Heidi: Hey, I got a press release from the Erotic Heritage Museum saying they’re offering naked yoga classes taught by porn stars this week. You should totally do a followup to that 2011 Desert Companion feature, in which you tried a yoga class then wrote about it.
Scott: You know, I glanced at that press release myself, but when I saw the words "Naked Yoga" I just assumed it was about Burning Man, or maybe a new band being added to the Life Is Beautiful lineup. Smooth jazz, probably.
In any case, nude yoga shouldn't surprise me, I guess. As James Parker points out in the October issue of The Atlantic, naked whatever — dating, wilderness survival … home-buying (?!) — is the new frontier in reality TV. Skin is in, so it’s only natural that yoga would go au naturel, what with its celebration of bodily control and so on. Though I suppose the technology doesn't exist to pixelate one's genitals in real life.
I could try it … if I were a Philip Roth character horndogging my way through a midlife crisis or debasing myself in order to feel alive in the existential void of modern America. (Luckily, I dispatched my midlife crisis by getting a tattoo and putting 54 miles on a motorcycle I never should've bought.) But here in this non-book world? No. Listen, I've put my life on the line for the sake of a story before — flying in an ultralight, having my eyebrows waxed. But there's a limit, and subjecting my oversize body to nude yoga is on the far side of it.
You're an accomplished yoga instructor yourself — is there any yogic benefit from doing it unclothed?
Heidi: The short answer is no. The long answer is, it depends on what you consider a “benefit.” Let’s see what the guiding principles of yoga have to say about it. There’s ahimsa (“nonviolence”), and I think we can all agree that sticking your butt in the air unclothed increases your chances of violating someone else’s air space. Also, with nothing to catch the stream of sweat flowing off your body, a pool will form on your mat, making you pretty likely to slip and break an ankle: a clear case of self-inflicted harm.
On the other hand, there’s svadiyaya (“self-study”), and what better way to get up close and personal with your insecurities than to disrobe, do pushups and pose, legs akimbo, amongst a bunch of strangers who are neither your date nor your gynecologist? And, of course, if you like bare boobs (and who doesn’t?), then the benefit would be huge. So to speak.
I prefer to look to the example of guru B.K.S. Iyengar who, for his photo sessions in the canonical Light on Yoga, sported not only a loin cloth, but also a bindi and that red sacred thread thingy that goes across your chest. Hey, it’s better than nothing.
Too judgy?
Scott: It's kinda telling that the class, at the Erotic Heritage Museum, is being taught, in part, by porn stars. Nothing wrong with that — but it does suggest that the point here is less about the pure aims of yoga and more about the high titillation factor. ( Hey, folks, check THIS off your bucket list!) Sure, I suppose it could be counterargued that doing it naked, with porn actresses, merely brings to the surface whatever sensuality might already be latent in yoga's emphasis on bodily discipline. Maybe? Again, nothing particularly wrong there — I'm not a prude. I am a perspirer, however, as I learned by doing that 2011 story, and I can't get past your point about that: Unless I'm swaddled in super-absorbent workout clothing, my unchecked schvitzing would turn the whole room bikram after a downward dog or two. Ain't nothing sexy about that.
I think I speak for everyone still reeling from that image when I say: Hey, you're a yoga instructor and a journalist! You should do this story!
Heidi: Assuming that's not a direct assignment, I decline. I have nothing against porn stars either — in fact, I think it'd be fun to do naked yoga with them. The problem for me is, well, me. In my near 10 years of teaching yoga, I can tell you, I've seen my share of flab, wrinkles and hair in unexpected places — and that's with clothing. It doesn't bother me one bit; in fact, encouraging my students to love themselves, flaws and all, is a cornerstone of my style. Knowing my own body, and the perspective those poor teachers would have of it, I prefer not to subject them to my downward-facing dog. Hypocritical? Maybe. But I prefer to think of it as thoughtful. (Did I mention I'm still recovering from a heat rash acquired on a long-distance bike ride?)
Besides, I'm sure there's something in the Nevada Public Radio employee handbook that forbids undressing in a museum and hopping around in front of potential readers. If there isn't, there should be.
Beginning tonight, The Art of Naked Yoga takes place weekly, 7-8 p.m., at the Erotic Heritage Museum, 3275 Industrial Road; see theartofnakedyoga.com