Disclaimer: I have nothing against yoga. In fact I see it as an effective way to strengthen and tone the body, improve flexibility and reduce stress. I also like Yoga chicks because they tend to be very sexy, open-minded and smart.
Have you ever noticed what happens to otherwise normal, middle-age men after they start attending a regular yoga class?
First, there’s the submission thing, which nobody talks about. This is where a man subconsciously agrees to surrender his masculinity to the woman he really wants to be.
This is not a criticism, mind you.
For him yoga is more about community; a place of shared ideals, values and core beliefs, which may include cross-dressing, for example.
Yoga is a very effective way to feminize men, and yoga women relish this opportunity. They congratulate him. Pat him on the back. And make him feel like one of the girls. They tell him how brave he is to face down the world of conformists and meat eaters. How he has taken a giant step forward in his personal evolution.
Over time he befriends these women, who he allows to divide him from a world in which he never felt accepted and/or embraced; an ignorant, harsh and unenlightened world of wars, brutality and injustice.
The initial sign of his dissension into madness is a precipitous loss of weight coupled with a make-over.
His once muscular features have softened into something more undulating and worm-like. One can’t help but think of reptiles that shed their skin in order to regenerate.
In his case, he’s degenerating, but shedding anyway.
He no longer wears his Nike cross-trainers, preferring instead to drift around silently in high, white socks as though he’s in some sort of secluded spa where it’s part of the dress code.
Eventually, he ditches the socks in favor of actual feet, which help get him more in touch with the earth; a place he seems to be destined to go back to way ahead of schedule.
In six short months, the man’ clothing has gone from shorts and a t-shirt to black cotton leggings and a mid-rift.
Now this new world man wanders around like a psychiatric patient in what appears to be a permanent hallucinatory state with some antisocial disorder thrown in. His dreamy demeanor gives the impression that he doesn’t exist at all, which is the point.
Like the millions and millions of regenerated souls that came before him; souls that have tried and failed to achieve nothingness, he will succeed this time around…hopefully without getting thrown out of the club for not using his pass key, which he now considers meaningless, but which the club disagrees and then charges his Visa anyway.
So there you have it.
In the absence of introspection, older men become emotionally vulnerable. They’re sick of everything, and pissed off that their lives have been lived for people other than themselves, whoever that is. So now is the time to take back what’s rightfully theirs, which is where I was going with the cotton leggings and mid-rift thing.