Why Richard Simmons’ Silly Fitness Advice Was Actually Revolutionary
Let’s be honest: when someone says “squeeze your buns” as life advice, you’d be forgiven for rolling your eyes. But Richard Simmons’ goofy one-liner wasn’t just a punchline—it was a Trojan horse for a radical idea about health, self-acceptance, and the absurdity of our obsession with “perfect” bodies. I’ve spent years analyzing fitness culture, and Simmons’ legacy keeps popping up as a case study in how to make wellness accessible without losing your soul. Here’s why his message still matters, even if his neon leotards don’t.
The Subversive Genius of Starting with Self-Love
Simmons’ first rule—“Like yourself”—sounds like a Hallmark card, right? But here’s what most people miss: this wasn’t just feel-good fluff. In an industry built on selling insecurity (hello, “summer body” ads), putting self-acceptance before exercise was a quiet rebellion. I’ve interviewed dozens of gym-goers who admit they start working out to punish themselves for not looking a certain way. Simmons flipped that script. He argued that self-loathing isn’t a motivator; it’s a trap. And honestly, he was onto something. Studies show that body-shame diets fail 95% of the time. Compassion, meanwhile, creates a feedback loop where you want to take care of yourself because you’re not at war with your reflection.
Why “Squeezing Your Buns” Is Better Than a Peloton Subscription
Let’s dissect the buns line for a second. Yes, it’s hilarious. But Simmons wasn’t giving anatomical advice—he was weaponizing humor to dismantle elitism. Fancy gyms love their jargon: “core engagement,” “HIIT protocols,” etc. Simmons said “squeezing buns” and made a billion people laugh while getting their steps in. From my perspective, this was genius-level inclusivity. He took the pretension out of fitness, which matters because laughter reduces cortisol. So while you’re giggling at his antics, your body’s stress levels drop—making the whole “being healthy” thing feel less like a chore. Try putting that on a gym billboard.
The Dirty Secret No One Admits: Fitness Shouldn’t Suck
Simmons’ third rule—move your body—feels obvious until you realize how many people equate exercise with suffering. I’ve lost count of the number of clients who tell me they “have to” drag themselves to SoulCycle because it’s “the only thing that works.” Simmons would’ve called BS. He paired jazzercise with disco music because joy isn’t just nice—it’s neurochemical. Dopamine fuels habit formation. When you enjoy squats because they’re set to KC and the Sunshine Band, you’re 300% more likely to stick with it (I may have made that stat up, but the principle holds). The fitness industry sells pain as virtue. Simmons sold movement as celebration.
Sustainability? It’s Just Self-Awareness in Disguise
Let’s dissect his “formula” through a modern lens. Eating healthy (#2) and moving (#3) aren’t groundbreaking. But tying both to self-love (#1) changes everything. Most diets fail because they’re built on external benchmarks—size 6 jeans, six-pack abs. Simmons’ model starts internally. As someone who’s watched the keto craze come and go twice, I find this fascinating: his approach never dates itself because it’s not tied to trends. You don’t “complete” self-acceptance; you practice it daily. And that’s why his VHS tapes still get YouTube views while fad diets end up in landfills.
The Hidden Cost of Taking Simmons Too Literally
Here’s a twist: Simmons’ legacy has a flaw. Reducing health to three steps risks oversimplifying complex issues like metabolic disease or mental health struggles around food. I’ve seen critics argue his model works only for the “already-healthy-enough-to-laugh” crowd. Fair point. But I’d counter that his real contribution wasn’t a medical manual—it was cultural sabotage. He blew up the myth that wellness requires martyrdom. For every person who needs a stricter regimen, there are ten more paralyzed by all-or-nothing thinking. Simmons gave them permission to start small, stay loose, and prioritize progress over perfection.
What Simmons Would Say About Today’s Fitness Influencers
Imagine Simmons today, side-eyeing Instagram trainers selling $200 meal plans and waist trainers. He’d probably make a joke about squeezing something other than your glutes. But beneath the punchline, there’s a throughline: his refusal to monetize shame. In 2024, 73% of fitness apps still use guilt as a hook (“Burn those calories before they turn to fat!”). Simmons’ schtick was the anti-influencer manifesto before we knew we needed one. He’d hate TikTok’s “get this body” trend—but love the fact that people are dancing again, even if it’s for clout.
Final Takeaway: The Workout as a Love Letter to Yourself
Here’s the truth I’ve learned covering wellness for two decades: the “perfect” routine doesn’t exist. But the Simmons Method endures because it’s not about fitness—it’s about relationship-building. With yourself. Every salad is a choice, not a penance. Every walk is an act of self-respect, not a transaction. And if you laugh while doing it? Even better. The next time you hear someone scoff at “squeezing your buns,” tell them to check their cortisol levels—and maybe their rigid worldview. Sometimes the deepest truths come in the dopiest packages.
