SKINNY STICK-MEN

Haters gonna hate.

Y'know buddy, you're not doing yoga in the West much of a favor here, what with your skinny, emaciated Charlie Manson-on-meth look.

Unless this is Charles Manson, of course, in which case, carry on.

'Course, this could be Frank Zappa, too.

Either way, I have no idea of the context of this photo.

Still, it reminds me that there's nothing worse than perpetuating the idea that yoga is something to be practiced by skinny stick-men and women, insect creatures with protruding hip bones and prominent wrist bones, eyes sunken and hollow from the fires of ascetic practices.

This picture calls forth a descriptive turn by the author Thom Jones: "the sound of two skeletons fucking on a tin roof."

My god, not that I'm one to talk — the second time I returned from India, I was 140 pounds soaking wet, a prime example of 90's Skinny. Don't worry, I've packed on some husk since then.

And so I would encourage our friend here to unfurl his twigs from lotus and pick up a fork. You're not entering samadhi. You're light-headed 'cause you're starving.