If Rossen Had Reported: Are Your Lululemons Revealing Too Much?

A warning about your yoga pants: A new study shows that your $100 Lululemons may not be buying you 100 percent coverage. 

That new study out Wednesday morning shows an alarming increase in the number of down dogs becoming obscene, nearly bare asses being revealed by shoddily made, yet insanely priced workout-wear.

You assume these yoga pants are going to keep your thongs from being indecently exposed. After all, you paid a good chunk of your husband’s hard-earned cash for those things. You may think: “Everyone says they’re so flattering! So how could they be making me look like such as asshole?” 

Even on the hottest yogis, it can be a frightening site. 

Sunshine Smith is president and CEO of the watchdog group Safe Yoga, and says these Lululemon pants may be part of a bigger problem. A new report just out shows a stunning 95 percent of yoga students are now clothed in head-to-toe Lululemon – that’s a 50 percent spike since the holiday season alone.

“It is definitely cause for concern,” Smith told us. “Today’s yoga students – and even some of the teachers – seem to be more concerned with their outer appearance than inner bliss.”

To test this theory, we observed a typical yoga class in the Lincoln Park neighborhood of Chicago, Ill. After the class filled up (and we mean full – there was barely a centimeter between each mat) we found that the number of Lululemon-clad students did, in fact, roughly match the ratio stated by Safe Yoga. In fact, 31 of the 40 students appeared to be wearing the exact same pants. 

Within five minutes, the class was instructed to sit back into their first child’s pose. And what we saw was horrifying. 

When we pointed out one woman’s exposed cheeks to her in the mirror, she was shocked. “Noone told me about this ‘bend-over test’ when I bought my Lululemons. I just tried them on in the store, saw that I looked totally cute, and bought them.” 

What you may not know is that there is no federal law indicating how sheer yoga pants can be. “Should there be more specific quality regulations?” we asked Smith of Safe Yoga.

“I think Lululemon in general should be outlawed,” Smith said.

But for millions of mid-to-upper class white women, that’s not an ideal solution. If they want to keep looking super skinny and cute in their yoga-wear, whether while actually practicing yoga or picking up a tub of organic baby spinach at Whole Foods, experts say they should employ the aforementioned “bend-over” or “squat” test before purchasing Lululemon pants, or wear longer yoga tops over them – adorable tanks are available at Lululemon for only $64. 

Have an idea for Rossen Reports? Contact us! 

Photo credit: www.today.com. P.S. Jeff Rossen I heart you.

Losing it

Before I got engaged, I never understood the whole losing weight for your wedding thing. It seemed to me that wedding dresses were the most flattering thing a woman could wear, especially in my case because a long gown would hide the hobbit-like lower half I've never been a fan of.

But then my fiance started lobbying for a destination wedding, and my level head started to wander. It wasn't the dress, necessarily, that I was worried about looking good in (although I ended up going with a mermaid style just to further torture myself). It was the thought of spending a week in a bikini with 80 of our family members, friends... and their 20-year-old girlfriends that undid my Women's Studies education and feminist body image.

And so when I got on board with the destination wedding idea, I gave myself an excuse to start descending what I knew was a slippery slope. While I did try to eat healthier, my love of food saved me from going overboard on any kind of crazy diet. What I may have gone overboard on, however, was exercise.

I bumped my workouts up from a class or run 3-5 times a week to multiple classes or a run/class combo 6-7 days a week. I obsessively consulted my gym's fitness schedule to plan my week, got irrationally irritated when something came up that interfered with a class I wanted to take and almost had a nervous breakdown when their power went out for a few days (perhaps an extreme reaction, but days without power? A little ridiculous). At one point I was supplementing my gym membership with class packages at two different fitness studios.

Ironically, while looking for healthy recipes and new workouts in Women's Health, I came across an article on "New Eating Disorders" that included a description of "anorexia athletica." Signs of the disorder include: working out religiously (check); gym time interfering with your job or relationships (check); and feeling tremendous anxiety or guilt when you skip a workout (guilty). But to be honest, I think there are worse things to be addicted to than exercise... It wasn't the article that brought me to my senses.

While I was happy with the progress the scale showed, the mirror was more complicated. What I saw was a slightly smaller, definitely more muscular version of myself, legs still more hobbit than super model. My thighs seemed virtually unchanged, but my boobs had abandoned me, which I, and my new husband, were rather fond of... Something he wasn't fond of? My six-pack (although I thought it was kind of bad-ass). He actually found my new muscles slightly creepy and missed the softer, somewhat saner girlfriend of years past. Turns out the woman he wanted to marry was exactly who I was without trying.

Although the hours and hours I spent in the gym could have been spent doing other things -- like planning my wedding, or keeping up with my blog... I learned some important lessons. Extreme exercising will never fundamentally change my shape. And that's okay. I'm pretty lucky to have the body I'm stuck with, and even luckier to have the man I chose to be stuck with.

Scary Face strikes spin class again

There is a woman who goes to my gym that makes this face while she's working out:It frightens me. Sometimes she sticks out her tongue and wiggles it. And she goes to about half the classes I go to...

I complained about her to a friend, and she informed me that Scary Face has lost over 100 pounds! Apparently she was the winner of some contest at our gym ... and apparently I am an insensitive jerk.

I am very impressed, but when Scary Face happens to be on the bike across from me at spin class, I tend to forget about how hard she must be working and instead become distracted by the facial calamity I can't help staring at.

Is it too much to ask that facial control be part of gym etiquette? I often make scary faces during spin class sprints and dancer's body squats (minus the wiggling tongue), but I courteously lower my head so no one has to witness the hideousness. I feel the same way about grunting. My high school gymnastics coach once told me not to be afraid to make noise while lifting weights because I'm a girl. I responded, "Ew! Neither gender should grunt like that in public!" (in my head). Let's save the strained noises and expressions for our home gyms and bathrooms, please.

Photo credit: http://www.costumecraze.com/BTMN70.html?c=cj,BTMN70?c=cj (In case you want to be my workout buddy for Halloween!)

No boys allowed

I've been going to yet another new gym for a few months now, and I'm in like with it. What has kept my love from blossoming is one thing. Or person, rather. One rather smelly boy.

The reason I really like the gym is that it has an amazing variety of classes. I never get bored, even though I've been working out five days a week. What I do get at least once a week though is extremely irritated -- by the smelly boy, who consistently crashes the cardio dance class.

I like the class because it's supposed to be fun, but my dancing career ended with junior high school poms, and I'm not so comfortable shaking my booty in the presence of random men (at least when I'm sober and wearing a lot of spandex). I much prefer the aerobic atmosphere of women, united by shamelessness and gender.

The smelly boy waltzes into class halfway through, so he never learns the routine with us. He just watches us for a while and then "picks it up." Last week he sat on a bench that happened to be about a foot away from my face when we turned to the back of the room and did a move called "cleavage shot." My enthusiasm for the routine -- and my workout -- suffered as I tried to avoid eye contact. I thought I would get some relief when smelly boy finally joined the group, but he proceeded to pick a spot about two feet TOO CLOSE to me. Not only did his unbearable stench waft toward me every time we turned and dropped to the floor for push-ups (Ms. Fitness USA-style), but he ALMOST KICKED ME more than once. Sidenote: It was not a full class. There was PLENTY OF ROOM.

Then toward the end of the class, smelly boy waved in one of his friends who was lurking outside the door. At first I thought he was going to join us too -- which would have been annoying enough -- but no, he just STOOD THERE AND WATCHED for five or 10 minutes. All the booty-shaking, the cleavage-showing, the body-rolling. Just. Watched. I'm now getting the sceevies all over again just thinking about it.

What most perplexes me is that everyone else in the class seems to enjoy the male presence. Last week the instructor even named a dance move after the smelly boy. He doesn't even come to the whole class! And have I mentioned that he REEKS? I know people sweat at the gym, and I don't expect it to smell like roses, but this guy either doesn't wear deodorant or doesn't wash his shirt -- or more likely -- both. Crusty sweat stains speak for themselves.

I hate to be (reverse) sexist, but I'd think the smell -- and the awkwardness -- would be alleviated if the class were reserved for women. Not officially, of course; that would probably be illegal (or Curves). But it should just be understood. And if you are a boy who just loves to dance, at least show some respect -- for the schedule and our bodies, especially our delicate noses.

Recumbent Nemesis

I have a gym nemesis, and I believe her to be a resolver. She has voluminous blond hair, often wears sorority t-shirts (bid day!) and reads US Weekly. Worst of all, she thinks my beloved recumbent bike is her beloved recumbent bike. Last week she swiped it right from under my nose. I saw it in slow motion, her slipping into the seat a split second before my book touched the machine, my method of securing one of three coveted bikes while I wipe off my treadmill.

Straining to assess the bike situation behind me in the mirror in front of the only treadmill I could get today, a fuchsia tank caught my eye. Her. On an elliptical (of course). She would be on the one right in front of the recumbent bikes, I thought to myself. I faced a grave disadvantage, all the way across the gym with only half a bike visible in the corner of my mirror. Damn her! I couldn't stop staring as I contemplated my game plan, and I think I saw her staring back. Challenge accepted.

Toward the end of my run I started looking over my shoulder at the bikes. I still had five minutes left when I spied an open one, and a girl wiping down the one next to it! TWO open bikes on a weeknight?? Unheard of! I got so excited I jabbed at the stop button and almost biffed it as I jumped off the slowing conveyor belt.

It wasn't until I was pedaling that I looked over and noticed the bike next to me was still empty, and my nemesis was still working away on the elliptical... Well, now it appears she's just playing with my emotions.

Resolving to relinquish my treadmill

When I walked into my packed gym at the rather early hour of 5:15 this evening, I was greeted by the smell of farts and resolutions... mmm... it must be January! It seems the wily resolvers have already learned to avoid peak hours. And I don’t think that’s even the most impressive part of their strategy, which appears to be twofold.

By suddenly plugging up their neighborhood exercise facilities, they're also softening up the regulars. So while resolvers are shedding pounds, gym members such as myself are waiting in lines when they’re normally switching cardio machines, fretting as their iPod batteries run out because they can’t get on any of the shmancy equipment with chargers, making peace with the fact that the Christmas cookie effect on their asses may in fact become a permanent reality. Wouldn’t surprise me if these resolvers are also buttering up their personal trainers with gifts of baked goods.

I knew this January was going to be bad when I went to the gym the Sunday after New Years and it was hard to find an open machine. During the Bears game! The man hogging my beloved recumbent bike was actually just sitting on it, watching TV. Maybe his resolution is to simply go to the gym, not actually use the equipment. Perhaps next year he’ll take the next step. Good for him.

So then on Monday when I had to stay late at work, I didn’t even bother going to the gym, assuming it would be too packed and exacerbate the effects of being caged in my cubicle past 5:00 sharp. Foiled by the resolvers again!

Well at this point I think I’ve just got to hand it to them – this ruthless New Year resolution strategy is pretty clever. So I look forward to waiting while you finish running, stretching or standing on your treadmills for the next three weeks, resolvers! And then I’ll see you again in 2011!

Turbo Spaz

While I commend anyone who can feel the fun along with the burn, I think when you’re a fitness INSTRUCTOR, you should maybe care as much about your “students’” workout as your own. And lately, I’ve been a little disappointed with the classes at my YMCA.

Now, I realize the whole idea of cardio kickbox aerobics is a little ridiculous. [Insert name of professional kickboxer here] would probably be horrified to see a group of bouncing Midwestern gals jab-cross-jabbing in front of mirrored walls. But I personally feel that a normal cardio kickbox class releases the perfect combination of aggression and dance fever. I went to one of these classes at my gym in college, and I was delighted to see multiple variations on the fitness schedule when I started going to the Y by my new apartment.

Express Cardio Kickbox class – fabulous; what they call “Turbo Kick” – bad idea. The uber-enthusiasm of the instructors, their spastic combinations and my sporadic attendance create a perfect storm of awkwardness. Apparently it’s more “dancey” than regular cardio kickbox classes... the Y’s description ends with “some coordination is ‘helpful.’” Are those quotation marks mocking me?? I thought I was a coordinated person... back in the day I could do all kindsa crazy tricks on the balance beam (remember folks, that beam is just four inches wide!).

But in this arena I am very challenged... and the instructors do not help. They are having so much freaking fun that I don’t believe they give a hoot if we get their crazy “routines.” I use quotations because I don’t believe these instructors have prepared actual routines. I used to turn Tori Amos and Rusted Root up really loud and randomly stomp/dance around my mom's living room, becoming one with the music – what those instructors are doing up there reminds me of that. With more punching and kicking. Sometimes they yell out incoherent instructions a few regulars appear to understand.

To make matters worse, Google tells me “Turbo Kick” is apparently a whole fitness movement. Everyone sure does look like they’re having a good time... well, to anyone considering trying it out, I recommend practicing in the privacy of your own home first.

The ultimate test of humanity

I held out for as long as I could, but after the ground started to freeze and the snow started to accumulate (which no one shovels in my neighborhood of renters), I had to join a gym. I’m familiar with the 6 o’clock treadmill showdown, as I’ve had memberships to other gyms, but my current gym is especially tricky.

There are a couple of treadmills downstairs, but they’re no good because they don’t have personal TVs, and the gym is where I catch up on cable reality shows – Bravo, TLC, VH1 – they have it all. So I usually wait it out upstairs, where the majority of treadmills are lined up facing two walls in an L shape.

While gym etiquette is generally similar across the board, there are nuances to learn with each new membership. The first few times I went to my gym I gathered that the two walls created separate domains. People seemed to choose one side or the other, pace-stretching while they eyed time and mile counters and waited for something to open up. So the first person would take one leg of the L, and the second would take the other. If there was a third, he or she would awkwardly choose one side and pace at a safe distance behind the first or second hopeful, and so on.

Obviously this is a flawed system that causes me a lot of angst. What if all the people on my side are training for marathons? What if the dude on the other side crosses over when I’m not looking? What if I miss the end of Project Runway???

So I was relieved one day when, after apprehensively climbing the stairs, I saw a civilized line had formed in the middle of the treadmill L. When one treadmill emptied, the next person in line hopped on. Fascinating. This seemed to be the trend for a while, but it isn’t always the case. That’s not to say I try to convert the heathens, as I usually avoid talking to strangers at all costs.

My “When in Rome” strategy seemed to be working okay until the other day. Surveying the treadmill situation, I saw a woman guarding one half of the L and a man standing in the middle. Hmm. I timidly walked to the middle and awkwardly stood at a safe distance behind him. He turned and asked me if there was usually a line. Forced into conversing, I mumbled something about not really knowing, that usually I just try to keep track of who has been waiting the longest. “Was she here first?” I asked. “No,” he snorted. “Well, you’ve just got to hope that she’s not an asshole then,” I said. (This is why I don’t socialize with strangers. Verbal diarrhea.) “Ah,” he replied, “the ultimate test of humanity.” (Might I add that he had a cute accent and made me nervous.)

Shortly after our conversation, a treadmill luckily opened up on the other side of the heathen’s domain, and my foreign line buddy quickly claimed it. This is when I broke out into a pre-workout sweat. The heathen was technically second in line, but she was so focused on her side…what if something opened up on the other side? Do I continue to uncharacteristically speak to strangers and ask her if she wants the treadmill? But she seems pretty intent on her side…maybe she prefers the window view of Santullo's Eatery to Cold Stone Creamery while she's working toward her goal weight? Please, please someone get off on her side!

But my prayers went unanswered. As the belt in front of me slowed and the treadmiller began to collect her things, I glanced over at the oblivious heathen, then shamefully claimed the open machine. It was a split-second decision, and my social awkwardness trumped my civility. If this was the ultimate test of humanity, I failed.