The Mail Room: Does Going To Yoga Class As A Guy Make You A Bitch?

Mail Room Yoga

Is it acceptable for a male to do yoga class, just because? I’ve hit a point in my life where I hate myself enough to exercise again. I neither now nor ever had a problem with weight lifting because of all the sports and training I did in high school (something I’m saying just to assert my masculinity, probably). But I’ve noticed that my balance and flexibility are complete shit now. My female friends rave about how much yoga has improved both of these key qualities, but would a single, straight (I think) male attending yoga class be acceptable?


Essentially, what you’re asking me is this: I’m a guy, if I do yoga am I going to look like a bitch? The answer, of course, is yes. You are going to look like a bitch in that yoga class, because it’s going to kick your ass. At least at first it will. Depending on how intense your class is (and/or how out of shape you are) you are going to leave that studio a broken, crippled man. That’s because yoga is really, really hard. Every guy I know who has taken classes was basically in some form of lingering pain for the first few weeks. They also all said it’s an amazing workout.

Obviously, the stigma that yoga is for hippies and women diminishes the fact that it’s an intense, difficult, and satisfying form of exercise. (Never mind that plenty of professional athletes use it too, STILL GAY!) That’s incredibly stupid. It reminds me of when I was in college and my girlfriend would do these hardcore dance classes at the rec center (They sounded like Zumba and CrossFit had a jazzy bastard). Every class was basically a gaggle of sorority girls ready to dance off the late night Pokey Stix they had consumed during the weekend. Whenever she took those classes, she was in incredible shape. Apparently the class was brutal. The best part, though, was she told me that every once in a while a couple of random, cocky guys would go to a class to see how hard this “chick workout” could really be. Every time, without fail, before the class was even over those same bros were basically curled up in the corner, trying not to barf and cry in front of all the pretty girls who were still standing tall and dancing their toned asses off.

Admittedly, I haven’t ever taken a yoga class myself. This is essentially only because I don’t have time, and am perfectly content with the two to three mile jogs I take five times a week as a form of exercise. Granted, at one point in my life I definitely would’ve reacted to the idea of yoga with a, “GAYYYYYYY,” but I am both three percent more mature than I was then, and I now live in Austin, where yoga is the city’s second favorite sport, ten million miles behind Longhorn football. My point is, I would gladly take a yoga class, and you should too if you want to try it.

Been on a Tommy Bahama kick lately. How much is too much?


We’re talking purely Hawaiian shirts, right? And not, like, you wear Tommy Bahama sandals one day, a visor the next, and then a Hawaiian shirt maybe one weekend day? Assuming you mean how much is too much on the Hawaiian shirts, it’s dependent on where you live, to a point. Is there a beach very close to you? Is the weather always warm? If you’re in Hawaii, obviously you can wear it to your wedding and in the bamboo coffin you’ll be put in before being dropped into a volcano after you die.

Let’s say you live anywhere in the interior of the United States, though, and a beach is at least a day’s drive away. In that case, save the shirts for festive occassions. It doesn’t have to be too festive — the first warm day of the year is totally acceptable, as is all day drinking and anything involving margaritas. But if you’re just going through the Friday/Saturday bar grind wearing a Hawaiian shirt every night out, you’ve gone too far and are in the early stages of what will one day culminate in divorce and a Hooter’s waitress accusing you of sexual assault. Moderation.

Two weeks ago I got accepted into graduate school(or college 2.0 as I call it), which means I get to finally quit this crap hole of a job. However since the program doesn’t start till the fall I plan on not quitting till the end of July as to milk my pay checks as much as possible. Anyway, last night I got drunk with a bunch of buddies at a concert and in my drunken state started talking about all my plans for next year. What I had forgotten about was that I had invited two of my coworkers to join us for the event, no one at work knew about my plans until my big mouth told them. So right now I am sitting at work with a hell of a hangover and trying to figure out how to confront my two coworkers. I am worried that if they spill the beans to the bosses, the company will just fire me now killing my plans for easy money. God i can’t believe I am going to say this but, Bacon, what the hell should I do?


Considering that you went to a concert with these coworkers, and invited them amongst your actual friends, I’m guessing they’re both 1) around your age, and 2) your friends also. So, since you’re clearly cool with these guys/gals and they seem like cool people too, just go talk to them and tell them what you told me. Now. RIGHT NOW. Read the rest of this when you come back if that is the case.

If that isn’t the case, and they’re total shit heads, do the following:

1. Go out and buy a burner phone.
2. Mail me the burner phone.
3. I will make threatening calls to these coworkers, likely in a creepy baby voice. “I’ll be willwey, willwey angwy if oo tell anyone about what oo huhwud. Tee hee hee. I gonna wight yowuh house on fi-uh and when oo wun out scweaming I’ll wun oo ovuh with my big wed cah and thwoah yowuh bawdy in the wivuh. Tee hee hee.”

I’m here to help.

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Rob Fox

Rob Fox is a Senior Writer for Total Frat Move (as Bacon), Rowdy Gentleman, and Post Grad Problems. He is a graduate, without honors, from the University of Missouri. From St. Louis originally, he currently lives in Austin, Texas, and still has not admitted to his family what he does for a living. He is also prone to having wet nightmares ever since losing his virginity in a haunted house. Email:

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