The
Class

There aren’t many places where it’s acceptable to cry in public. Tears tend to be reserved for personal late night viewings of Love Actually, expensive therapy sessions, or the very unplanned mini breakdown in Ikea. And now, there’s The Class by Taryn Toomey. It’s surely audacious to call your workout “THE Class,” but it’s also audacious to offer the overworked and overwhelmed a place to cry, scream, and sweat without pretense or judgment.

If this sounds to woo-woo to you, fear not. No one enters The Class with plans to shed tears. But somewhere in this HIIT-yoga-pilates fusion with repetitive calisthenics and burpees that last an entire song, things can happen. At the very least, you’ll get a really good workout and leave feeling a little more present in your own body.

Sure, it’s easy to make fun of The Class. And it’s easy to write it off as another pretentious experience that’s great for someone who’s fancier than you. But take it from us, The Class doesn’t feel exclusive, so maybe those crystals underneath the floorboard and the palo santo in the air are serving their purpose.

It’s a rarity in New York City to find a place that strikes the balance of Goop vibes without feeling cult-y, and with a truly grueling workout sans being yelled at. The vibe is very “you do you.” Foggy mirrors and blasting music help to create a safe space where you can get in your own zone. It feels as effective as a really productive session with your therapist, for a fraction of the cost, and with the added benefit of sore muscles the next day. And to top it off, when all is said and done, there’s Chanel face wash.