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Yoga is where I go to disappear. I mean this in a liberating way. In a world that seems to be all about being seen, yoga, for me, is a time to silence my ego, honor my body as it is today, and breathe into a more etheric space. Sometimes, in mirrored studios, I’ll even position my mat behind another body to ensure the focus never falls on my reflection.
All that to say, when I’m trying to fade into the background, I don’t need my yoga teacher to be in influencer mode. I can breathe and separate, of course, but I just miss a time when the yoga space wasn’t so…shiny.
My yoga practice began in earnest in 2010, the same year as Instagram’s rollout. Blogs were certainly a thing, but the business of social media was not. Yoga teachers (at least in Northern California) trended toward bohemian, crunchy, and earnest as hell. They traveled, led modest, undocumented retreats, talked mythology and astrology. Their presence came from strong practice and cultivated wisdom rather than a curated aesthetic.
That authenticity made class feel safe.
Health and wellness are so pretty these days. I just want yoga, and its teachers, to feel real again. When a teacher’s focus seems to fall on an image that they’re trying to project rather than the practice itself, the entire experience starts to feel disconnected.
If a teacher’s presentation is equally real, I’m fully here for it. Students can feel it. That embodied cool (rather than projected cool) is aspirational, inspiring everyone in attendance to settle more deeply into their own skin, into their own practice. If it’s a Reel-ready show, I’ll see myself out. We’re students, not followers. And although both are essential in the modern business of yoga, there’s a time and place for brand building.
I have free will. I can choose which classes I take, and at which studios, based on my preference for teachers that value practice over appearances. (And I do). My gripe is a general one: The last place I want to have to perform—that I want anyone else to either—is at yoga.
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