Spiritual Law from a Fashionista Turned Yoganista
I used to be a Dallas Socialite in a former life.
I’ve had many former lives.
I’m like a cat or maybe just a rapid-cycling Buddhist. Either way, I have the uncanny, feline ability to land on my feet when dropped from high places.
In this recent past life, I had big hair, voluminous attire and modest closet space. I created big shoes to fill with my carbon footprint, from jet-setting Platinum (100,000+ miles) on American Airlines to and fro on bicoastal buying trips during the prominent fashion market weeks.
I was fed organic grapes while models paraded at my whim up and down catwalks at the headquarters of fashion houses, Roberto Cavalli, Michael Kors and Hugo Boss. I nodded “yes” and “no,” and used words like, “Double 0” when referring to women’s body sizes.
Best yet, I had an alias. Blahnik, as in Manonlo the Italian Shoe God, only to be used when the clock struck midnight and strange things like Porsches turned into pumpkins and water into Dom Perignon in private local celebrity wine cellars.
Today, I’m going with the alias Yoganista, part guru, part girly girl.
I used to struggle with the dichotomies in my life: my spiritual, yogini, humanitarian side and my egotistical, life of the party, materialistic side.
I explained this conundrum to a professor recently who promptly said, “But my child, one side informs the other. Your wisdom would not be balanced or complete without the knowledge of the other.” Another wise female elder said, “It’s the unique combination that makes you who you are.” Combined, these two simple phrases have given me great peace with my own little yin yang.
I’ll tell you my crazy credentials in a humble manner, only to add street credit to the following tantric fashion rules I’ve put into place. Regulations I intend to give citations upon utter disobedience. Since you no longer have an ego being a yogi, I know you won’t mind when I call you out during class.
Yoganista Rule #1:
Don’t wash your black yoga pants (or any super-cult luon for that matter) with white towels. It’s annoying to you, it’s annoying to the type A who got a pumpkin in their face during a close quarters Prasarita Padottanasana (wide legged forward bend). And while the picking of 1008 white tiny lent balls may be meditative, it seems you’ve got fleas to the next table at the hippy coffee shop.
Yoganista Rule #2:
Don’t wear your favorite yoga pants without a nice, cozy thong underneath it. Just remember, every time you wear them and you do a nice hip opener, those threads are getting loose alongside your thighs. And let’s assume you’re washing them after every use (let’s just go ahead and pray you’re washing them). As your body frees from its limitations, so do yo’ pants girlfrien’. It’s the urban legend you’ve heard about. The naked at school nightmare you dream about. It’s taking “playing doctor” to new cosmic heights. It’s happened to me, it could happen to you.
Tip: Invest in a pair of lululemon groovy thongs: the no panty line, stay-in-place during Happy Baby pose, cover your crotch during an emergency, underwear. Security like that comes with an affordable price tag of $16 bucks guys. Great investment!
Yoganista Rule #3:
Don’t wear light-colored, non-wicking cotton yoga pants that show your coochie coo sweat lines. Our yoga lineage with Shakti teaches us to celebrate the divine feminine in all of us. Bikram gave us permission, and even made it cool, to sweat in front of the opposite sex. But even I, as a former midwife (another one of my nine curious feline lives) don’t like to think about or see a stretching yoni sweating.
Remedy: Spend $80+ on a name brand boring black yoga pant or branch out a little and let your spirit shine on your soul mat. I’ve been trying out funky colored, loose-fitting to baggy pants or even skirts over short shorts. Tennis inspired skirts or even the international ultra baggy “hammer pants” are making their way back on the scene.
Yoganista’s Mantra of the Day:
Be Yourself. Be Sweaty. Be Mindful of Your Sweaty Self. Just Wick.
Editor: Brianna Bemel