Is the Alexander Technique a Placebo?

The first time someone told me the Alexander Technique might be a placebo, I laughed. Not because the idea was absurd, but because it struck a nerve. The thing about placebos is that they do actually work, otherwise the there'd be no reason for the word to exist. The placebo effect is a fascinating look into mind-body unity, or Psychophysical Unity as it's known in the Alexander Technique.

After all, the technique doesn’t involve medication, physical manipulation, or even traditional exercises. Instead, it asks you to think differently—about your posture, your movement, your habits. If a placebo works by changing beliefs, and the Alexander Technique works by changing thinking… well, isn’t that the same thing?  

But the more I practiced, the more I accepted: no, it’s not. And yet, the comparison is fascinating.

A placebo works because the mind expects healing. If you believe a sugar pill will ease your pain, sometimes it does. The power of expectation is real—neurochemically, physiologically. But the key is that the belief itself does the work, not the pill. However, it does require a level of suggestibility, something I'm personally lacking in. Unfortunately for me, placebos have little to no affect on me.

The Alexander Technique, on the other hand, doesn’t ask for belief. It asks for participation. Instead of swallowing a pill, you’re invited to notice how you clench your jaw when stressed, how you collapse your ribs when sad, how you’ve spent decades moving through the world like an apology—shoulders rounded, breath shallow. It’s not belief that transforms you; it’s the gradual rewiring of unconscious patterns.  

And yet… 

Here’s where the ghost of placebo lingers. Both the placebo effect and the Alexander Technique hinge on the mind’s influence over the body. One does it through expectation, the other through conscious redirection. One is passive surrender, the other active revision.

A placebo works because you believe in the story. The Alexander Technique works because you change the story.

I remember a lesson where my teacher asked me to sit down—a simple act I’d done a million times. But this time, she stopped me mid-motion. “You’re bracing for the chair,” she said. “Why?” I froze. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how much fear lived in my reactions: fear of falling, fear of being wrong, fear of taking up space. Sitting became a metaphor. To move without bracing, without apology, felt radical. Was that “healing”? Or was I just… thinking differently?

What haunts me about the placebo comparison is this: if the Alexander Technique were merely a mind trick, its effects would evaporate the moment doubt crept in. But the changes I’ve felt—the quiet spine, the grounded breath, the absence of pain that once felt inevitable—persist even on days I’m too busy or cynical to “believe” in the work.

Placebos rely on illusion. The Alexander Technique thrives on interrogation. It doesn’t soothe you with a story; it asks you to question the stories your body has been telling. Why do you grip your pen like a weapon when you write? Why do you hold your breath when you concentrate? These aren’t mysteries to solve but habits to witness, gently, like clouds passing.

The Alexander Technique looks to undo unhelpful/harmful habits. Habits are essentially a belief system. Where placebos look to engage your belief system, the Alexander Technique seeks to disengage it. I've often said that one of the trickier aspects of the Alexander Technique is that it asks you to disbelieve in aspects of yourself.

If the Alexander Technique were a placebo, its benefits would fade once you stopped believing in it. But that’s not what happens. The changes persist because they’re rooted in how you use yourself, not in what you believe about the method.  

That said, the comparison is worth sitting with. Both placebo and the Alexander Technique reveal something profound: the mind and body are not separate. What we think, how we attend, the stories we tell ourselves—they all shape our physical reality. The difference is that one works by illusion, the other by conscious choice.

And perhaps that’s the most beautiful thing about the Alexander Technique. It doesn’t ask for blind faith. It asks for curiosity, for presence. It’s not a sugar pill—it’s a mirror, showing us how much we’ve been getting in our own way.

And that, I’ve found, is far more powerful than any placebo.

Some studies, like the 2008 randomized controlled trial in The British Medical Journal, showed it reduced chronic back pain more than standard care, with participants reporting less pain and improved function after lessons. The sustained benefits (up to one year) suggest effects beyond short-term placebo. Similar trials for neck pain and Parkinson’s-related issues suggest benefits in movement and symptom management, with measurable outcomes like reduced muscle tension or better balance. Although the placebo effect can't be ruled out, that's equally true of the control group, and those having Alexander lessons faired better than the control group. Its theoretical basis involves retraining neuromuscular patterns, which can lead to measurable physiological changes, such as reduced muscle tension (supported by studies using electromyography).

And a 2015 randomized controlled trial compared AT to sham lessons (placebo-like control) and found superior pain reduction and functional improvement in the AT group, directly addressing placebo concerns.  

While placebo effects may contribute (as with any intervention), AT’s benefits are linked to specific, teachable skills. Long-term efficacy and objective measures (e.g. muscle activity changes) support its legitimacy beyond placebo.

Maybe the real magic lies in the overlap. Both placebo and the Alexander Technique expose the fluid line between mind and body. One manipulates belief; the other cultivates awareness. One is a performance, the other a practice.

I think of my grandmother, who swore by her lavender oil for headaches. It didn’t cure her migraines, but it gave her a ritual—a pause, a breath, a moment to reset. The Alexander Technique, for me, is that lavender oil. Not because it’s mystical, but because it carves out space to notice. To unclench. To choose.

Maybe it's the ultimate placebo (no, I don't really think that), but In the end, I don’t care.  

What matters is this: I move through the world differently now. My body isn’t a problem to fix but a conversation to have. Some days, the dialogue is clumsy. Others, it’s grace. But it’s mine—not a pill’s, not a placebo’s, not a teacher’s.  

The Alexander Technique didn’t give me a cure. It gave me a mirror. And in that reflection, I found something better than belief: agency.

6 week online one-to-one Alexander Technique course available. Get in touch for details.