The Great Yoga Whitewash: Downward Dog Meets Designer Leggings

Once upon a time, in the land I come from (well, India, to be precise), yoga was a spiritual practice—a sacred science of meditation, breathwork, and asanas meant to unite mind, body, and soul. Fast forward to 2025, and yoga’s gone through a glow-up that would make even the most extra reality TV star blush. Somewhere along the way, it traded its saffron robes for a $98 pair of moisture-wicking leggings and a coconut water sponsorship. Namaste, indeed.

Now, don’t get me wrong—I’m not here to throw shade at anyone’s sun salutations. I love a good yoga class as much as the next person who’s accidentally fallen asleep in shavasana. But let’s be real: modern yoga, especially in the West, has been whitewashed so thoroughly it’s practically glowing like a Hollywood smile. And not in a “transcendent inner peace” kind of way—more like a “did someone bleach this with oat milk?” vibe.

Take a peek at your average yoga studio today. It’s less “ancient wisdom” and more “aesthetic Pinterest board.” The decor? Minimalist chic with a side of succulents. The soundtrack? Ethereal flute music swapped for a playlist featuring The Weeknd remixed with whale sounds. And the clientele? A sea of perfectly coiffed ponytails, all clutching $7 green juices like they’re the elixir of enlightenment. I’m pretty sure Patanjali, the guru who literally wrote the book on yoga (The Yoga Sutras, for the uninitiated), didn’t envision his practice being accessorized with a limited-edition lavender-scented eye pillow.

Then there’s the language. Oh, the language! We’ve gone from Sanskrit chants to affirmations like, “You are enough—just like this $45 yoga mat.” Warrior Pose isn’t about inner strength anymore; it’s about how fierce you look in the mirror wall while doing it. And don’t even get me started on “yoga challenges.” Back in the day, the challenge was attaining liberation from the cycle of birth and death. Now it’s, “Can you hold a handstand for 30 days straight without posting it to Instagram?” Spoiler: I cannot, and my phone thanks me for it.

The commercialization is peak comedy, too. Yoga’s been branded, packaged, and sold like a trendy superfood. There’s goat yoga (because nothing says serenity like a barnyard animal nibbling your ear), beer yoga (downward dog with an IPA in hand—cheers to that!), and even yoga raves (yes, glow sticks and chanting, together at last). It’s like yoga looked at its 5,000-year history and said, “You know what I need? A marketing team and a collab with Lululemon.”

But here’s the thing: I’m not mad about it. Okay, maybe a little amused. The whitewashing of yoga might’ve stripped away some of its roots—like the fact that it’s not just about nailing a perfect crow pose but about living a balanced, ethical life (shoutout to the yamas and niyamas, the unsung heroes of The Yoga Sutras). Yet, it’s also made yoga accessible to people who might never have tried it otherwise. That stressed-out mom doing “Wine and Wind Down” yoga? She’s still breathing deeper. That guy in the “Bros and Flows” class? He’s touching his toes for the first time since 2019. Progress is progress, even if it comes with a side of kale chips.

So, let’s raise a turmeric latte to yoga’s wild journey—from ashrams to athleisure. It’s been scrubbed clean, bedazzled, and repurposed, but at its heart, it’s still about finding a little peace in a chaotic world. Whether you’re chanting “Om” or “Ohm my gosh, these leggings are cute,” you’re part of the story. Just maybe don’t tell Patanjali about the goat thing—he might not get it.