Last Time I Saw Richard

Richard Simmons R.I.P

There are only a couple of people in the sphere of stardom and power about whom you can genuinely say “There has never been anyone else like them”. There has never been another movie actor like Nicolas Cage, hence his low budget horror movie ‘Longlegs’ being a huge grossing smash this weekend. There has never been a President like Donald Trump, who won on the basis of the “fuck you” vote, from voters who wanted to elect - rather than a politician - a raised middle finger. And at way the other end of the spectrum from the self-serving narcissist, there has never, ever been anyone like Richard Simmons. Not in the fitness realm. And not in the broader world of celebrity. He was an angel of mercy in rhinestone’d spandex, whose run down Beverly Hills one room gym was (for decades after he’d already made a fortune from VHS workouts) a sanctuary for people who could not comfortably set foot in a regular LA gym. People who were too old, too fat, got to ride the coat tails of his faith in them until they had some of their own.

I wrote a long essay a year ago in The Observer about him, and you can read that on my time line. Funnily enough, when it ran, a reader contacted the paper to complain about this photo of us:

They said it wasn't possible for my waist to have been that small. And I said “Yes, it was, I was working out with Richard Simmons twice a week” and then, as if captured by the spirit of Richard’s manic joie de vivre, asked if The Observer would like to provide the reader with witness statements from any man who’d been lucky enough to see me naked in 2012.

I loved his class so much - which was really just standard old fashioned aerobics moves like The Grapevine and jumping jacks, crucially over-layed with the sound (and sometimes touch) of Richard - that I dragged my whole family to come meet him the week I got married. I’m sharing this photo so you can enjoy the range of his hand made looks, utilised as does an air stewardess in their bright costume - to distract you from your fear.

As you may know, in 2014 he walked away from his studio forever, cutting contact with all these people whose lives he’d changed, who’d been at his class for decades, who he’d drive home from class, whose grandchildren he sent summer camp money to. His vanishing without warning or word broke a lot of people. But the consensus is, he was himself broken by being an empath for so many years. I don’t know if he knew he had limited time left on earth when he retreated to his mansion. I know, that like so many he touched (emotionally and with full shrieking force in a packed class of ecstatic aerobicizers) I always thought I’d get to see him one more time again.

If Donald Trump is a “downtrodden” public’s attempt at feeling powerful through the absorption of pure narcissism and hate, Richard’s place in pop culture came from the opposite feeling. To feel fat or old or poor, but gain some power by osmosis via a man brimming with humour, positivity, a lack of ego? We will never see his like again. If it’s too much to hear about a man you may picture in your memories as little more than a 1980’s jester, you can set the following sincere statement to a Hi-NRG remix, as he did when he blasted class with the disco version of My Heart Will Go On:

I love you, Richard.