“I am a yoga teacher not a nudist or naturist,” I found myself saying many times over the phone.

“When I teach, I do so clothed. I offer this class for a specific organization.”

I often joke that I am like Tobias Fünke from Arrested Development, a never-nude. Though I am not truly Gymnophobic (fearful of nudity), I do prefer to be dressed 90 percent of the time.

“What are the health benefits of doing yoga naked?”

I am asked this via e-mail, on phone calls, and drop-ins. To which I would retort, “I have no idea. I am not aware of any specific health benefit to doing yoga nude. However, if you feel more comfortable doing yoga in the buff, I would imagine that it has psychological benefits. I am a yoga teacher not a naturist.”

This is how I got to this point.

I am a body-positive yoga teacher and, at one point in my yoga career, I was approached by a body-positive, naturist organization about having a holistic life in the buff. 

After which, I was persuaded to teach nude yoga for a short period of time (it just wasn’t for me). 

My experience was that often nervous and fidgety naturists would be more confident and grounded once they shed their textile skin. In my brief stint in nude yoga I must say a wide variety of bodies came to the class, but mostly older males at various levels of athleticism.

The shape of the physical body was not indicative of flexibility, strength or agility. It was never sexual, nor creepy.

There were no erections.

People were focused on their practice, on their mats, sharing in a mutual experience while being 100% present.

All bodies are good bodies, all bodies are beautiful and teaching naked yoga gave me the ability to see the complexities in the human body musculature sans clothes.

I found myself in the presence of rippling muscles under subcutaneous fat and tight skin, the kind of stuff that yoga or athletic clothes hide.

I was able to approach as a scientific observer.

I had deep feminist discussions with some of my male naturist students regarding why naked yoga may not appeal to most women. I spoke in broad strokes about our culture and male privilege. I explained the body-shame that we as women are culturally raised with; the culture of rape and how if what we are wearing can make us a candidate for being brutalized… nudity is only opening the door further.

That if a man, boy or guy is naked he’s “just being a guy.” But if a woman is scantily clad or naked “she’s a whore” (not my belief, but slut-shaming is real).We live in an over sexualized society where seeing a phallus really isn’t a big deal but a vulva is. We are taught to cover our bodies and sit like a lady.

The naturists had never thought of it in that way and were appreciative of my assessment. The reason I didn’t teach nude was because I like clothes, and teaching naked or practicing yoga naked did not appeal to me. Nor would it be authentic to my practice.

In my time as a never-nude yoga teacher I realized that I was shaking my fist at the patriarchy (which I find equally damning to both men and women) and though I appreciated my students, my practice was heading down a path I did not intend.  

I had to really reflect upon what it was I wanted to be known for, and if I really felt comfortable teaching in this capacity. My naturist students were awesome. But when safety concerns arose from males from outside the group, I had to step back and realize where I was teaching from, and what best ultimately served my community.

Therefore, I had to step away.

So, I shook my fist at patriarchy, I taught authentically, I learned much. Ultimately, I am thankful for my experience but knew it was not my call to the mat.

 

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Apprentice Editor: Brenna Fischer/Editor: Renée Picard

Photo Credit:  Pixoto