by renata dibiase
When many of us began practicing yoga, New York City was a different place and the yoga industry was a very different thing. Relative to its ubiquity today, yoga in the 90s and early 2000s was still pretty new on the scene. It had only been in the 60s and 70s that the eastern practice took root in the United States, and it would take a couple of decades to yield our leading contemporary western teachers and institutions. At the dawn of the millennium, there was still something novel about yoga — in the shapes we were making with our bodies, in the wisdom of eastern philosophy as a refreshing alternative to many of our Judeo-Christian American upbringings, and, more basically, in the concept of exercise as a spiritual practice. Gym yoga became standard and the modern American yoga studio was born, the number of which would proliferate over the next several years, along with Registered Yoga Teachers, thanks to the teacher training programs offered by each of these new schools.
By the time 2020 rolled around, even before Covid, the landscape had transformed dramatically since yoga’s heyday. In twenty years, inflation happened reliably, Manhattan real estate skyrocketed, industries of all kinds evolved to keep up. While little changed over time within the yoga studio business model, the industry itself continued to expand. Something would eventually have to give.
The tide was already turning in 2018, when I decided to leave my job to open a yoga studio. I knew the market was saturated and that rising rents in Manhattan were pushing small businesses out, leaving gaping holes in the fabric of downtown. You didn’t have to look too hard to see the signs. Storefront after storefront emptied; the little shop you visited yesterday was gone today, forever.
Having already lost one beloved yoga institution with Om Yoga’s closure in 2012, I felt the reverberations of that initial earthquake when the Shala was forced from its original Union Square home, six years into Now Yoga’s residency there. At that pivotal moment, I wanted so badly to build a home for my community, a brick-and-mortar devoted to the kind of practice I believed in, even though it already felt as though the time for a New York yoga studio had come and gone. There were good reasons not to pursue it, but compelling enough convictions (mine, my teachers’, our loyal students’) to push us forward into what is now our physical studio at 61 4th Avenue.
Surely, the era of the 5,000-square-foot multi-room studio had passed. We wouldn’t attempt anything as outrageous. All we’d need was a relatively small space for a modest operation run by one person, supported by a team of dedicated teachers and the good will of practitioners willing to help in exchange for class. Nothing fancy; but it would be done well and with the labor of a lot of people’s love. And that it has been. We’re still standing after three insanely challenging years, the pandemic being only the most recent and formidable of obstacles.
The marketplace for a small independent yoga studio has been competitive all along, but it’s become increasing difficult for yoga professionals — career teachers and studio owners alike — to stay afloat, largely under the pressure to offer classes at unsustainably low prices to compete with corporate studios (Yogaworks, Pure), profit-thirsty trends (hot yoga, hotter yoga, sound-infused yoga, blindfold yoga, and the like), and donation models (pay what you want, if you want), and to “partner” with third party corporate “revenue generators” (like Classpass) in an attempt to fill the room, accepting the lure of free advertising in exchange for mostly one-time-only customers at the average rate of 30% a standard class fee.
And so, as the price of almost everything has increased over the last 30 years, the price of a yoga class has remained pretty fixed. On any given day, I can step outside of the studio at Astor Place for a salad and a coffee and pay more than it costs at most yoga studios for a 90-minute in-person class under the care and guidance of a seasoned yoga teacher. Meanwhile, in the last decade, high-end fitness boutiques have popped up everywhere offering single 45-minute spin or high intensity workout classes for upwards of $35. (No unlimited passes. No discounted class cards. Shoes and water are both extra, but don’t worry; they have your card on file.)
There was a time when perhaps the studio model (group classes offered on the hour, daily, seven days a week, at low to moderate cost) worked. When yoga was a thing. When classes were packed mat-to-mat. When there weren’t as many studios vying for fewer students. For so many reasons, this isn’t the case anymore and maybe, honestly, would never have been for a studio like ours.
Perhaps the most dramatic and relevant change to the yoga landscape has occurred in just the last 18 months. We don’t need to leave home anymore to complete our daily fitness or wellness routines. And though yoga studios everywhere pivoted immediately to offer their classes virtually during Covid, the demand for that seems to have waned. Anyone can get pre-recorded yoga at any time, either for free on YouTube or included in their membership with a large corporate fitness platform (like Peloton). The need to show up to a live, in-person class with a professional teacher feels less urgent, even if the alternatives aren’t as compelling. There might be something else at work, as we’ve disappeared into our devices — anonymous, unseen, unaccountable. For some of us that’s been draining and isolating. For others, I suppose, the accessibility and convenience of virtual reality has become preferable. One-way, on-demand content (versus interpersonal experience in real time) suits our busy lifestyles. It checks the boxes. And it squares with where our culture is at. In some ways I suspect our premillennial craving for depth, community, connection, and spiritual mining that bore the yoga studio has been tempered by the overwhelming onslaught of visual enticement to look, see, show, and purchase thanks to the ad-saturated world of social media, with which the wellness industry at large has been complicit.
As of now, it’s unclear what the future of the yoga studio will be. But it is abundantly clear that the existing model needs to evolve into something new and more sustainable; we can’t afford to try and fit the old mold. For me and for Now Yoga, the studio will need to shift into a more communally run operation — less administration and management, reduced overheard, more reliance on many hands pitching in. Lower budget, higher integration. For the time being, we’ll continue to teach on Zoom and we’ll try to hold onto our physical studio. We’re actively looking into creative solutions in order to do so.
This message is not an aggressive sales pitch to try and convince you to come to class in order to save our studio. Perhaps you’re not ready to return to in-person classes. We’re still taking our time to come back, too. There are so many reasons to ease gradually back into certain ways of pre-Covid life, even with vaccine boosters available and case numbers on the decline. Many of us moved out of NYC, or the rhythms of life have shifted such that we don’t have a reliable routine anymore. Maybe you’re practicing elsewhere or not at all. Maybe you’ve grown tired of yoga or disillusioned by the industry. We all do and we all have at one time or another. These are natural and understandable ebbs that necessitate a seismic contraction within the greater yoga community. They may add up to even fewer studios in the coming days. Many in NYC have already closed either just before or during Covid.
Whatever the outcome, there is one thing I know for sure at this point in my 20-year career as a practitioner and three-year experiment as a studio owner — and that is the value of a practice and community that continue to inspire and sustain me. And luckily, the essence of what we do doesn’t need any reinvention or resuscitation. Even if our studio closes, we will still get on the mat every day, or sit, or work with our breath in some way. We believe in this practice and we’ll continue to share it.
The simplicity of yoga is profound and that’s what sustains it over time as a reliable practice. I remember Cyndi Lee saying years ago, when I was quite young, new to yoga, and hyper-mobile, performing every pose offered in every class and unable to imagine a time when I’d ever want to skip a chaturanga. Yoga is about developing sensitivity. With time, with practice, with age, I’ve begun to experience how yoga allows for the capacity to discover nuance — to fine tune one’s awareness to reveal the infinite shades and contours of every little facet of being; to realize how amazing it is some days just to lift one’s arms overhead; to appreciate the world of sensation and wakefulness that’s available in the most ordinary of movements.
Yoga is about holding space, for ourselves and for one another — for creativity, possibility, and abundance; and for surrender, emptiness, and letting go. It will be there whenever the pill wears off, or the bottle’s empty; when the new toy loses its sheen, the latest fad grows tired, and even when the WiFi goes out. When there’s nothing left to work with, it’s still there. When all else fails, lie down on the ground and feel your breath.
As we transition into whatever the next phase is, we will be calling on one another for support and patience. We don’t wish to give up, and we’re ok staying with it if that means figuring out how to do it more efficiently, economically, and ultimately, for the good of our community.
We’re looking into sharing our space.
Partial sublet or studio share available. Please contact renata@nowyogany.com for more information.
