Pilates is (not) about…
Pilates has become incredibly popular, but somewhere along the way many of us lost sight of the actual practice beneath the branding: the matching sets, the influencer aesthetics, the perfectly placed Bala weights, the luxury collaborations masquerading as “wellness.”
What’s ironic is that Joseph Pilates’ original intention for the method had very little to do with luxury or achieving a certain body type. His work was rooted in the idea of helping people return to life through connecting breath and movement, seeing the body as a whole system. He believed movement could balance the nervous system, support digestion, improve lung capacity, stimulate circulation, strengthen the spine, in order to restore vitality to everyday people.
Even the way he approached clothing reflects how far the practice has drifted from modern wellness branding. His only real outfit recommendation was minimal clothing that allowed the body to move and breathe freely. If you look him up, you’ll see his little tiny shorts he wore in many photos. He also encouraged lighter, less restrictive clothing in colder weather because of how it helps regulate the body from within.
Somewhere along the way, a holistic movement practice designed to help people feel more alive became repackaged into another aesthetic identity to achieve.
The wellness industry overwhelmingly centers thinness, wealth, whiteness, and proximity to conventional beauty. And the messaging reflects that constantly, whether intentionally or not. Who gets portrayed as healthy? Who gets portrayed as disciplined? Who gets portrayed as aspirational? And to be honest, I totally get this and have had to deconstruct my own beliefs around what I thought of wellness.
When I was around 25, I wanted nothing more than to be fit, hot, and rich. These were the late Bikini Body Guide days and the early era of juice cleanses and Meatless Mondays. Wellness blogs with fresh ingredients on marble countertops and impossibly clean kitchens were all over every blog. Instagram was just beginning to shape what aspiration looked like and the people who led the charge were predominantly, you guessed it, wealthy and white.
I grew up outside of DC, adopted into a white family, attending a private school where I was the only Black person in my grade. My parents were middle class, and while we always had what we needed, there were no extras. No shopping sprees. No allowance. No expensive name-brand clothes just because everyone else had them. Because of this, I spent most of my childhood comparing myself to wealthy white girls.
First it was wanting strawberry blonde hair and Limited Too outfits. Then Abercrombie. Then cosplaying a sorority girl in college for a year. The image kept changing, but the longing underneath it stayed the same: maybe if I looked right, I would finally belong. The truth is, I never felt like I fit anywhere but I tried to belong everywhere.
Somewhere along the way of trying to figure out where I felt needed and what gifts I had to nurture, I found yoga and Pilates teacher training. As a complimentary path, I also worked in marketing and taught at major music and wellness festivals. That led me to Los Angeles 6 months before the pandemic happened, and was also the time my adoptive father died. Part of my world collapsed while another part rose from the ashes.
Something spiritual cracked open in me during that time.
I found an actual meditation practice that helped me realize so much of what I had been chasing was never really mine to begin with. So much of my relationship to wellness had been rooted in trauma, assimilation, and a desperate desire to fit into worlds that never fully made space for me anyway. I studied everything I could: anatomy, movement science, photography, branding, business. Not just to build something for myself, but to create a space for people who were exhausted from trying to fit in. A place where movement could feel grounding instead of performative. Human instead of aspirational.
Even the way fitness trends cycle through culture can feel almost disposable. Suddenly everyone fears “getting bulky.” Then curves are in. Unfortunately we’re now back to heroin chic, and it’s influence on Pilates becomes a promise to make women “long and lean” instead of strong and capable. Joseph is rolling in his grave right now. The imagery studios choose in who gets centered, what bodies are celebrated, what lifestyles are portrayed all quietly communicates who these spaces are really designed for.
But bodies are not trends.
And movement was never supposed to become another status symbol.
Being a business owner has also revealed to me that much of what we associate with “wellness culture” is often backed by pre-existing wealth and access, not necessarily years of sacrifice, community care, or lived experience. Nothing is ever quite as it seems on the surface.
This is not written to shame anyone. We only know what we’re taught until something expands our perspective. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to feel attractive, confident, strong, or even aspirational. But health should not require wealth. Image does not equal impact. Money alone does not create community. A healthy wellness space should make room for many kinds of people, bodies, identities, ages, and relationships to movement.
Movement is not a necessity in the way food or shelter are. But I have seen and experienced firsthand what belonging and connection can do for people’s lives.
If you’ve made it this far, I hope this reflection on the ways we all participate in a culture that prioritizes image over impact prompts the question - What would it look like to shift that together?
I’m not perfect. I’m constantly learning, unlearning, and reevaluating my own perspectives. But I do believe wellness becomes more meaningful when it stops being about looking a certain way and starts becoming about what remains when we strip away all the fluff: individuality, wholesome connection, genuine care, and a deeper relationship not just with ourselves, but with the earth and all its inhabitants.
Tenley / Rhythms Founder
