Here’s a yoga class that’s really heavy
The large, nearly impossible-to-read sign behind the bar of the Stud nightclub offered a hint at what was to come. Written in neon pen, the list of non-alcoholic cocktails was themed to heavy metal music and yoga references. I ordered the “Dead Man’s Pose,” a blend of rosemary, lemon and sparkling water, and balanced my rolled-up yoga mat between my knees. A gentleman covered in tattoos and a backpack that implied he was about to hike the Appalachian Trail walked up behind me and inquired, “Is this Heavy Metal Yoga?”
Indeed. Popular in other parts of the country and Bay Area, a yoga class set to heavy metal music had never been held in San Francisco before — at least not that Dottie Lux had ever heard of. Lux is an employee-owner for the Stud cooperative, the producer of Red Hots Burlesque, and the impetus for the class. “It was my idea,” Lux explained before the hour-long yoga lesson started. “I found the teacher and someone to create a playlist and someone to create the mock-tail list and I’m super stoked.”
Lux doesn’t teach yoga herself. She helps run a nightclub and puts on wildly popular burlesque shows. But the “ageless” San Franciscan has been practicing yoga for years and wanted to find a way to utilize the Stud’s space in a creative way through nonjudgmental yoga. “My goal is to make Heavy Metal Yoga for people who might feel like yoga isn’t accessible to them.”
She posted a date and a time on Facebook and let the chips fall where they may. I showed up, along with about 20 other curious classmates. When instructed, we moved past the bar and into the Stud’s small dance floor. Lux asked as all to remove our shoes. “I’m afraid to ask anyone to go barefoot in the Stud,” she joked, looking around the dive nightclub, famous for its raucous crowds and avantgarde drag shows, “but I did a lot to clean that room today. I Swiffered.”
If the floor was still a bit dirty, no one could tell. Located on a rather dingy corner of SoMa, the walls and ceiling of the Stud are painted black. Even at 5 p.m., the only real light was from hanging lamps that glowed a changing red, green and blue. It smelled like a mostly empty nightclub, a mix of stale beer, sweat and freshly cut limes. A disco ball slowly rotated overhead as we laid out our yoga mats precariously close to one another. One gentleman prepared to perform his yoga on a Kiss beach towel.
At 39, I was probably on the older side of our class demographic. And with an iPhone full of Adele and Broadway musical soundtracks, I was certainly the afternoon’s metal music rookie. But this didn’t matter. As the event listing stated, everyone is welcome at Heavy Metal Yoga. No one is turned away unless they show up late. Due to limited space, the class is first come, first served.
Three of my classmates, including Lux, set up their yoga mats on the stage to make room for the rest of us. Glitter curtains were pushed out of the way as our yoga guide, Laurie Stalter, repeatedly informed us that we could sit in “child’s pose” with our heads on the mat for the entirety of class if we wanted. Honestly, I was tempted. The last yoga class I went to was with my mother — and she was noticeably better at it than me.
Lux kicked off the metal music, and class began. Both the darkness and the elevated noise of the music put me at ease, not because I particularly like either but because as a novice, I found myself less insecure of classmates judging my poor poses and weird body noises.
Midway through class, a bar patron popped a nose into our yoga class and asked, “Is this a Burning Man thing?”
We weren’t supposed to look at anyone else’s yoga practice, but I watched Lux. She’d applied eyeliner and dark lipstick in honor of the class’ theme and seemed to be a master of the simple poses we were performing. Before the class, Lux said she had no expectation for the first Heavy Metal Yoga. Afterward, Lux collected a suggested donation of $10 from the students and answered the oft-repeated question, “When’s the next one?”
With one clear success under her hard-rock studded belt, Lux’s answer is April 13.
“I’m afraid to ask anyone to go barefoot in the Stud,” she joked, looking around the dive nightclub, famous for its raucous crowds, “but I did a lot to clean that room today. I Swiffered.”