Costumes for Everyday Activites

I skipped off to yoga promptly at 4:16, to the cute little studio I solicite around the corner. I rang the buzzer, stood and waited for a moment, and was greeted by a distance, fuzzy Marguerite, who informed me that she was in Minnesota. Class was cancelled.

Oh, I pouted, but I’m so ready!

I remained on the stoop for a moment, letting an idea wash over me. Aha, yes! I shall yoga, abroad!
I strode home, determined to not let the moment pass. Upstairs, I devised a fabulous outfit for public yoga practice. I donned black leggings, and wedgie-prone red leotard, my spiffy grey arm warmers, and the black toe shoes. A costume!

But wait, wouldn’t I feel…self conscious? I wondered to what degree I would actually be able to enjoy my practice with people watching me, judging and leering. Could I keep my eyes off them? Would I feel confronted?

I snapped my fingers. The solution is simple; become invisible!

I snatched a black spandex hood out of my “collection”. Snugging the tight head hugger over my noggin, I felt at once impenetrable, unidentifiable, swift. To abstract focus on my body and actual intentions, I slipped into a pair of cat ears, my favorites…and snuck out the door, rubber mat underarm.

Occidental Square was, I decided, a little too busy of a spot to be making peace in. However, the extended corridore in front of Cafe Umbria proved to be quite lovely, and it was there that I unrolled my mat. Aware of my subtly bizarre presence (fuck, exclaimed one boy, glad I stopped dropping LSD!), I measured my paces and padded about as prudently as an animal. Once I had my mat in it’s perfect spot, I set about to approaching it, more ritualistically than usual.

It’s funny how the world becomes a stage as soon as one becomes an actor. I could not deny my acute awareness of every single person who drifted by. I could not resist the urge to perform, to make every moment worth watching. I tried very hard to ignore the present surroundings and get grounded. This was, I told myself, an exercise in security.

So I yoga-ed. I let my series be relatively spontaneous, as they are want to be. Despite my desire to impress the public, I kept my poses reasonable, thoughtful, and just athletic enough to gently condition myself. Little boys made pooping noises as I sat down into Utkatasana, and my standing splits inspired guffaws from those who may consider themselves men. People would come close, framing my face with ecstatic thumbs up while I sat, authentically serene, in easy pose. The predictable commentary on performance art was made in passing, and I beamed, anxiously.

Since Marguerite shall not be back to resume classes until the 21st, I see no other choice than but to further explore the intersection of silence and silly outfits.

~ by emilyeastridge on July 17, 2011.

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