When a Yoga Brand Forgets Its Zen

 

As a longtime fan of Lululemon—and self-proclaimed yoga attire aficionado—I was genuinely curious when I heard that Alo Yoga had opened a store on Dosan Daro. With all the hype around their leggings, I wondered: Could this be my next go-to brand?

From the moment I stepped inside, though, the experience felt less like entering a wellness-inspired boutique and more like walking into a high-fashion showroom. The atmosphere was cold, strict, and overly choreographed. Everything—from the stone-faced security guard to the rigid store policies, to the stark black-and-white photograph behind the counter—felt curated to the point of sterility.

Take the fitting rooms, for example. No matter how many pieces you bring in, you’re only allowed five minutes to try them on. When one shopper didn’t emerge in time, I watched a staff member—dressed head to toe in sleek black yoga wear, with dramatic makeup and long black hair—call out to her sharply, as if she’d violated an unspoken rule. Luckily, I had only one item to try. Still, the whole thing felt less like shopping and more like participating in a timed dressing-room drill. If time is the issue, wouldn’t it make more sense to limit the number of items instead of expecting customers to try on ten pieces in five minutes?

Throughout my visit, I interacted with four different staff members, and not one cracked a smile or offered a warm greeting. I get it—the store was crowded, and it’s the only Alo Yoga location in Seoul. Still, I couldn’t help comparing it to Lululemon, where the energy is friendly and the staff actually seem happy to help. At Alo, the vibe was transactional at best—as if whether I bought something or not made no difference. When did shopping for yoga pants become so joyless?

Another letdown: no complimentary alterations. When I asked about adjusting the length of my pants, the salesperson gave me a look that practically said, “Are you serious?” before flatly replying, “We don’t offer that service.”

In the end, I did buy a pair of navy pants—the design was undeniably chic and trendier than Lululemon’s—but instead of feeling like a fun splurge, the whole experience felt more like a chore. I even considered returning them, as I often do with clothes that carry bad energy—when the buying experience feels off, I end up remembering that moment every time I wear them, and I just don’t like that feeling. But honestly, I couldn’t bring myself to step back into that joy-drained atmosphere.

So will I go back? Probably not. Sometimes, even a great product can’t make up for a bad vibe. Maybe I’ll give their online store a try instead—it somehow feels warmer and more inviting from a distance.