On July 13, the world awoke to the news that Richard Simmons, who built a mini-empire in his trademark tank tops and short shorts, has died, just a day after turning 76.
Los Angeles police and fire departments say they responded to a Los Angeles house where a man was declared dead from natural causes. Neither provided a name, but the address and age matches to Simmons. The star had revealed a skin cancer diagnosis in March, had lately dropped out of sight, sparking speculating about his health and wellbeing.
Simmons spoke to PEOPLE magazine in the days before his 76th birthday, joking about blowing out some candles on the day. "But the candle will probably be on a zucchini," Simmons said. "You know, I'm a vegetarian."
With his sparkly tank tops and larger-than-life persona, wasn't just a fitness instructor — he was a glittery tornado of positivity that swept through living rooms across the world.
But behind the sequins was a complex individual whose sudden retreat from public life left us all wondering, what happens when the music stops?
The rise of a fitness phenomenon.
"Once upon a time, there was a little fat kid in New Orleans who sold pralines on the street corners to make a living for his family," Simmons once said of his humble beginnings.
Born in 1948, Simmons struggled with his weight as a child, tipping the scales at 121kg when he graduated high school. He would tell people he ate to excess because he believed his parents liked his older brother more.
In Italy as a foreign exchange student, he ended up doing peanut butter commercials and bacchanalian eating scenes for director Federico Fellini in his film Satyricon. He told the AP: "I was fat, had curly hair. The Italians thought I was hysterical. I was the life of the party."
His life changed after getting an anonymous letter. "One dark, rainy day I went to my car and found a note. It said, 'Dear Richard, you're very funny, but fat people die young. Please don't die." He was so stunned that he went on a starvation diet that left him thin — but very ill.
Eventually, he was able to devise a sensible plan to take off the weight and keep it off — and thus Simmons began revolutionising the fitness industry. In the 1970s and '80s, when gym culture often excluded those who didn't fit the mould, Simmons burst onto the scene with a radical message: fitness is for everyone.
"I don't have a gym body," Simmons once said. "I have a real body."
This approach was revolutionary, making him a beacon for those who felt alienated by traditional fitness culture.
His Sweatin' to the Oldies videos became more than just workout tapes — they were a movement. Simmons published 12 books, released 36 fitness videos, and even hosted his own Emmy award-winning talk show.
He was everywhere, and people couldn't get enough.
Watch: Richard Simmons — Sweatin' to the Oldies. Article continues after video.
Inside the 'Slimmons' experience.
At the heart of Simmons' empire was his Beverly Hills studio, Slimmons. But this wasn't your average gym — it was an experience that bordered on the bizarre.
Former attendees describe a strict hierarchy (only regulars in the front rows), a ban on cameras (perhaps for good reason), and classes that were part workout, part performance art.
"If you're a man, he asks you to take your shirt off," one regular reported. "He's very sexual and very flirty."
Most notably, every class included a moment where Simmons would break down and cry.
"It was out-of-control crying," one attendee recalled. "At the time, I remember thinking it was scary... he goes so far... he's crumbling right in front of you."
Yet, for all its oddities, Slimmons inspired fierce devotion. Simmons wasn't just an instructor; he was a life coach, a cheerleader, a friend.
The day the music stopped.
Then, on February 15, 2014, everything changed.
Simmons simply... didn't show up for class. He retreated from public life entirely, cutting off contact with even his closest friends. The man who had been everywhere was suddenly nowhere to be found.
This disappearance led to wild speculation. Was he being held captive? Had he transitioned? In 2017, the mystery spawned a popular podcast, Missing Richard Simmons, which sought to uncover the truth. But as the media frenzy unfolded, it raised uncomfortable questions about privacy and our sense of entitlement to public figures' lives.
In his rare public statements after his retreat, Simmons maintained he was simply choosing to live a private life. "I am not 'missing,' just a little under the weather," he once said, addressing the speculation.
A legacy of joy and acceptance.
In his final interview, published just a day before his death, Simmons reflected on his life with characteristic gratitude.
"I am grateful that I'm here, that I am alive for another day," he told PEOPLE. "I'll spend my birthday doing what I do every day, which is to help people."
Richard Simmons leaves behind a legacy not just of fitness, but of kindness, inclusion, and the importance of finding joy in movement. Perhaps the most fitting tribute we can offer is to embrace the spirit of acceptance and self-love that he championed throughout his life — and to respect the privacy he so clearly valued in his final years.
In a world that often demands constant performance from its icons, maybe the most radical act of self-care is knowing when to hang up the sparkly tank top and just be yourself.
Feature image: Getty.
—With AAP.