The Empress on the throne when Tai Chi arrived in the Royal Court
Empress Dowager Cixi (1904)
Many accounts of tai chi history focus narrowly on Yang Luchan, the Wu brothers, and Chen Village. But that lens is too tight. The wider political and cultural context matters, and a useful place to begin is with the Empress Dowager Cixi, who was on the throne when Yang LuChan first set foot in Beijing.
The ‘You’re Dead To Me’ podcast takes a comedic look at history. You might find it a bit frivolous, but the history is serious, and provided by Professor of Chinese History at the University of Manchester, Professor Yang Wen Jung. In this episode host Greg Jenner takes a look at the formidable Empress Dowager Cixi and her difficult rise to power.
Once a formidable, disciplined force, Manchu society had, over generations in power, become associated with decadence and decline, compounded by the intrigue and factionalism of court politics. This was the environment into which tai chi arrived in Beijing.
It’s worth asking why the Wu brothers chose this moment to introduce Yang Luchan to the imperial court. By then, the battle-hardened Manchu warriors who had conquered the Ming dynasty were long gone. The Qing elite faced a different challenge: their distinct Manchu identity was weakening, and there was growing pressure to appear more culturally ‘Chinese’ in order to maintain legitimacy with the broader population.
Perhaps what was needed was a way to reinvent a shared sense of “Chineseness”. Something cultural, visible, and unifying. Tai chi fits that role rather neatly.
The debate over leaning vs upright posture may have less to do with force and more to do with identity
Sun Lu Tang performing tai chi
Does your tai chi style lean forward or stay upright? The debate over which is “correct” has been raging for decades now. Well, maybe “raging” isn’t quite the right word for a group of tai chi practitioners, but at the very least there’s been some polite disagreement.
The usual way of looking at this issue is biomechanical. Which structure delivers force—jin—more efficiently? Which alignment is stronger, more stable, more effective?
But what if we’ve been looking at this the wrong way?
What if the difference isn’t really about efficiency at all, but about who the posture was for?
I’ve just been watching a lecture by Sander L. Gilman called Stand up Straight! Cultural Perspectives on Posture, and it adds an angle to this debate that feels like it’s been missing.
Gilman’s core idea is simple, but powerful: the body isn’t just biological—it’s cultural. The way we stand, move, and hold ourselves isn’t neutral. It’s shaped by what society thinks is healthy, respectable, or even fully human.
Historically, posture has been loaded with meaning. Standing upright has been associated with discipline, control, and refinement. Slouching, or anything that deviates from that ideal, has often been framed as a lack of those qualities.
Crucially, those ideas have often been tied to class.
In one example Gilman highlights, early 20th-century medical writing didn’t just describe posture, it judged it. Working-class bodies and rural populations were sometimes compared unfavorably to “primitive” forms, while upright posture was framed as something closer to a civilized ideal. (source).
Strip that down, and you get a striking idea: “respectability” is something performed through the body. Posture becomes part of that performance.
So what happens if we apply that lens to tai chi?
Most histories trace tai chi back to Chen Village in Henan province, but its spread through Beijing brought it into very different social contexts. Some styles developed in courtly or intellectual circles, others among martial artists, soldiers, and working practitioners. And when you look at the postures, a pattern starts to emerge.
Styles associated with more scholarly or “refined” figures, like Wu (Hao) style or Sun style, developed by the famously intellectual Sun Lutang, tend to emphasise a more upright frame.
By contrast, versions of Yang style and Wu style, shaped by professional martial artists and military figures, often include a noticeable forward lean.
Of course, these systems evolved over time and weren’t defined purely by class. But the contrast is hard to ignore.
Even Cheng Man-Ch’ing, often described as a scholar and artist as much as a martial artist, modified what he learned from Yang Chengfu into a distinctly upright form. His idea of the “five excellences” — calligraphy, painting, poetry, tai chi, and medicine — paints a clear picture of the kind of cultivated identity he was expressing.
Seen through Gilman’s lens, this looks like a cultural divergence, rather than one based on pure technique.
Maybe upright posture isn’t just about alignment. It’s about signaling control, refinement, and education. And maybe the forward-leaning versions reflect a different set of priorities: function, application, and practicality over presentation.
I haven to admit, I wasn’t aware that Tai Chi magazines still existed, but it turns out that they do! In fact, there’s one called ‘Tai Chi and internal arts’, which is up to issue 76.
I can’t work out how you buy a physical copy, or where it is sold, but it’s made by the Tai Chi Union for Great Britain, and it looks like you can read it for free online.
If you are a regular listener to my podcast you might recognize the cover star – that’s Tina Faulkner Elders who I interviewed back in episode 33:
And inside you’ll find an article about Chen style Cannon fist by Nabil Ranné who I interviewed in issue 30:
In this episode of the Tai Chi Notebook Podcast I’m joined by Chris Paines, a BJJ black belt from Staffordshire in the UK.
Chris gained a level of fame in the BJJ world for a seminar he taught at a BJJ Globetrotters camp called “How to Defend Everything”, which was wildly successful, especially when that seminar went on YouTube. It got over 100,000 views.
Chris has gone on to develop a system for teaching Jiu-Jitsu that he calls Elements and which can be found on the BJJ Fanatics website under the name ‘Strategic Guard Passing and Pinning’.
You can also subscribe to Chris’ Patreon which is called In Theory BJJ. I’ve known Chris for a few years now and rolled with him and attended his seminars a number of times and I’ve always found his ideas original, innovative and inspiring.
It occurred to me the other day that I’ve been running a tai chi class for a couple of years now but never taken a single group picture. In jiu-jitsu you’re lucky you get out of the door without somebody taking your picture at least once — it’s a totally different culture and it’s interesting to reflect on the reason why.
In a martial arts class you expect your picture to be taken and shared on social media, or maybe you’ll even be captured briefly in a video of the class. I suppose it’s because you’re doing something exciting and worth bragging about. As an activity it’s ‘loud’ – there’s loud music playing a lot of the time.
The instagram for my jiu-jitsu academy is full of pictures of students, for example.
Tai chi is a different sort of activity — it’s quieter, softer and less about showing off. Taking a picture in that sort of environment feels a bit like going against the grain. It’s a shame because pictures can act as markers for when you started tai chi and how long you’ve been doing it, and a reminder of who was in the class then.
But anyway, I did take a group picture of the Tai Chi class last Friday, and I’m glad we’ve got at least one. I won’t post it here because it was just for the group’s Whatsapp. I’ll probably wait a year before I take another one.
When I was asked to name my favourite Check Norris film I could only think of the Bruce Lee classic Way of the Dragon, which features the legendary fight between Bruce and Chuck in the Colosseum.
Filmed 54 years ago, and it’s still one of the best fight scenes ever choreographed:
The fact that I couldn’t name another film he’d been in makes me think I knew Chuck as less as a film star and more as an Internet meme, related to his legendary toughness.
I guess he can now get that rematch with Bruce he’s been waiting for. Rest easy.
Every year, a BJJ celeb sounds off about how the gi* is dying and no-gi is the future. And yet, the death of the gi never actually happens — and I don’t think it ever will.
While the pro scene screams “no-gi future,” the average BJJ practitioner is still tying their belt every night. Here’s why.
If you only watch professional BJJ, you’d be forgiven for thinking the gi is already dead. But it’s a mistake to confuse what we watch with what we actually do.
Take my own academy as an example: we run roughly twice as many gi classes as no-gi. That’s driven by demand, not coach preference. Not every gym is the same, but I don’t think this is unusual — at least not in the UK.
Last year I went to Camp Eryri, a BJJ training weekend in North Wales. There were workshops in both gi and no-gi, but when it came to open rolling, most people chose to train in the gi. The majority of workshops leaned that way too.
Sure, no-gi dominates pro events, streaming, and social media clips. But the gi still dominates hobbyist practice, traditional gyms, and the belt progression culture that keeps people coming back. So why is that?
Why no-gi looks like the future
You often hear that the gi is boring to watch, but I don’t think that holds up. When a gi match appears on a Polaris card, it’s often one of the most engaging fights of the night.
And no-gi isn’t immune to the same problems. Matches can devolve into long stretches of unproductive stand-up, followed by a last-minute scramble or leg lock exchange that feels more like a coin flip than a conclusion.
Let’s be honest: no-gi dominates the pro scene partly because it looks better—more athletic, more modern, more like MMA. Tight rashguards, visible physiques, more tattoos, faster scrambles—it’s easier to sell and easier to package.
With fewer grips, it’s also theoretically easier for casual viewers to understand. There are also supposed to be fewer opportunities to stall—again, in theory. In practice, anyone who’s watched recent ADCC trials knows that stalling is alive and well in no-gi too.
No-gi also benefits from crossover appeal. Wrestlers and MMA fighters can step in more easily, and if BJJ ever pushes for Olympic recognition, the argument tends to favor no-gi.
But the gi isn’t going anywhere.
Belts still matter in BJJ, and people value the sense of progression that comes with them. It’s addictive. It gives structure. It connects you to the history of the art.
Then there’s the technical depth. The gi adds layers—grips, controls, positions—that appeal to the more analytical side of training.
And perhaps most importantly, the gi is still the default language of BJJ worldwide.
I understand why some people prefer no-gi. The gi can be tough on your fingers. It can be frustrating when someone neutralizes your athleticism using your own clothing. And yes, there’s a lot of laundry.
But I don’t mind the laundry. I like having a few clean layers between me and my opponent. It feels more hygienic, and less like I’m stepping into a low-level germ warfare experiment every time I train.
In competition, both styles can be boring. The real issue isn’t the uniform — it’s the rule set.
No-gi will probably continue to dominate the professional scene. The gi will continue to dominate everyday training. And that’s fine.
We haven’t stopped training in the gi—we’ve just stopped paying attention to it.
(* If you’re new to BJJ: the gi is the traditional uniform, similar to judo, while no-gi typically involves a rash guard and shorts.)
It’s a bit annoying that there is clearly something wrong with my microphone, but it is what it is. (At least the video version below has subtitles!)
I manged to talk about my BJJ book, what tai chi and Chinese martial arts can bring to Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu training and some thoughts on different ways of learning and training.
Tai Chi has always felt like it’s very good for me — for the mind, the breath, the joints, for my overall functioning as a human being — but I’ve never really considered it a weight-loss tool. That’s despite the rash of frankly hilarious ads currently clogging up social media, bizarrely presenting Tai Chi as the secret to giving men over 50 a six-pack.
What’s even more galling is that if you actually look at the “Tai Chi” weight-loss exercises these products are trying to sell, they’re not Tai Chi at all. They’re what could most generously be described as basic warm-up movements — and the ripped old men demonstrating them are very obviously AI-generated.
Exercise of any kind is beneficial for health, but Tai Chi has never been particularly associated with weight loss. And now, inconveniently for the entire fitness industry, the idea of exercise as a reliable weight-loss tool has just taken a kick in the teeth courtesy of a recent New Scientist article, which argues that exercise, while very good for you, may not lead to weight loss as much as we’ve been led to believe.
According to the article, the basic problem is compensation. When you exercise more, your body simply burns less energy elsewhere to make up for it — and this effect can be even stronger if you’re also dieting.
As the article puts it:
“Exercise is tremendously beneficial for our health in many ways, but it’s not that effective when it comes to losing weight — and now we have the best evidence yet explaining why this is.
People who start to exercise more burn extra calories. Yet they don’t lose nearly as much weight as would be expected based on the extra calories burned. Now, an analysis of 14 trials in people has revealed that our bodies compensate by burning less energy for other things.” – New Scientist
Seen in that light, it makes far more sense to view Chinese martial arts — Tai Chi included — as tools for improving overall quality of life rather than as weight-loss hacks. That includes balance, coordination, joint health, breathing, mental focus, and, perhaps most importantly, social connection.
Feel the burn
If you’re practicing Tai Chi and want to improve your overall fitness while staying within the Chinese martial arts ecosystem, it’s worth pairing it with something more physically demanding. Styles like Choy Li Fut, Hung Gar, or Praying Mantis, for example, place much greater demands on strength and cardiovascular capacity.
Alternatively, you could lean into the more demanding side of Tai Chi itself — weapons forms, longer routines, or more continuous practice sessions can be surprisingly taxing.
Not all Tai Chi is the same. Most people today practice softer styles, where this advice applies most clearly. Some styles — Chen style in particular — include more vigorous stamping, jumping, and explosive movements, and may not require additional training alongside them.
Either way, common sense still applies. For a well-rounded approach to health, it helps to do something that makes you breathe harder than normal.
Tai Chi doesn’t need to promise abs, calorie burn, or dramatic body transformations to justify its existence. Its value lies elsewhere — in longevity, resilience, awareness, and the quiet accumulation of small benefits over time.
If weight loss happens alongside that, fine. But if it doesn’t, Tai Chi hasn’t failed. It’s simply doing what it has always done best: helping people move better, breathe better, and feel more at home in their bodies — no six-pack required.
The Tai Chi Notebook 