I blame the apartment.
Last month, the cat and I moved to the Mosaic District. My previous address was a New York walk-up, in which the (very much inhabited) first floor served as the building trash chute. You left your trash under the stairs of the first floor, like an offering to the trash gods. By morning, your sacrifice had been consumed. It was actually kind of magical! But in a bad way.
Compared to New York, my new apartment is comically amazing. I have a dishwasher, you guys! The building has a pool. A rooftop pool. With multiple poolside cabanas. All of those new appliances and hardwood flooring were bound to go to my head. "Look at you, with your clean dishes," they whispered seductively. "You're a Real Person now. I bet you do Real Person things, like starting the day with yoga and eating non-S'more Pop Tart food items."
That's how I ended up in a 6:30 AM warm vinyasa class, literally hopping on one foot to preserve my tree pose. I knew I had made a very serious mistake as soon as the hot, thick air hit me. Sweat poured into my eyes as I miserably grabbed at my ankles. My classmates (obviously circus escapees) glided from pose to pose, graciously pretending not to notice me.
I forced myself to stay a full half hour. "We have beginners' classes on Sundays," the instructor whispered gently.
Okay, so that was a few Sundays ago. But I'm definitely probably going this Sunday! And this time, I'm going prepared. Maybe I'll even bring a water bottle! ("It's warm yoga, not hot yoga," I distinctly remember telling everyone. Cringe.) And I'll be wearing perfume, because it turns out that perfume is kind of necessary in a hot, sweaty, unshowered (just me? It's 6:30!) room. I'm thinking:
Etat Libre d'Orange Fat Electrician. Because that's what I felt like after half an hour surrounded by circus escapees. Might as well own it!
It turns out that some yoga classes actually forbid fragrance altogether, probably out of fear that someone will show up wearing Angel. In that case, your loophole is Atelier Cologne Pomelo Paradis Body Lotion. I don't know how they do it, but Atelier Cologne's lotions are as potent as most Eau de Toilettes. And Pomelo Paradis' zesty grapefruit is just the thing to slice through hot yoga humidity.
Bond No. 9 New Haarlem. There's no time to caffinate before a 6:30 class, but a coffee fragrance might give you a placebo jolt of energy. Hold the cream and sugar; New Haarlem is more of a dark roast than a frappachino.
Maison Francis Kurkdjian Aqua Universalis. When someone asks for "clean" or "fresh from the shower", Aqua Universalis is the first fragrance I reach for. That bright, crisp citron note makes a nice contrast to sweat-soaked spandex.
Neela Vermeire Trayee. If I can't be serenely meditative, at least my fragrance can. Inspired by Hindu sacred texts, Trayee's delicate incense note is gorgeous enough to make me forgive India for inventing yoga.
Disclaimers: This post does not contain affiliate links. Photo credit: Benjamin Torode. (That cat is probably better at yoga than me.)