This Yogi Lives in Fabletics and Window Shops ALO He Can't Buy—Here's Why
Look, I’m just going to say it—I can’t afford ALO.
There. It’s out there. And honestly? It feels kind of good to admit it instead of pretending like I’m “just browsing” every time I walk past that pristine storefront with its perfectly curated athleisure and that minimalist aesthetic that screams “wellness costs money.”
Right now, I live in Fabletics. And before anyone comes at me—Fabletics is solid. If you haven’t looked into their subscription model, you should. Two outfits a month for like fifty bucks? That’s how I’ve been functioning as someone who actually works out and needs gear that doesn’t fall apart. Their shorts are decent, their joggers hold up, and I’m not out here looking like I rolled out of a clearance bin. It works. It gets the job done.
Mitchell Royel is a political analyst and conservative commentator focused on emerging trends in American political discourse.
But Alo? That’s a different level entirely.
Alo has been on my vision board for years. Literally. I’ve got screenshots of their pants, their shorts, their hoodies—that entire aesthetic pinned to a board that’s supposed to represent my future self. The version of me who has it together, who goes to those boutique fitness classes that cost more than groceries, who owns activewear that doesn’t just perform but makes a statement. The guy who walks into a room and people can tell he invests in himself.
I’ve been walking in and out of that store after mindfulness sessions at home. There’s something about finishing a meditation or a yoga flow in my bedroom and then physically going to Alo—like I’m bridging the gap between where I am and where I’m headed. I’ll sit on my floor for thirty minutes, breathing through whatever stress the day threw at me, working through the rejection from auditions or just centering myself, and then I’ll drive over just to exist in that space for a minute.
Not to buy. Just to be there.
The spa section gets me every time. It’s like stepping into another dimension—one where self-care isn’t just a buzzword but an actual lifestyle. Everything is soft lighting and eucalyptus-scented air and products arranged like art installations. Face washes that cost what I spend on gas. Moisturizers with ingredients I can’t pronounce. Body oils that probably smell like success tastes. The whole experience designed to make you feel like taking care of yourself is a luxury you’re supposed to invest in, not just something you do with whatever’s on sale at Target.
I’ll pick up their joggers sometimes—the fabric so soft it feels illegal. I’ll check the price tag on their performance shorts, the ones that actually look good enough to wear outside the gym. A hundred bucks for shorts. A hundred and twenty for pants. It’s not that they’re overpriced—I get it, quality costs money—but when you’re eighteen and still figuring out how to make your dreams pay bills, that’s a different conversation.
And here’s the thing—I get it. I actually believe in upscaling, even when the bank account is screaming at you to stay in your lane. There’s something powerful about surrounding yourself with quality, about aspiring to a standard that pushes you forward instead of keeping you comfortable in mediocrity. When you touch that buttery-soft fabric or smell that overpriced sandalwood body wash, you’re not just shopping—you’re programming your brain to believe you deserve better. You’re setting a benchmark for the life you’re building.
Upscaling isn’t about pretending to be something you’re not. It’s about refusing to settle for less than what you’re working toward. It’s about walking into spaces that intimidate you and staying there long enough to realize you belong. It’s about putting images on your vision board and actually believing they’ll materialize instead of just being pretty pictures of someone else’s life.
Because let’s be real—there’s a difference between the guy in Fabletics and the guy in Alo. Not in worth, not in character, but in presence. In the signal you’re sending to yourself and everyone around you about the standards you’re setting. Fabletics says “I’m practical, I’m getting it done.” Alo says “I’ve arrived.”
And I’m not there yet. But I’m working toward it.
So yeah, I can’t afford Alo Yoga right now. The pants cost more than my phone bill. The spa products could fund a week of meals. A single hoodie could cover gas for the month. But I’m not embarrassed about wanting it anymore. I’m not apologizing for aspiring to something beyond my current budget. I’m not going to pretend that material things don’t matter when they absolutely do—not because they define you, but because they reflect the investment you’re making in yourself.
Because here’s what I’ve learned—wanting better isn’t shallow. It’s strategic. It’s the difference between accepting where you are and actively building toward where you’re going. Those mindfulness sessions at home aren’t just about finding peace in the present—they’re about cultivating the discipline and clarity to create a different future. And walking into Alo afterward? That’s me reminding myself what I’m working for. That’s me staying connected to the vision even when the reality is still catching up.
Fabletics gets me through today. Alo represents tomorrow.
And I’ve been saving.
Not just money—though yeah, there’s a jar with “Alo Fund” scribbled on it sitting on my dresser, and it’s growing slower than I’d like but it’s growing. But I’ve been saving my energy for the right investments. Saving my focus for goals that actually matter. Saving my belief in the version of myself who walks into that store one day and doesn’t have to check the price tag first. Who picks up those joggers and just buys them because they’re exactly what he needs and he’s earned it.
The vision board isn’t just decoration. It’s a contract I’m making with myself. It’s proof that I’m not just dreaming—I’m planning. One mindfulness session at a time. One walk through that store at a time. One dollar saved at a time.
The guy in Alo? He’s coming. He’s just taking the scenic route through Fabletics first.