I spent $140 on a Lululemon mat back in 2021 because I thought owning the expensive rubber would somehow magically fix my chronic back pain. It didn’t. For six months, that mat mostly served as a very expensive landing pad for the pizza crusts I dropped while watching Netflix. I was the person who couldn’t touch their knees, let alone their toes, and every time I tried a ‘beginner’ class on YouTube, I ended up feeling like a giant, uncoordinated giraffe trying to ice skate. It was humiliating. I remember one specific Tuesday night in my living room in Chicago—it was raining, I was stressed from work, and I tried a ‘Yoga for Complete Beginners’ video. Five minutes in, the instructor was doing a crow pose. A crow pose! That’s not for beginners. That’s for circus performers. I quit right there, sat on the floor, and ate a bowl of cereal in the dark.
The part where I tell you most apps are lying to you
Most of the stuff marketed as the best yoga for beginners app is actually just a library of videos featuring people who have never eaten a carb in their lives. They move with this fluid grace that is physically impossible for someone who sits in an office chair for nine hours a day. I tried 4 different apps over a span of 11 weeks, tracking exactly how many times I actually finished a session versus how many times I closed the app in a fit of rage because the instructor’s voice was too ‘zen.’ I tracked 47 sessions in total. My completion rate for the big-name apps like Alo Moves was a pathetic 22%. Why? Because they aren’t built for us. They are built for people who are already good at yoga but want to do it at home.
I know people will disagree with me on this, and I might be wrong, but I think the whole ‘community’ aspect of these apps is a total scam. I don’t want to see a leaderboard. I don’t want to see ‘Sally from Ohio’ just finished her 500th sun salutation. I just want to stretch my hamstrings without feeling like I’m failing a social competition. What I mean is—actually, let me put it differently. Yoga apps should be tools, not social media platforms. Most of them fail because they try to be both.
The biggest lie in the fitness industry is that ‘beginner’ means the same thing to everyone. To an app developer, it means ‘can do a plank for a minute.’ To me, it means ‘my back hurts when I sneeze.’
The one app that actually doesn’t suck
After wasting about $80 on various subscriptions, I found Down Dog. I’m not being paid to say this. I don’t even think they have an affiliate program for random people with blogs. But it is the only app that actually works for a normal human being. Here is why: it’s not video-based. Well, it is, but it’s not a pre-recorded ‘class’ where a teacher talks about their chakras for ten minutes. It’s an algorithm. You pick your level (Beginner 1 is actually for beginners), you pick your time (even 10 minutes), and you pick your ‘boost’ (like lower back opening). Then it stitches together a practice for you. No two sessions are the same.
I used Down Dog for 82 days straight last year. My average session was 14 minutes. That’s the sweet spot. Anything longer and I start thinking about what I’m going to have for lunch. The price is also weirdly fair. I think I paid $15 for a whole year during a New Year’s sale, though usually it’s around $60. Even at $60, it’s cheaper than two classes at a studio where the air smells like expensive sweat and judgment. Down Dog doesn’t judge you. It just shows you what to do and shuts up. It’s perfect.
Anyway, I once tried to do a session in a Hampton Inn in Des Moines while on a business trip. The room was so small I ended up kicking the desk and knocking over a half-full cup of lukewarm coffee. I spent the rest of the ‘zen’ session scrubbing brown stains out of the carpet with a hand towel. Yoga is glamorous, isn’t it? But I digress.
I actively tell my friends to avoid Alo Moves
I’m going to be mean for a second. I hate Alo Moves. I know, I know—the production quality is ‘cinema-grade’ and the instructors are basically supermodels. That’s exactly why I hate it. Every time I opened that app, I felt worse about myself. It felt like I was trespassing in a rich person’s gym. I tested it for three weeks and my heart rate, according to my Garmin, was actually higher from the anxiety of trying to keep up than from the actual exercise. If you are a beginner, looking at a 22-year-old doing a handstand in Malibu is not ‘inspiring.’ It’s annoying. I refuse to recommend it to anyone who isn’t already a former gymnast. Total waste of time for real people.
Yoga instructors in some of these apps sound like they’re trying to sell you a timeshare in a cloud. Down Dog lets you change the voice. I chose the one that sounds like a normal person, not a spiritual guru. It makes a difference.
The data I actually collected
Because I’m a nerd, I kept a spreadsheet. Here is how the ‘beginner’ experience actually shook out for me over 3 months of testing:
- Down Dog: 94% session completion rate. Zero instances of ‘what the hell is that pose?’
- Peloton Yoga: 60% completion rate. Too much talking. I don’t care about your weekend, Ross.
- Yoga with Adriene (YouTube): 45% completion rate. She’s nice, but I get bored and start looking at my phone.
- Alo Moves: 12% completion rate. I am too poor and too stiff for this app.
My hamstrings are like two dry twigs that haven’t seen water since the Bush administration, but after three months of using the right app, I can actually reach past my shins. That’s a win in my book. I used to think I needed a ‘guide’ or a ‘journey.’ I was completely wrong. I just needed a timer and a clear instruction that didn’t involve me putting my leg behind my head.
The reality is that most people quit yoga because they feel like they’re doing it wrong. The ‘best’ app is the one that makes you feel like you’re doing it right, even if your ‘downward dog’ looks more like a collapsing bridge. I don’t know if I’ll ever be one of those people who ‘loves’ yoga. I might always just tolerate it because it stops my hip from clicking when I walk up stairs. Is that enough? I think so.
Just get Down Dog. Stop overthinking it.
Will I ever be able to do a handstand? Probably not. But at least I don’t have to clean coffee out of a hotel carpet anymore. I’ve learned to clear a wider space before I start. Small steps, right? I still wonder if people who say they enjoy 60-minute sessions are lying to themselves or if they’ve just achieved a level of patience I’ll never understand.
