Bare-naked Yoga

Naked yoga, it seems, is fast catching on in the West. Although mostly popular with gay men, co-ed classes are also being offered in some studios, where women join the class alongside the guys (both parties not necessarily gay). Nude yoga is all about shedding inhibitions, they say, being comfortable in your own skin, facing your insecurities about your body. It is supposedly not sexual.

Now I don’t know about you, but I’d as soon get naked in a room full of strangers as I would voluntarily cut off my own little pinky and then have it re-attached in the hospital. Look, I can’t even undress in front of another woman, let alone other men I am not acquainted with. The only people who have seen me in the buff are those who took care of me as an infant, surgeons who have had me on the operating table, and my ex. Even the lovely saleslady who helped me ensure my bra was a good fit waited patiently outside the fitting room until I had safely ensconced my bosom into the cups, before she came in to join me (with the door kept narrowly open for her to slip in as quickly as possible, of course). Whereupon she twisted, adjusted and critically evaluated whether the bra was the right size, whether I was over-flowing out of them, if the straps were pinching me and whether the side band hugged my ribs snugly enough.

At spas, I cringe at the skimpy, see-through, disposable panty they ask us to change into for the massage session, and as I lie on my stomach on the massage table, I worry myself sick that the masseuse will request for me to turn around onto my back so that she can massage my stomach and (horrors!) my chest area. I admire those people who are so comfortable in their own bodies, imperfections and all, that they can nakedly stroll along totally unconcerned in spas, shower rooms and changing rooms. In my gym locker room, for instance, I once saw a fifty-plus American woman emerge topless from the shower. Mind you, she was no sleek Madonna, but just one of those regular, let-it-all-hang-out Westerners who would feel just as home sunbathing nude on our Malaysian beaches.

Young girls also walk out of the sauna all sweaty, untying their towels and retying them without a thought (flashing their you-know-whats in the process) while I hastily avert my eyes and try to act nonchalant - you know, like I see other people’s boobies as often as I read packaged food labels. Sometimes office executives will rush in wearing their work clothes, hurriedly ripping of their professional attire and stand there in their undergarments while they fish out the Nike top and dri-fit bottoms out of their bags. They don’t even bother to use the toilet stalls or the changing rooms to undress. Then there are of course prudes like me who find a safe corner to change (be it in the loo stall or shower stall) and only comb our hair or replenish our lipstick in public.

So would I attempt yoga with a group of only women, in nothing but my birthday suit? Well, I might, IF I did not know even one of them, and IF I would never meet them again outside of class. But even having these conditions met, I am a neurotic worrier, and possess a vivid imagination, and I’m not sure if speaking with the yoga instructor (preferably clothed, both she and I) prior to the class would help allay my fears. The following would be among the most awkward worries on my mind:

1. Where would I undress? Other than the people in the studio and the instructor, would the receptionist, the guys at the machines and treadmills, the salespeople showing the new people around, also see me in all my naked glory as I dashed to the studio from the changing room?

2. As I go in for class, should I sashay in confidently, catwalk style, pretending I’m fully clothed? Or do I tone it down a notch, and merely look kinda cool and slightly bored, you know, like, I’m walking from my bathroom to the bedroom to pick up my towel after my shower? Maybe I should tiptoe in furtively to avoid jiggling, arms crossed strategically across my chest?

3. Do I suck in my stomach to hold my pooch tight as I walk in, and can I hold my ab muscles in that long? Will people notice how much I look like the Michelin man the minute I sit down?

4. What would the temperature of the room be like? Would my ends “pucker up” from the cold and would I start sneezing?

5. As I sit on my mat waiting for class to begin, should I sit cross-legged in lotus position, allowing my boobs to hang out? Or should I bend my knees and draw them to my chest, exposing my nether region to the world?

6. Should I make small talk with other people in class? Where do I look when I speak to them? Steadfastly in the eye, or can I cast casual glances all around, would that be considered rude?

7. Should I be insulted or flattered if people stared at my twins? Would I have to stare back at theirs to retaliate/return the compliment?

8. How do I avoid nipple mat-burn in sun salutations, you know, that series of movements where I lower my hips from downward dog, straightening forward into plank, lowering myself down smoothly to the mat (erm.. this is where it would happen) and then bending upwards into cobra (assuming I make it safely this far)?

9. Would I jab myself down there accidentally, in swan pose, when I place my heels against my groin?

10. Wouldn’t it be “drafty” to do a happy baby pose?

11. If I accidentally farted, would I be able to do it silently given that there are no garments to muffle the sound?

12. And another question I had before I watched a naked yoga session online (just to clarify, it was for educational purposes-pretty clinical and not sexual at all) – should I shave before class? Well, from the video, the chicks were all lean and clean-shaven. So I guess all of us who are hairy-mongers had best get our waxes done or at the very least landscape our little gardens of Eden before inflicting ourselves on the rest of the yoga population.

And so on and so forth. Didn’t I say I was a worrier?

So remind me again, why do people do naked yoga? Ah yes, it’s all about appreciating your body. “You're free of the restrictions that clothes put on and it puts everyone on even keel.", some sites proclaim. Like being in a room of flapping, bouncing bosoms (perhaps some not bouncing as much as the rest) of different sizes and different hues will remind us how each and every one of us are all one and the same. Couldn’t we do that by having everyone smile and we just observed their teeth instead?

Of course, over here in Asia, it is unlikely that we will have nude yoga classes anytime soon. For now, I think I’ll try buying a naked yoga home DVD and downward-dogging solo at home before I contemplate joining a class. At the very least, it would save me the trouble of waxing. Who knows, I might muster enough confidence to jump straight into a co-ed class by the time naked yoga is offered in Malaysia. And then, if a guy were sitting cross-legged beside me, I would be able to converse with him as if he were fully clothed. Where he would focus his eyes as we talked I cannot imagine, but then, that’s his problem, not mine.