The Ultimate Guide To Eskimo Kiss Uncovering The Secrets Of The Arctics Intimate Salute

What People Actually Do When They Greet Each Other In Extreme Cold

The Eskimo kiss, or kunik in Inuktitut, isn't what most people think it is. It's not a romantic gesture between lovers. It's a way to check if someone smells like you — warm skin, breath, hair — in environments where hugging is impractical. Fingers freeze. Fabric gets in the way. The nose-to-cheek press works at minus forty. I spent three winters in Churchill, Manitoba, doing wildlife photography. The first time someone actually kunik'd me, I panicked and leaned back like I was dodging a punch. Turns out, it's gentle. You press your nose and upper lip against their cheek, inhale briefly, then exhale. Sometimes you repeat it. It takes two seconds.

The Ultimate Guide To Eskimo Kiss Uncovering The Secrets Of The Arctics Intimate Salute

Here's how to do it without looking like an idiot. Stand close, almost touching. Press the side of your nose against the other person's cheekbone or forehead. Your nostrils should make contact with their skin. Inhale — just a quick sniff, the way you'd smell a scarf someone just took off. Exhale. Repeat once or twice if the mood is there. Keep your lips slightly parted. Don't close your mouth tight. It feels weird the first time because it's genuinely a different kind of physical contact. Familiar, but not like a hug or a kiss. I've tried explaining this to friends who wanted to "do it right" on a trip to Nunavut. The biggest problem people have is overthinking the angle. You're not rubbing noses. That's not how it works. You're pressing and sniffing. The misconception comes from the word "kiss" in the English name. People visualize lips-to-nose. It doesn't happen like that. Another issue: people try to do it while wearing gloves. You can't. Skin-to-skin contact is required, or at minimum, bare nose against bare cheek. Wool glove against cheek just feels like someone pressing fabric into your face. Remove one glove. It gets cold for thirty seconds. Deal with it.

I once watched a documentary crew attempt kunik with Inuit hosts and completely botch it. The photographers kept leaning in too aggressively, treating it like a selfie pose. One guy puffed his cheeks out. It was uncomfortable to watch for everyone involved. The Inuit woman just laughed and gently pulled her face away and demonstrated slowly. Patience matters here. Rush it and you're just invading someone's personal space.

Context And When It's Appropriate

Among Inuit communities, kunik is reserved for family and close friends. A parent to a child. Siblings. Partners who are already intimately close. It's not a greeting for strangers. It's not something you do to a new acquaintance at a gathering. That crosses a line that's pretty clearly understood within the culture. The practice predates European contact. It's referenced in Inuit oral tradition going back centuries. The English name "Eskimo kiss" was coined by non-Indigenous observers who saw it and translated it through their own cultural lens. Many Inuit people don't even use that term anymore because it's reductive and carries colonial baggage. Kunik is the word that's actually used. Not all Arctic Indigenous groups practice it. The Sami in Scandinavia, for example, don't. The Yupik have their own variations. So it's specific to certain Inuit cultures, not a blanket Arctic custom.

What Doesn't Work

If either person has a cold, forget it. Congested noses can't do this properly and it becomes a health issue for both parties. If someone has recently had nasal surgery, avoid it entirely. The pressure and contact aren't gentle on healing tissue. I learned this the hard way when a photographer friend insisted on kunik-ing with a local guide who'd had septoplasty the week before. The guide was polite but clearly in discomfort. Awkward for everyone. Also, this doesn't translate well to photo ops. Trying to capture kunik in a single frame rarely works because the motion is subtle. You get two people leaning in oddly and it looks like they're about to headbutt. Candid shots from a distance are better if you're documenting it.

Why It Exists Beyond The Cute Factor

Beyond the cultural significance, there's a practical evolutionary reason this developed. In extreme cold, exposing skin is dangerous. Checking someone's scent confirms identity in whiteout conditions where faces look similar under layered clothing and snow. It's also a way to confirm someone is healthy — the smell of illness registers quickly. And it maintains social bonding without requiring full undressing or prolonged skin exposure that risks frostbite. The emotional component is real too. It's intimate in a quiet way. Not sexual, but deeply trusting. You're letting someone breathe on you. You're accepting their scent. That's significant in any culture, but especially one where physical contact is limited by environment. If you're ever invited to participate in kunik by an Inuit person, accept it gracefully. Don't treat it like a novelty. Don't make a joke. Just lean in, press, sniff, and respect what it actually is.