Richard Simmons, who believed fitness is for everyone, dies at 76

Richard Simmons was instantly recognizable in his short shorts, sparkly tank tops and frizzy hair. He was one of the most original, flamboyant and beloved fitness personalities of the last 50 years.

Simmons died at his home in Los Angeles on Saturday, a representative confirmed to NPR. He was 76. A Los Angeles police department spokesperson told NPR that police conducted a death investigation at an address in the Hollywood Hills. NPR used public records to match the address to a house owned by Simmons.

Police did not give a cause of death but said no foul play was suspected.

Simmons created a fitness empire beginning in the 1970s that included videos, classes, books, products, infomercials, his own show and plenty of TV appearances.

It helped that his entrepreneurship coincided with new technology — or new, at least, in the 1980s. Simmons put out fitness classes on VHS cassettes to be played on VCRs. In his lifetime, he made more than 65 fitness videos, such as "Sweatin' to the Oldies," that sold over 20 million copies.

He grew up as an "unhappy, bewildered teenager"

Born Milton Teagle Richard Simmons, in New Orleans, he described himself as a compulsive eater as a young boy. Others bullied and made fun of him because of his weight.

"I grew up without any physical education," he remembered on NPR's Tell Me More in 2008. "I was 200 pounds in the eighth grade. And when I graduated high school I was almost 300 pounds. I was a very ... unhappy, bewildered teenager who couldn't figure out what I wanted in life and why I had such a strong relationship with food."

Simmons said on his website that he tried diets and laxatives, but eventually adopted "a lifestyle of balance, moderate eating and exercise." His life's work became making exercise fun — for all types of bodies.

In 1974, Simmons opened his own studio in Beverly Hills that catered to people who wanted to lose weight and get in shape. It was originally called The Anatomy Asylum, but was later known as SLIMMONS. It even featured one of the first salad bars in the area, called "Ruffage." Simmons continued to be a presence there until 2013.

Simmons' workout style was upbeat and welcoming. In a commercial for one of his popular "Sweatin' to the Oldies" videos, he enthused, "If you're looking for a lively, entertaining, stimulating, humorous, colorful, frolicking, playful, inspiring, safe, low-impact workout that's full of kicks, thrills, gusto, fervor, passion, fury, bustle and action you don't have to look any further. This is it!"

No other fitness celebrity looked like Richard Simmons. And no one else in exercise videos of the era looked like the people in his classes, according to historian Natalia Mehlman Petrzela. "They were all ages, they were men and women. Most notably, a lot would have been considered overweight by standards at the time."

Petrzela, who wrote the book, Fit Nation: The Gains and Pains of America's Exercise Obsession, says it was revolutionary to welcome fat people into fitness during the 1970s and '80s. More recently, though, Petrzela says Simmons has been criticized for fat-shaming.

"That criticism is not misplaced," she says. "But I also think it's so important to see the way that ... the important work that he did in expanding people's sense of who deserved to exercise, who was welcome at the gym and who was deserving of finding joy through movement and in communities of movement."

In his 60s, Simmons became a recluse. Many of his fans were baffled as to why this very public and positive person went quiet and didn't leave his home. The podcast Missing Richard Simmons and a few documentaries delved into the mystery, including one produced by TMZ that appeared on Fox and Hulu. In a 2022 statement, Simmons tersely thanked his fans. Earlier interviews, such as one on the Today show in 2016, alluded to health issues and a desire to spend time alone.

Simmons' philosophy was simple. He preached positivity, portion control and moving your body for at least 30 minutes every day. That message resonated with people who didn't see themselves in the traditional world of fitness — and those who felt like the last person picked for the team.

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