herself as "a cold person," the kind who feels winter in her bones from November straight through March. Her solution is fleece-lined tights. She wears them under her pants, invisible to everyone but her. There's something quietly perfect about that — a comfort that exists just for you, that nobody else has to know about or approve of. It's not about looking cozy. It's about being cozy, even if you're the only one who knows.

These three things — the penguin obsession, the singing appliance, the hidden warmth — say something about how we actually get through the harder seasons. Not with grand gestures. With the small, specific things that work. With a little knowledge, a little automation, a little private comfort. With paying attention to what makes you feel okay.