PrintWhile most teenagers turned to Nirvana or Metallica, Prema Maja Rode’s “Om Namah Shivaya” chant CD, which I used to play on repeat while working at my local yoga studio, was the soundtrack to my questioning adolescent years. In high school, my yoga instructors were my mentors and my fellow practitioners my friends. It was Jill, my Vinyasa instructor, who sat with me, holding my hand, as I opened my admission e-mail to Columbia. It was Rebecca, my Anusara instructor, who taught me heart-opening or “opening to grace” poses every Thursday night during the summer of my first heartbreak. Even outside the studio, I began to take yogic teachings—“ahimsa” (nonviolence) and “satya” (truthfulness)—to heart. But it wasn’t just the spiritual concepts that seeped into my lifestyle—it was the identity that accompanied them. It was the tie-dye fold-over pants and the collect-all-seven chakra beater tops. It was the Krishna candles and the Ganesha T-shirts. It was Hard Tail and lululemon. It was fashion.
On campus and in the city, yoga’s asana branch—one of the eight limbs of Ashtanga Yoga outlined in Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras—has become the new “it” workout and yoga clothing has become more trendy. The grand opening of lululemon athletica this fall in Park Slope followed right on the heels of Bryant Urstadt’s exposé on “luluheads,” young women who have a cultish devotion to lululemon, in “New York Magazine.” But all this hype has some critics wondering if the new lulu-culture has isolated the ancient practice of yoga from its spiritual roots.
“Yoga originally was an ascetic tradition, meant to yoke in the mind and induce spiritual states,” says Rachel McDermott, Barnard professor of Hinduism. And as Emma Goidel, a Barnard sophomore who practices yoga regularly, points out, “It’s a little bizarre that such a spiritual thing has become so commercial.”
On the other hand, spandex pants’ miraculous butt-shaping ability is undeniably appealing. “The fit, the function, and the fun [of lululemon] appeal to young women. The colors are always changing,” says Rena Furuya, educator (the lulu-term for salesperson) at the Lincoln Center lululemon branch. “Working out is not about baggy T-shirts anymore.”
The lululemon Manifesto, written on the brand’s shopping bags and posters, includes “truths” like “The pursuit of happiness is the source of all unhappiness.” Could these be new corporate “yamas”—rules, as outlined in the Yoga Sutras—for the modern Western world?
In addition to workout fanatics, yoga also attracts spiritual seekers who are looking for alternatives to Western religions. Many of them can be found at Columbia’s Bhakti Club, which derives its name from “Bhakti” (or devotion) yoga and is sponsored by Hare Krishna monks. The club offers free yoga classes taught by Beth Krafchik, a student in GS, every Wednesday night at 7 p.m.
Gadadhara Pandit Dasa, the Hare Krishna monk leading Bhakti’s efforts, explains what draws college students to the club: “Bhakti is not dogma, and I think people find that kind of refreshing. It’s free of fear and guilt. The idea of God is there, but it’s not being shoved down your throat.”
McDermott says she notices a lot of students take her class because of a continuing yoga practice. “I think there’s a perception that they’re [Eastern religions are] not doctrinal. People like to make the distinction between spiritual and religious.”
When students are drawn to both the fashion and the spirituality of Eastern traditions, the debate hinges on whether or not it is a fundamental contradiction to be a lulu-donning yoga devotee. Marie Desyedu, another educator at the Lincoln Center lululemon, does not think so. “The philosophy of lululemon is that if you feel good about the way you look, you’ll be happier,” she explains. “And clothing does that for some people.”
But Pandit Dasa would disagree. “Traditionally, yoga leads to detachment. … By making it material, you will do the physical act, but you will miss the point,” he cautions.
Instructor Krafchik takes a different approach. She thinks it’s impossible to separate this new commercial form from the ancient practice of yoga. “People can think they’re practicing just for a good workout, but subconsciously they’re still drawn to the spiritual benefits,” Krafchik theorizes. “Separating yoga from its spirituality is like separating sugar from sweetness.”
Amidst the irony of students wearing yoga pants to parties and pop Hindu imagery adorning T-shirts and tote bags in lecture, one wonders if it’s possible for any spiritual or philosophical concept based in anti-capitalist ideals to exist in a capitalist society without hypocrisy. Hot Topic commercialized “punk” in the ’90s, catering to middle school Misfits fanatics. Communist icon Che Guevara continues to grace T-shirts sold for profit on St. Mark’s Place.
Ultimately, every Vinyasa class is a grab bag of both people who come for the fashion and stay for the spiritualism and devout practitioners that rarely deny themselves stylish bamboo pants. Maybe yoga, which means “union” in Sanskrit, is the perfect place to marry these two powerful forces. In the end, Goidel reconciles with the fad, saying, “If there is going to be this pop culture air surrounding yoga, at least it’s a positive one—one that encourages to practice a healthy lifestyle, eat well, drink a lot of water, work out daily.”
And even Professor McDermott can support a new type of yoga that melds spiritualism with style. “The fact that yoga meets the needs of people in an entirely different culture shows its resiliency,” she says. “To say ‘Well, it’s not the way it used to be’—well, what does that matter? Nothing stays the same, and that’s a very yogic claim.”