Commentary

Breathe

I'm not interested in anything that involves a healthy, holistic lifestyle. My idea of regular exercise involves a circa-1999 pair of Converses, as opposed to a yoga mat hand-stitched by some dude perpetually on a quest for "kind bud." I believe that spirituality is a private issue and generally heap scorn upon those who yammer endlessly about their journeys to connectedness.

That said, the March/April Breathe did more to educate me, not to mention rid me of hippie-dippie stereotypes, than did 10 hours of Deepak Chopra audiotapes during a long road trip with a slightly unhinged ex. Launched late last year, the magazine preaches the spirituality/holistic livin' gospel without moralizing or affecting a schoolmarmish tone. It looks great and reads even better.

Breathe's success lies in its expansiveness. As opposed to focusing on the topics most often associated with the spiritual lifestyle, the mag surveys a range of personalities and activities - some of which, frankly, seem a bit of a reach. On one page, there's a spread on a Sao Paolo ranch that could have been pulled straight out of Architectural Digest; on the next, there's a blurb on New York's increasingly famous matchmaking cabbie scheduled for "Letterman" later in the month. Owing to this quirky mix, Breathe defies easy categorization or quick dismissal as "the yoga magazine."

To be sure, there's plenty of yoga info: a studio guide, tips, a first-person take on "this yogi's life," etc. But it doesn't overwhelm or diminish short items on a maker of beaded dolls who is pumping profits into AIDS awareness in Africa or on the type of massage therapy burdened with the unfortunately evocative name of "rolfing." There's balance here.

As for the features, they're clean and surprisingly lively for a genre that has been known to wade into self-parody. I most enjoyed the series of essays on identity (sexual, racial, etc.): this is sharp, nuanced writing, no matter how you feel about the mag's overarching aims. Equally evocative is a photo essay of sorts chronicling the work and technique of Christopher Bucklow, who uses shadow and sunlight to create what he calls "pinhole portraits."

Breathe even corrals a trio of celebs to talk about who they are, rather than what they're promoting. Woody Harrelson, rarely engaging unless he's babbling about on-set whoopee-cushion adventures with Wesley Snipes, discusses his pro-hemp activism and solar power. Fashion/media mogul Russell Simmons, on the other hand, talks about his extensive corporate philanthropy in a non-self-congratulatory manner. Neither opens himself up to ridicule, a feat in itself.

 Others are not so fortunate. I understand that Dr. Robert Thurman is a Buddhist scholar of considerable renown, but he comes across as the one guy at the meeting who didn't get the memo. His essay, which has something to do with Jimmy Carter, solemnly notes that "Powerful people and incomprehensible forces seem bent on our destruction." Man, I gotta have this guy over for tequila shooters and a screening of "Old School." I know, I know - we mock what we don't understand, yada yada yada.

Breathe roped me in with its knowing tone and luxe design. I'd be lying if I said I plan to take the mag's advice and quaff a wheat-grass-laden "green drink" every day, but it opened my eyes to spiritual and nutritional options beyond Springsteen albums and string cheese. That's gotta count for something, right?

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