Laughter yoga class review: The unexpected joy of letting go in public with total strangers

When I signed up to a laughter yoga class, I was intrigued and excited. But my enthusiasm to spend an hour laughing with strangers swiftly evaporated after watching a video of the group I had decided to join: Ellie’s Laughter Playshop. I felt I had made a terrible decision. The thought of joining a hysterical cult in front of the Royal Festival Hall as a perpetual stream of city bankers and theatregoers passed by filled me with apprehension, not joy. I imagined the awkward interactions, the nervous giggling and the public humiliation, and seriously contemplated not going.

Indian physician Dr Madan Kataria founded the laughter yoga movement in 1995, claiming there are profound psychological and physiological benefits to laughter.

Curiousity overcame self-consciousness and I found myself walking along South Bank listening out for frenzied laughter. We were due to meet at the Nelson Mandela statue, but they weren’t there. I wandered into the Royal Festival Hall and spotted a small group huddled together in the foyer.

“Are you the laughter yoga group?” I asked. “Yes, do join us,” they said in unison, beaming. The six of us stood in a circle holding hands as people bustled past to get to the toilets and lifts. “Let’s start by speaking gibberish,” Ellie said and everyone nodded and started to chatter excitedly in an invented language as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

We were then told to imagine chewing a very hot chilli. As we hopped from one foot to the other, the lift doors opened and our monkey howling was met by looks of amusement and annoyance.

I had never realised there were so many different ways of laughing. We did deep belly laughing, hot floor hopping, howling and the can-can while hysterically giggling. After each laughter exercise we did a cheer. We’d all jump in the air, clap our hands, and elatedly shout “very good, very good YAY!” I felt like I was in the computer game The Sims.

Our shrieking in the Royal Festival Hall foyer did not go unnoticed. One of the attendants awkwardly appeared to disrupt our elation. “You can’t dance in here. You have to go outside.”

“Oh, we’re not dancing,” Ellie, remarked cheerily as we tried to supress our giggles. He did not share our glee. “Yeah, whatever. Go outside.”

So we ended up leaping like kangaroos and soaring like airplanes outside in the theatre square. The reaction of passers-by didn’t shame us into silence, but rather intensified our amusement. Some people increased their pace, feeling embarrassed on our behalf. Others would stop, stare and point. One guy who was on the phone, abruptly ended his conversation when he saw us.

We were standing next to a hip hop dance group practising their dance routine. As soon as we started running around like lunatics, they decided to abandon their dance and imitate us instead. The highlight came when we were told to play a volleyball match with an invisible ball. Our uncoordinated leaps and flailing limbs inspired a routine and uncontrollable laughter on both sides.

After we’d recovered, Ellie told us to go to the top of the steps and boldly declare a prize. Nick bounced up the steps and shouted: “I won the moon!” He strutted down the stairs as we all whooped and applauded him. “The next exercise is about feeling comfortable laughing at each other and yourself.” Pointing a finger at ourselves we burst into peals of laughter. Passers-by looked on in horrified fascination.

I was surprised at how natural it felt to laugh in the company of complete strangers. It was slightly awkward at first, but I quickly overcame my self-consciousness and it soon started to feel quite natural. After an hour of non-stop laughter, I felt both energized and relaxed.

“It feels like a proper workout,” business analyst Zoe gasped at the end of the class. Always keen to try new experiences, she said this one was “completely surreal, like nothing I’ve ever done before.”

“I love it when you laugh so hard you get winded,” IT consultant Jude told me. He’s been attending Ellie’s Laughter Playshop for over a year. “I have quite a tough job and I like to escape. Laughter yoga is a good form of escapism, not like alcohol or drugs. It’s not good to be serious all the time, laughter yoga allows you to be silly and go back to your childhood.”

Ellie and Jude met at a silent disco in Trafalgar Square. They both started going to the laughter playshops and a year ago Ellie became a facilitator. “I haven’t done any formal training. I just practise the exercises by myself.”

What do people think when they hear laughter yoga? “They think we’re a bunch of hippies,” Jude laughed.

The unconventional yoga class certainly draws attention and the uninhibited behaviour of the participants is met with disapproving glances. But next time I walk past a laughter yoga group, I won’t judge. I’ll know they’re having a really good time.

Ellie’s Laughter Playshop is every Wednesday at 7pm at the Nelson Mandela statue, outside the Royal Festival Hall, central London. Classes cost £5, or £3 online via the meetup page. If you pay for 4 classes at one time, you get the 5th class free