The 6 Principles of Pilates

Joseph Pilates was a tinkerer, an innovator, and a philosopher in motion. A century later, I find myself chasing that same spirit, honoring his original six principles while reimagining how they live and breathe in modern Brooklyn.

Before Pilates filled studios from Brooklyn to Bali, it was an idea born from curiosity and discipline. When I think about how Pilates began, I picture less of a glossy, influencer driven wellness moment and more of a man wearing a pair of oil stained Levis, sipping from a pint glass while in his workshop tinkering. Joseph Pilates was part philosopher, part inventor, a mover, thinker, and a maker …long before the fitness world knew what to do with someone like him. He called his method Contrology, believing that mindful, intentional movement could transform not just the body but the entire human experience. His approach was rooted in anatomy, gymnastics, and the quiet focus of Zen philosophy. To him, movement was a tag team of medicine and meditation.

A century later, here we are, scrolling between meetings, sipping $8 matcha, and trying to find that same sense of connection Joseph preached. We’ve come a long way from squeaky springs, yet beneath all the polish and progress, the essence remains unchanged. The six principles of Pilates still whisper beneath the noise , Concentration, Breath, Control, Precision, Flow, and Centering… the backbone of intelligent movement.

As I build my classes I use these principles as guideposts, timeless ideas that keep us anchored while the city hums around us. They remind me that even in Brooklyn, where life runs on espresso and ambition, slowing down enough to feel your body might just be the most radical act of all.

The Mind-Body Bridge

Joseph believed that movement without awareness was motion without meaning. I see it every day when someone steps into class still half in their inbox. Concentration is the moment they arrive. It’s that subtle shift when the noise of Court Street fades and the rhythm of their breath takes over.

I call this Kinetic Awareness, the art of paying attention without overthinking. You stop forcing the body and start listening to it. The beauty is that once you find that presence, everything else follows. Pilates stops being something you do and starts becoming something you understand.

Mastery in Motion

Control used to sound so serious to me, like something rigid and rule-bound. But Joseph didn’t mean control as confinement; he meant it as grace, the way a painter controls a brush or a jazz musician lands the perfect offbeat note.

For me, mastery is in the micro-choices… when to activate, when to release, when to hold back just enough to feel the work instead of bulldozing through it. It’s not about domination but dialogue. That’s the kind of power that lasts, the kind that sneaks up on you halfway through class when you realize your body is doing exactly what your mind asked it to.

The Powerhouse Within

Joseph called it the “powerhouse,” but I think of it as home base. It’s the center that keeps you steady when everything else in life feels like a moving subway car.

Every exercise begins here, in your middle, in your breath, in your sense of belonging to your own body. When I teach from that place, I see clients reclaim something ancient. Their posture changes, yes, but so does their energy. True strength, I’ve learned, never shouts. It’s grounded, calm, and quietly confident.

Movement as Poetry

Flow is where Pilates becomes art. It’s not just what happens between movements; it is the movement. There’s a reason I choreograph my classes the way I do…smooth, rhythmic, intentional. I want it to feel like music for the nervous system.

Flow reminds me to stay adaptable. The subway is late, the day runs long, something breaks (it’s always something). But in movement, flow teaches us to meet change without losing grace. More glide, less grind, that’s the goal, certainly in the studio but more importantly in life.

The Beauty of Detail

Precision is where things get interesting. It’s not about nitpicking…it’s about refinement, like adjusting the seasoning on a good pasta until it’s just right.

Joseph was meticulous because he knew the details matter. Where you place your foot, how your ribs expand, where your gaze lands, it all adds up. I see precision as respect. Respect for your body, your time, and the work itself. Each subtle cue isn’t a correction… it’s communication. The more fluently you learn the language of movement, the more beautifully you can speak it.

The Original Reset

Before mindfulness apps and morning breathwork routines, there was Joseph Pilates reminding everyone that breath is the first and last act of life. He was right. It’s the original reset button.

When I teach, I watch people rediscover it, the sigh that melts tension, the exhale that deepens focus, the inhale that pulls energy back in. Breath doesn’t just sustain the work, it stitches the whole experience together. It’s what makes this practice human.

The Tinkerer’s Spirit

Joseph wasn’t just a teacher, he was a maker. He built contraptions from hospital beds, beer barrels and springs, always experimenting, always asking what could move better, feel better, work better. He wasn’t afraid to play.

That’s something I truly resonate with. Pilates was never meant to be static. It was born from curiosity and invention. And in that sense, every time we adjust a sequence, question a cue, or bring new science into an old framework, we’re doing what Joseph did, tinkering our way toward the next evolution. Maybe the future of Pilates isn’t about changing its soul, but about keeping its curiosity alive.

Where Tradition Evolves

Practicing Pilates in Brooklyn feels like living at the intersection of history and innovation, where cobblestones meet coffee culture. The past hums under the pavement while the future sprints by in Nikes. That’s exactly where KIN lives, in that space between reverence and rebellion.

To honor the past isn’t to stay still, it’s to keep moving forward with curiosity and care.The six principles will always be our roots, but the way we express them will keep evolving. I think Joseph would have loved that.