I, like, love yoga. Going to yoga has TOTALLY made a better, calmer, more tolerant person, and when I drink Reishi tea before going to yoga, I may as well transform into an Indian goddess then and there, I feel myself so hard.
The problem, though, especially in fucked-up places like New York City, is that yoga class - and its teachers - clearly become a substance replacement for addicts. I’ve been to many classes where people hit (and I don’t mean flow into, I mean HIT) each pose with such fervor, you can’t tell if they’re trying to exorcise their demons or swallow the goddamn Holy Spirit. If I had intentionally signed up for a Vogueing seminar with yogic interludes, then fine; but it’s not difficult for zen to give way to irritation when the people in front of and next to you remind you of the overachievers you went to theatre camp with. You know? And while I dig closing my eyes as someone plays a fancy accordion and repeatedly tells me that I AM capable of being a calm, contented member of society rather than an ADD lunatic, I’m not so big on, um, God. The Sanskrit chanting gets to be a little much.
Just as I was giving up on my search for a studio with any sense of humor, I was invited to attend a collaboration between Sound Off Experience and Fit + Love…SILENT DISCO YOGA. Exercise for party girls. Thank you and good night — I’ll take a mat front and center.
Step into the converted ballroom at the W Hotel. Admire the purple neon lights; believe that you’re actually about to go clubbing in the very early evening. Chide yourself for not wearing cuter shoes. Abide by the following steps for maximum result:
- Put headphones on. Realize that DJ Leticia Taylor has selected hip-hop instrumentals and African drums. Rejoice.
- Hear the sound of teacher Julie Serrow’s voice over the music. Close your eyes, and relish in the ability to keep them closed as the practice starts — you can’t hear your neighbor’s disgusting grunting and heavy breathing, and poses are called their English names.
- Enjoy a flow fast enough to feel productive, but doesn’t cause those repulsive little beads of sweat to dribble down the bridge of your nose.
- Crack up that you’re doing yoga in a pair of oversized headphones…and a knockoff Adidas one-piece jumpsuit.
- When Savasana comes around, jump off your mat and grab your iPhone — as we ~bloggers~ do — and FREAK OUT at how cool it is to see 100 or so exhausted humans laying silently and peacefully next to each other, all hearing the same music, all feeling the same community magic that is so desperately needed, right now and all the time.
(…what? I went to Quaker school, motherfucker. You should expect this hippie-dippie shit. New York City girls have feelings too! *slowly lowers Dior sunglasses over eyes*)