Who Owns Yoga?
My husband – who is a major kidder and teaser – gave me a rough time when I started doing yoga 20+ years ago. He playfully ribbed me about my LuluLemon clothing, about the Om sticker which I always put on the back window of any car I’ve owned, and he even ribs me when I wear my hair in the standard yoga topknot. (He’s a lovely guy and my heart and soul; he’s just a teaser. We’ve all just gotten used to it).

The implication was that I was jumping on some sort of “bandwagon”; that I was joining leagues of middle-aged white women jumping on the latest fitness “craze”. While I have — as calmly as possible — explained to him that yoga is not merely the latest “jazzercize”, his pointing out the wild popularity of yoga in Western countries gave me pause. A search of yoga social media feeds tells a story of largely white women co-opting the yoga world. Without really realizing it, it would appear that yoga has drifted farther and farther away from its Eastern roots and significance.
Are we stealing yoga?
To delve into that question, I need to explore my reasons for making yoga a part of my life to begin with. I discovered that drop-in yoga classes were offered at a fitness facility that my husband and I both were members of — and that discovery came along at exactly the right time in my life: I was 40, and at my heaviest. The happy “relationship weight” was accumulating; I was getting Chinese takeout for lunch while learning to work from home, and our late-night pizza runs were starting to add pounds.
I had also not yet found a method of exercise that “clicked” with me. The way runners feel at home and at peace while jogging. I wanted to feel *that*.
And so, in the sub-basement of the facility, I joined a yoga class. I mistakenly grabbed one of the Pilates mats which were stacked in the corner of the room. I remember I was wearing a hoodie, and while in my first downward dog (which felt like all the air was being pushed out of my lungs, so unfamiliar was that orientation to my body), I wondered how people deal with the hoodie hood obscuring their vision (they don’t, because hoodies are never worn in yoga for that reason.) Aside from these gaffes, another significant takeaway struck me from my very first class: this is my place. I felt energized, I felt calm, and I knew that nothing short of a miracle had happened: I found my exercise. Much the way that runners know they have a close affinity and identification with running, I knew instantly that this was a form of activity that I could stick with. (and downward dog eventually became such a natural and comfortable pose that I joke that I now could sleep in it.)
Along with the embracing of yoga (the exercise), I also really embraced yoga (the practice). I loved the Sanskrit words, I loved the animal imagery for which the asanas are named, and I felt such deep serenity in chanting “Om”, even though I didn’t (and likely still don’t) fully understand the significance of it. I readily adopted “namaste”; I loved (and still love) buddha figurines, and yes — the topknot just made sense to keep my hair out of my face while inverted.
Does this mean I’m co-opting it?
If my pre-pandemic memory serves me, attendance at in-person classes was pretty white. As is most of Calgary. Is the lack of diversity a symptom of exclusion? (No — all are welcome.) Is that lack of multi-racial attendees due to a perception that yoga is the domain of affluent white women, thereby alienating others? (Perhaps.) Is the idea that there are relatively few East Indian yoga influencers online, and that those white influencers who do demand a lion’s share of the market in online classes, tutorials, and merch have hijacked and removed from its roots? It’s become a commodity.
And is it so harmful if some yoga practitioners approach it simply as fantastic exercise and relaxation — and don’t really know or even care about its deeper roots?
I’ve wanted to ask — in a loud voice — while shopping at Lulu Lemon: “OK: who here has actually *done* yoga…?” , clearly frustrated in yoga becoming a fashion “lifestyle”, as opposed to the sacred thing that it is. I found it hard to contain my rage when I read an interview with Gwyneth Paltrow and she mentioned an encounter at a yoga studio:
“I went to do a yoga class in L.A. recently and the 22-year-old girl behind the counter was like, ‘Have you ever done yoga before?’ And literally I turned to my friend, and I was like, ‘You have this job because I’ve done yoga before.'”
I think it’s important to pay respect to the rich history and revered traditions of the yogic practice. I derive a great amount of pleasure in reading classic yoga textbooks by Iyengar and Desikachar, where poses are deconstructed and analyzed, and the symbolism is explained.
The real reason I practice is for the chance to go inward; to work out both physical and mental knots, and to allow my breath to enter and leave me in a very controlled and mindful way. I’m a respectful tourist here, not a colonizer. I think it’s possible to be of the demographic, and yet follow yoga for my own very personal reasons. Topknot and all.
The post Who Owns Yoga? appeared first on Yoga And Voice.






