What Would Nietzsche Do? The Yoga Class Humiliation
Friedrich stuck his hand into the mailbag this morning and pulled out three letters: The yoga class humiliation, The Group Chat Problem, and The Personal Brand Crisis. He answers them in his own will-to-power fashion, where sarcasm drips off his mustache.
Dear Mr. Nietzsche,
I joined a yoga class to cultivate inner peace, but the instructor has begun correcting my poses in a tone that suggests I am a moral failure. Yesterday she repositioned my hips and whispered, “Let go of your resistance.” The class nodded as if I had confessed to tax fraud. I now feel judged by people who own three different water bottles. What should I do?
Gloria
Dear Gloria,
Your error was not in the pose. It was in the herd. Modern yoga studios are monasteries of scented conformity. They promise enlightenment but deliver choreography for people who believe enlightenment should come with bamboo flooring and a monthly membership. When the instructor tells you to “release resistance,” she is not diagnosing your spirit. She is enforcing a brand. A free spirit does not stretch in unison with strangers named Heather who have replaced personality with breathable fabrics. At your next class, when she corrects your hips, smile politely and ask whether the Overman prefers downward dog or upward dog. Hold the silence. Let it spread across the room like incense. Then continue your pose exactly as you please. True strength is not flexibility of the hamstrings. It is the refusal to bend when mediocrity asks you to.
Dear Nietzsche,
I am trapped in a family group chat that never stops. My cousin posts inspirational quotes, my aunt sends photos of casseroles, and my brother replies only with thumbs-up emojis. If I do not respond, they ask if I am “okay.” I am fine. I simply do not care about the casserole. How should I proceed?
Ralph
Dear Ralph,
The group chat is the digital village square, except the villagers are louder and the square never closes. What you are experiencing is the triumph of the herd instinct over silence. In ancient times the herd gathered around a fire. Now it gathers around glowing rectangles and shares motivational sayings that were clearly written by someone who has never experienced despair. Your relatives do not want conversation. They want affirmation that the casserole exists. You have two choices. First, the heroic path: leave the chat. This will cause temporary panic and several passive-aggressive phone calls, but it will also demonstrate the ancient principle that solitude is the birthplace of thought. Second, the diplomatic path: respond occasionally with messages so cryptic that no one knows how to reply. For example: “Interesting. The will to power expresses itself through lasagna.” The chat will grow quiet around you.
Dear Friedrich,
Everyone says I need a “personal brand.” Apparently I must define my voice, my niche, and my visual aesthetic. One consultant advised me to choose three personality traits and repeat them forever. This sounds suspiciously like becoming a breakfast cereal. What would you advise?
Sam
Dear Sam,
Personal brand is what happens when capitalism discovers the soul and immediately puts it in packaging. Consultants love the idea that a human being can be reduced to three adjectives and a color palette. It makes people easier to sell and far less likely to think dangerous thoughts. But the powerful individual does not repeat himself like a mantra. He contradicts himself, reinvents himself, and occasionally confuses the marketing department. If someone asks for your brand, give them the only honest answer: “I am a work in progress and the progress is irregular.”
Those who insist on branding themselves will spend their lives polishing a label. Those who refuse may accidentally become interesting. A small risk, and better than becoming cereal.
For more questionable wisdom from the only advice column where your neuroses meet their philosophical match, click What Would Nietzsche Do?