What I learned from trying nude yoga

Nude yoga.

I circled the words in my lecture program and marked them with three question marks. Should I go there? How would that be? Was it a ploy for exhibitionism at the conference I was attending - aimed at "connoisseurs and sex workers"?

I searched Google for read more, and the top results were porn websites. I tried "naked yoga in New York" instead, and that search turned up studios offering the practice (thanks, Brooklyn). It's a niche market, of course, but naked yogis point out that unlike other Western modes (e.g. goat yoga), the practice originated centuries ago from Hatha Yoga and Buddhism. tantric.

As a sociologist, I had spent the past four years studying debates about Internet pornography and attended the annual Sex Down South conference to learn how progressive activists, educators and sex workers talked about pornography. I wanted to learn more about the general culture that surrounds what I describe as the "porn positive" movement - a broad effort to promote the rights and well-being of porn performers, embrace sexual expression, and oppose censorship.

Sex Down South offered a respite from the usual social paradigm where white men occupy the center and are surrounded by others on the fringes. Instead, this event was led by people of color who identified as gay, and white people like me were definitely in the minority. It seemed like the nude yoga aligned with the other conference sessions, like meditation and Reiki, which merged ancient religious traditions with a broad understanding of sexual health and wellness.

< p class="dcr-3jlghf"> Sitting in my hotel room the night before, I tried to imagine myself in downward facing dog and blushed at the thought. I had regularly attended yoga classes since my early twenties, but never naked.

Still, I was comfortable with my naked body. By my mid-thirties, I had overcome the body issues that plagued my younger self. I had years of practice baring my breasts in public while openly breastfeeding my two babies. I wasn't a swimsuit model - my three-year-old son fondly called my postpartum belly "squashy" - but I had an ease in my own skin thanks to my relative closeness to standards. idealized beauty (I'm white, cisgender, relatively thin, and able-bodied).

For years I've practiced yoga as my favorite form of exercise because it's was the only time I could completely leave behind what Buddhists call the "monkey mind", and let my body take over. I preferred heated classes and often left the studio drenched in sweat, feeling like I was after a long, hard scream. After both, my body and mind felt tired and calm.

On the mat, I understood and agreed with the critics of the he American yoga industry, which benefits from a religious tradition and culture, is not its own. But on the mat, I let that slip away, along with my to-do list and worries. Would I be able to do the same thing without clothes on?

The room was lit by twinkling lights, a nice respite from the fluorescent neon lights of other conference sessions. As the room filled with other attendees, it immediately felt like a different space than my yoga studio at home and the rest of the conference. There were no tank tops with the Lululemon logo or "spirit gangster" written across the front, nor were there any sexy jumpsuits or stiletto heels like at the conference evening reception the night before. .

Not knowing anyone else at the conference, I sat cross-legged and silent. Even though the room was cold, the air conditioning not yet tempered by the room full of bodies, I found myself sweating. I was nervous. Am I really going to undress in front of these people?