Before we talk about my first foray into naked yoga (at a studio called Bold & Naked yoga, no less), we should discuss how I’m a nudist. Or rather, how I have been called one by numerous friends. It’s not that I have some exhibitionistic desire to be seen or prefer nakedness—I sleep fully clothed, even in August—but I will disrobe in front of anyone, anywhere, anytime. Phillip Lim sample sales? Check. In a Las Vegas suite shared by a platonic male friend? Sure, no problem. Have I been the sole naked girl in a hot tub filled with 11 other women wearing bathing suits? Yes, yes I have.
While I’m as blasé as they come about nudity, even I was a little intimidated when standing in a dimly lit Chelsea yoga studio on a frigid Tuesday night, waiting for someone to strip off their clothes and walk to the mat. It was like hovering around the edge of an unheated pool wondering who will be the first to jump in.
And did I mention the class was co-ed? And that there were mirrors?
A woman, who had actually attended naked yoga before, was the first to dirsobe. After doffing her gear, she casually walked over and sat in a cross-legged position near the front of the room. I followed suit. Our female teacher, who was trim, calm, and possibly German, also naked, was seated facing us. Continue reading >> Elle