a yoga class is a whole new level of mean girls. a room full of (mostly) women, supposedly all attending with the common goal of achieving spiritual harmony and all, beaming evil "i got here before you" half-smiles to fellow yogateers, showing off mediocre stretches to intimate they take private lessons on the side, and flashing the lululemon logo around like it's the prada triangle.
they show up to a yoga class with a full face of makeup, soldered onto their faces and sealed with aqua net, to ensure nothing drips as they're downward dogging, sit on their mat for pre-class banter, and position themselves atop a perky butt, boobs safely held behind the latest overpriced lululemon biodynamic yoga crop top and perform their warm-up stretches, reaffirming their mat placement every few stretches with a sly look that canvasses every square inch of the room.
yogabitches. ain't nobody got time fah dat.