Flex appeal in yoga class

A popular Westside yoga teacher recently announced in his class that two of his students became engaged after meeting at his yoga retreat in Ojai. Although the combination of co-ed yurts, legume-heavy vegetarian cuisine and inadequate restroom facilities tends to foster intimacy, even those of us who wouldn’t be caught dead in a yurt can appreciate that yoga studios are good hunting grounds for potential mates.

Almost everyone in L.A. claims to be doing yoga (when they’re not kicking around that screenplay). Those who practice yoga think of themselves as enlightened, health-conscious and spiritual, and if they happen to have a “yoga butt,” that’s just gravy. Mention a passing familiarity with any of several sexy-sounding disciplines -- from Tantric sex to Thai massage to chakra balancing -- and who wouldn’t want to date a yogi?

In practice, however, yoga studios are unlikely to put clubs like the Garden of Eden out of business. Though a yoga class offers the chance to see people breathing heavily in skimpy garments, yoga etiquette frowns on scoping out dates in class. The whole point of yoga is to focus inward, not on the cute redhead two mats down from you. Flirt, and you may find yourself in the Downward Doghouse.

In certain ZIP codes, making small talk about your yoga practice constitutes a form of foreplay. But with so many varieties of yoga to choose from, a shared passion for yoga is no guarantee of romantic compatibility. If you favor Ashtanga (a macho, athletic form of yoga), and the object of your affection is into Kundalini (lots of sitting around cross-legged and humming), you might as well be a Republican after a Green Party heart.

A yoga practice can provide valuable insight into a potential match’s personality quirks. Iyengar yoga, for example, is a highly technical practice that relies on blocks, straps and other props to maintain precise alignment. These props can provide hours of kinky fun in the bedroom, this style tends to attract those who spend too much time arranging their “Star Wars” action figures in precise tableaux. Bikram, or “hot” yoga, produces an enviable flexibility, but hours spent practicing barefoot in a carpeted room crammed with sweaty strangers means you’ll want to wear flip-flops in her shower when you visit.

Likewise, observing your yoga crush’s behavior in class can offer vital clues about how the relationship will play out.

Does he promptly fall asleep in shivasana (corpse pose)? Don’t expect stimulating conversations after sex.

Does she weep copiously in forward-bending poses? Could be a low-grade depression.

Is the guy too into yoga? If, in addition to a sticky mat, he brings a special towel, mat spray and an eye pillow to class, he could be excessively gung-ho. After all, every hour he spends practicing is time that could be spent building you bookshelves, visiting your best friend’s new baby or accompanying you to your high school reunion.

My friend Maya has had her share of yoga class crushes but now avoids hooking up between sun salutations, particularly in packed classes. “If I’m going to have my behind in some guy’s face, I want him to at least buy me dinner first,” she says pragmatically.

There’s also the very real risk of being burned by someone whose Gandhi-like demeanor disappears as soon as class ends (witness the creep in the black BMW who flips you the bird on his way out of the parking lot).

Although a yoga practice may impart an invisible halo of enlightened loving-kindness and good vibes, yogis are only human. I hadn’t truly experienced the sting of a yoga crush gone sour until a guy I’d met in class dispatched me after our first date with a coolly Zen, “I’d really like to kiss you, but I’m afraid it would upset my chi.”

Ouch. I felt that one all the way down to my seventh chakra, wherever that may be.

Alison Manheim can be reached at weekend@latimes.com.