Not content with turning St. Patrick’s Day into an excuse to wear green and swill crap beer, or to mistakenly celebrate Mexican independence on Cinco de Mayo and swill crap beer, white America is slowly doing the same for yoga.

Once the province of sadhus and hippies, this 5,000-year-old discipline has been dumbed down, commodified and sold to Americans for a tidy profit.

Following in the wake is a hot market for yoga mats, yoga mat bags, yoga mat cleaners, yoga straps, yoga blocks, yoga socks and, of course, leggings (Did I say hot? Lululemon, the Swarovski of stretchy pants, made more than $250 million last year). And don’t get me started on yoga apps.

Today, five of yoga’s six main schools—plain-Jane raja, bhakti, karma, jnana, and tantra—languish in relative obscurity while the sixth, perky little hatha (that slut!) hogs the spotlight.

You know those videos you see of lithe, ponytailed young blondes serenely and effortlessly contorting themselves on the beach or a mountaintop or some to-die-for flat with obligatory exposed brick walls? That’s hatha.

Hatha is the perfect exercise for Middle America. It gives folks an excuse to buy tons of unnecessary gear, to wear leggings anywhere and everywhere, and to bang on about asanas and kundalini and unblocking their chakras while slurping pumpkin-spice chai lattes.

Today, what started out as a path to liberation and enlightenment through union with the divine consciousness (“yoga” means “yoke” in Sanskrit) has become little more than a slightly exotic form of calesthenics.

It’s no surprise that Austin, an epicenter of all things trendy, offers seekers of the new and unique a different flavor of faux-ga: goat yoga.

An Austin couple has turned their pop-up goat yoga (or, I shit you not, goga) thing into an actual brick-and-mortar studio for local “gogis” (again, totes serious).

And what’s the point of goga? Good question. One of the founders said, “Adding baby goats to your yoga practice makes it easier to try for the first time due to the humorous and non-judgmental nature of the baby goats.” That’s probably why there’s no cat yoga – cats are judgey AF.

The online description of the class makes it sound like the bastard child of a petting zoo and a Flaming Lips concert; lady goats can be decked out in dresses, tutus and skirts, while the boy goats rock flannel shirts. Apparently LuluLemon doesn’t come in kid sizes. (Note to Lululemon: that’s my intellectual property, but let’s talk).

What does not get mentioned is cleaning up after the little bastards. And another thing: what happens when they get too big for goga and outgrow their cuteness? I would suggest cabrito-ga asada but, again, that’s just an idea.