Laughing matter: Clown Cardio doesn’t take exercise seriously
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Students of Clown Cardio class begin with a warm-up activity where each person tries to tag his or her partner’s back while attempting to do a dance together.
PHOTO: NYTIMES
NEW YORK – Whenever Mr Alex Lee mentions Clown Cardio, he is met with some confusion.
“People will say, ‘What is that? People dressed like clowns chasing after you?’” Mr Lee, 42, a technical writer who lives in Los Angeles, says after a class.
No one is wearing face paint or red noses – nor are they necessarily chasing anyone (more on that later) – but this hour-long session, which costs US$20 (S$27), incorporates a bicycle horn, mini circus tents from Ikea and carnival-style popcorn boxes.
Mr Jaymie Parkkinen, who founded the class at Pieter Performance Space in Los Angeles, compiles theatre games usually reserved for improv warm-ups and turns them into aerobic exercises with clown-themed props: a game similar to blob tag, where the tagged link arms and chase everyone; a more chaotic version of musical chairs; a circus tent version of Capture the Flag; disorderly dance competitions.
When he wants to expand the class’ repertoire, he visits Los Angeles’ Central Library and peruses the performance section.
Recently, he was inspired by exercises found in a 1920s book for vaudevillians.
In this class, attendees of all genders and ages are encouraged to let it all out.
“I want to emphasise play, not winning,” Mr Parkkinen announces before Clown Dodge Ball.
The disco tune Turn The Beat Around blasts while half the class competes to turn popcorn boxes strewn across the room upright, while the others aim to have more of them face down by the time the song ended.
“I can kind of unzip the human suit and be a gross little goblin, and it’s accepted because clowns are accessing their inner child,” says marketing copywriter Sarah Thompson, 29, who has attended four classes.
Los Angeles is already home to a vibrant clown community, with workshops and shows like Clown Church, Clown Zoo, a psychedelic clown workshop, The Idiot Workshop, as well as a clown award show.
But Clown Cardio is uniquely focused on exercise. It was conceived and launched in September 2023, shortly after Mr Parkkinen’s mother was diagnosed with advanced-stage cancer.
He had been working part-time as a lawyer at an entertainment firm and was inspired to focus more specifically on what brought him joy, and that was the improv warm-ups, where goofiness and physicality are fully activated.
With play as the goal, laughter and sound are among the metrics he uses to gauge the success of each class.
“It’s the auditory element for me. It’s hard to decipher the level of joy visually,” he says.
Can silliness enhance a workout?
According to Professor Sophie Scott, a neuroscientist who specialises in laughter at University College London, laughter does not burn many calories on its own.
But similar to exercise, laughing causes a significant endorphin boost. Over time, laughing leads to a reduction in the stress hormone cortisol, she says.
Professor Michelle Liu Carriger, chair of the theatre department at UCLA, thinks the recent popularity of clowning could be people realising that seriousness does not get them where they need to go.
“The things that got us through difficult pandemic times were not just washing our hands and listening to health professionals, but finding ways to detach, unwind and let off steam.”
Clown Cardio founder Jaymie Parkkinen has combined fitness and improv to form one wacky workout in Los Angeles.
PHOTO: NYTIMES
Many attendees say what they love about Clown Cardio, which meets in three Los Angeles neighbourhoods, is connecting with others.
Mr Matthew Moore, 55, an actor, producer and artistic director of Improv for the People, is 1.93m tall and is careful to not plough into whom he referred to as “smaller people” during class.
Throughout the hour, participants are tender towards one another, making sure no one gets hurt during a heated pile-up.
Safety is a crucial part of maintaining the humour of the class. “It’s not funny if a clown gets hit in the face with a frying pan and then doesn’t get up,” says scenic carpenter Sam Sullivan, who attends Clown Cardio.
Several students say taking the class helped them confront coulrophobia, or clown phobia.
The 25-year-old Sullivan used to be afraid of clowns, but has come to the conclusion that “clowning is not so much about the face paint and scaring people, but defying failure”. NYTIMES
