The Chicken-Hypnotizing Yogi: The Story Behind a Bizarre Photograph (6 photos)

For years, this photo has been circulating across social media and forums worldwide. In it, a man in a suit stares wildly at a chicken, looking as if he’s trying to incinerate the poor bird with his eyes. Naturally, the image became a viral meme, usually paired with funny captions and wild theories about what’s actually happening. While most of these stories are pure fiction, here is the real story behind the famous photo.





Surprisingly enough, the man in the picture—which first blew up internationally before going viral locally—was a Soviet-era eccentric from the early 20th century named Vladimir Goltzschmidt. His full list of professions and titles is far too long to list here.



Vladimir preferred to call himself a "futurist of life" and the "first Soviet yogi," though his interests spanned far beyond that. He practiced athletics and strongman feats, wrote poetry and prose, painted, dabbled in spiritualism and nudism, and engaged in a host of other pursuits—both serious and absurd.

He was a well-known figure in Moscow. Standing head and shoulders above the crowd, he turned heads with his muscular physique and a complete disregard for the weather. Rain or shine, summer or freezing winter, Goltzschmidt wore only a shirt and jacket—never wearing a hat even during the bitterest winter frosts. Massive rings adorned his fingers, and his wrists clanked with charm-laden bracelets. To top it off, he often dusted his hair with gold powder just to make sure he stood out in a crowd.

The "life futurist" rubbed shoulders with Moscow and Petrograd's creative elite, including renowned poets Vladimir Mayakovsky and Sergei Yesenin. Goltzschmidt's own poetry was abysmal, but that didn't bother him in the slightest—he recited it at every possible opportunity. He made a living through stage performances that defied any traditional genre.





A typical show would begin with a lecture on healthy living, nutrition, physical fitness, and cold-water conditioning. The bodybuilder-yogi would lecture the audience on the benefits of ditching winter coats, rubbing oneself with snow in the morning, and pouring cold water over one's body. He would then recite poetry—both his own and others'—boring the crowd to tears. But the real attraction came at the end of the show. Helpers would bring wooden planks onto the stage, which the burly performer would casually smash over his head or break into splinters with his bare hands.

Next came classic strongman stunts: lifting heavy weights, snapping horseshoes, bending coins with his bare fingers, and other feats of strength. If the mood struck him, Goltzschmidt treated the crowd to even more extreme antics, like holding his breath for several minutes or swallowing a whole baked potato in one gulp.



Working-class audiences loved the spectacle, while the intelligentsia dismissed him as a fraud and a clown. Mishaps were bound to happen. On one occasion, the yogi got so carried away that he announced he no longer needed food, claiming he lived solely on "prana energy." Just two days later, the "breatharian" was caught buying sausage at a local grocery store. Only his impressive physical size saved him from a beating.

When public shows were scarce, Goltzschmidt gave private home performances. Occasionally, silverware or jewelry would go missing afterward, though no one ever caught the yogi red-handed. At one point, he had a run-in with law enforcement, who confiscated his passport during an investigation, but he eventually walked away unscathed.



The "futurist of life" also published books.

In 1918, Goltzschmidt pulled another stunt to outrage the public: he erected a two-foot plaster statue of himself opposite the Bolshoi Theatre. He offered a convoluted explanation for his bizarre act—expressed, as usual, through awful poetry:

“A granite monument I build to me,

A blow against bourgeois authority,

I praise the freedom of a wandering life,

No formal paper grants my liberty.”

If that didn't make much sense, don't worry—nobody understood the poet-yogi-bodybuilder back then either, and his statue was torn down the very same day. Shortly after, Goltzschmidt made headlines again by taking a walk through the city wearing nothing but his bulky rings as part of the "Down with Shame!" movement. Accompanied by two naked female admirers, the trio was promptly arrested and banished from Moscow.

But the "futurist of life" was not one to be easily discouraged. Banished from the capital, the yogi took his show on the road, preaching his core philosophy: "There is only one truth: human life on Earth is the greatest joy." He titled his lecture series "The Sunny Joys of the Body." Once pardoned, he returned to Moscow and picked up right where he left off.

Later in life, Goltzschmidt promoted himself as a "world traveler and hypnotist." Artist Viktor Ufimtsev frequently bumped into him during tour stops across Central Asia. According to Ufimtsev's memoirs, Goltzschmidt passed away in 1954, dying "in old age, illness, and poverty."



But let's return to that famous photograph with the chicken. Among his many claims, Goltzschmidt insisted he was a master hypnotist—and genuinely believed it himself. At his shows, he sold promotional postcards and photos, including this peculiar "masterpiece." How foreign internet users originally dug up this obscure vintage photo remains a mystery, but thanks to them, the story of this eccentric, amusing, and ultimately harmless character lives on.