Daylight Robbery: Part 1


By Jamie Scott

Over the course of 2018-19, I was involved in a research and writing project, a part of which fundamentally changed how I view the key drivers of day-to-day wellbeing in our societies.  I was initially looking at the primary promoters and disrupters of sleep, and with respect to the disrupters, there was a major focus on light exposure at night.  It is becoming increasingly understood that night-time exposure to blue spectrum light is a fundamental disrupter of sleep across all ages in our society.  But what I was soon to realise was that as problematic as night-time light exposure is, a bigger issue is our distinct lack of light exposure during the day – a problem very few people are aware of.

To understand these issues and their importance, we need to step back from simply focusing on sleep as a key health behaviour to focusing on our circadian biology.  Humans operate via distinct rhythms and cycles.  While apparent when we consider something like menstrual cycles in women, many of our other rhythms and cycles have become lost in what I call the linearity of our modern world.

The cornerstone of our fundamental rhythms is our circadian rhythm – our 24-hour rhythm that is, or should be, tagged to the sun rising and setting.  We also have roughly 90-minute cycles inside of this 24-hour cycle (known as ultradian rhythms).  A woman’s menstrual cycle is a good example of an infradian rhythm – a rhythm greater than 24-hours.  Sadly, in our modern society, we often aim to flatten many of these rhythms, expecting to be able to work continuously across the day with consistent energy rather than understanding that our energy levels oscillate on roughly 90-minute cycles.  Behaviourally, in this example, in our low ebbs we’ll reach for caffeine/nicotine/sugar to keep pushing through rather than altering how we are working to match our biology.

Virtually all rhythms we have operating in our physiology are a part of the 24-hour circadian rhythm (our master rhythm, if you like). 

In the normal run of things, this 24-hour cycle would be tagged to two key synchronising events each day – sunrise and sunset.  Indeed, this is how our physiology is inextricably linked to our environment.  In simple terms, blue spectrum light is the specific portion of sunlight which stimulates our wakening state during the day, starting at sunrise.  In the evening, after the sun sets, the absence of this light – darkness – drives a shift from wakefulness to sleepiness.

Circadian biology research is beginning to understand that we have quite distinct daytime and night-time physiologies, with the switch between the two governed by our light exposure patterns.  Exposure to bright natural light stimulates, as you would expect, our daytime physiology.  In day mode, we are (or should be) alert, active, and hungry.  These states are driven by our key day mode neurotransmitters – cortisol, dopamine, and serotonin.  As the sun sets and relative darkness takes hold, we transition to night mode.  Our body temperature begins to lower from its peak of early evening, our metabolism falls, and our drive for sleep increases (or it should do at least).

With the darkness comes an increase in our melatonin levels – the hormone most commonly associated with initiating sleep (though it has many functions throughout our body and, in my opinion, is one of the most misunderstood and underrated hormones we have).  It is perhaps more accurate to think of melatonin not as a sleep hormone, but as a darkness hormone.  It is becoming more common knowledge that the light from our ubiquitous electronic devices is emitted largely in the same blue light spectrum as sunlight.  It is perhaps at this point that you can see where problems might begin to occur.

If relative darkness is required in order to allow melatonin to rise and begin orchestrating the various physiological processes which occur as part of our dark physiology (including sleep), yet we are spending our night-time exposed to blue light emitting devices (sunlight emitting devices, in effect), then you can see why sleep can be so hard to come by.  Even relatively small exposures to such intense light can delay your melatonin pulse significantly, with some research suggesting that as little as 30-minutes with your phone, laptop, or TV (often all three simultaneously) beaming intense blue light into your eyes can shift your melatonin pulse curve sideways by about two hours.

To illustrate this in a more real-world way, if you would normally be ready for sleep at 10pm but decided to spend your evening bathing in blue light prior to this, don’t be surprised if you are still struggling to initiate sleep well after midnight.  If you can fall asleep, you might find yourself getting bounced out of it early on and struggling to slip into anything deeper than a light slumber.  You may eventually get into a deep sleep around 3-5am, but here you are potentially only a couple of hours away from the alarm clock going off.



Being ripped out of deep sleep leads to that groggy feeling called sleep inertia.  What should have been a restorative night’s sleep was anything but.  It’s a feeling akin to jetlag, and unfortunately what I have described above is the norm for many (most?) in our modern world.  But it is not blue light exposure at night that changed my views on wellness.  It was the lack of blue light during the day that did.

For everything to work as it should, yes, we need relative darkness at night – much more than we typically afford ourselves.  But we also need bright light exposure during the day, and it was this fact that is the missing piece of the puzzle for many of us.  We are living in what I have come to call a light inversion. 

Our days are too dim and our nights too bright.

Sunlight contains full spectrum light – everything from UV light (where UVB is what we use to make vitamin D in our skin with), through to infrared light (which gives us the feeling of warmth).  In the middle is the visible spectrum light, including the blue spectrum light.  Receptors in our eyes (intrinsically photosensitive retinal ganglion cells – ipRGCs) that make up the light-receiving part of our circadian rhythm system, contain a vitamin A-derived protein pigment, melanopsin, that is maximally sensitive to intense blue wavelength light such that we get from sunlight not long after sunrise (peaking at wavelengths of 480nm as would occur at solar noon on a clear blue-sky day).

The blue-light stimulation of these receptors stimulates neural pathways in our brain, eventually triggering the release of neurotransmitters (such as serotonin and dopamine) and hormones (such as cortisol) which help increase our wakefulness and alertness, our body temperature, as well as suppress the synthesis of our primary night-time physiology hormone, melatonin.  As the intensity of blue light declines toward the end of the day, being replaced, at first by visible red light (690nm wavelength; such as is seen at sunset, or emitted by fire light), and eventually darkness – melatonin production is increased initiating our sleep processes and helping us to, hopefully, fall asleep.  Coordinating and synchronizing these light- and dark-triggered circadian rhythm events day after day is a key part of our brain, the suprachiasmatic nucleus (SCN), more commonly known as the master body clock.

Now here’s the rub.  An increasing proportion of people – children and adults – spend more time than ever in human history indoors, under artificial lights.  Rarely do these lights come even remotely close to being sufficiently intense to regulate the systems outlined above.  You wouldn’t need to think about it for long to come up with a very long list of occupations where people are indoors all day, including an increasing number in buildings with virtually no natural light.  In my research, I came across stats such as; most Americans spending 90% of their daytime hours indoors, or prisoners in Australia spending more time outdoors than the average Australian teenager.  I’ve no doubt that the situation isn’t any different here in New Zealand.

To get a sense of the problem here, I purchased a light meter and began taking measurements.  The specific intensity of a given light source in a given space is measured in lux (lumens is the measure of the brightness of a light at its source).  I began taking readings in various workplaces and public spaces over the course of 2018.  I was most interested by the readings I took over the winter period when it might be perceived as not being particularly bright outside, especially on a heavily overcast day.


Light reading taken at a food court situated within a local shopping mall, where most people are hanging out (plus a lot of workers who are there all day)



Sunset in July 2018


914 lux taken at sunset. Recall the mall was 225 lux.


The sun has now properly set


559 lux after sunset (in July, approx 5pm)


20 minutes after sunset


It is only at this point that the light levels outdoors match the light levels indoors. It is hard for humans to identify this, but we many of us work in near twilight conditions most days, even in what might seem a brightly lit room.



From relatively early in the day, even in the depths of winter, and even with dark clouds filling the sky, the light intensity outdoors was always several thousand lux.  At sunrise, the morning might start out at under 1000 lux, but would rapidly increase.  The lowest measurements taken on the darkest of days came in around 3000 lux, but most often the readings were upward of 50000 lux, and on bright summer days, well over 100000 lux.  But move indoors and things change very quickly.

The brightest of indoor spaces I measured was around 600 lux.  To give you a gauge on this, your lounge room with all the lights on might average 150-200 lux.  I took a set of readings throughout a suburban shopping mall in July (mid-winter).  It was around 250 lux on average.  I wanted to get a feel for what this translated to outdoors.  To get a similar reading outside, I had to wait until around 20 minutes after sunset.  In other words, the workers in this mall spent their entire day working in weak twilight.  It doesn’t take much to think what effect this might have on people if you kept them in weak twilight for significant portions of time.

No matter where I took readings and no matter what the cloud cover was outside, it was always 100 times brighter outdoors as a minimum.  The lowest reading I took for a workplace was in a café in Dunedin – 50 lux!  Incredibly dim.  Now this might be tolerable for a customer who is in there for 10-20 minutes while they drink their coffee, but what about the effects on the staff who are there all day?  I took readings in the Dunedin Public Library.  Dark.  Very dark.

One interesting experiment of mine in Dunedin involved walking down the main street with the light meter.  The shops there – being very old – have quite low overhangs.  Given my newfound recognition and respect for light, I got the sense that even outdoors it was very dark.  This was confirmed as I walked along the street, the light meter barely topping out over 250-300 lux, and often hovering under 100 lux.  When there was a break in the buildings for a crossing, it would immediately jump up over 5000 lux (it was early in the morning in winter).  Once safely across the road, the light intensity would drop back down again very quickly.  Despite how dark it was, there were still plenty of people wearing sunglasses.

I went down to the University of Otago and while doing some writing in the main student library there, I decided to take some more readings.  I was sat right next to the only windows in the library – south facing.  Right by the windows it was 260 lux – still relatively dark.  But step even a few meters back into the heart of the library, and the light levels drop away very quickly.  Students spending their days here studying were sitting in under 100 lux of light.  This becomes problematic when you start to piece together what we use our bright light exposure for.