This is not about Richard Simmons
It is, rather, a meditation on an artifact of our culture.
At one point in the not too distant past (“in the year 2000…”), a whole lot of people did a whole lot of work to conjure this VHS tape into existence.
In addition to the long and storied career of Simmons himself, there was his whole dance/workout team, his agents and managers, his film production crew.
There were choreographers and editors and designers. There were producers and lawyers and salespeople.
There was a distribution company, who contracted a VHS manufacturing company, who probably sourced materials from China, where those materials would have been procured and delivered via various mining operations, refineries, and shipping companies.
Eventually, but still early in the life of this Simmons exercise tape, it would have been placed on a department store shelf by the hands of some low-wage retail laborer, along with hundreds of its cousins, to remain on display until purchased.
Then, at some point, somebody bought it.
From there: mystery. How often was it played, if at all? Did it help anyone achieve the “broadway body” it promised? Were dreams made to come true? Whose lives might have changed? How many weekday mornings were elevated with the confidence of a good habit kept, or what was the maximum quantity of dust that settled on its flat narrow top?
All we can know is where it is now.
As of this writing, this copy of Richard Simmons’ “Broadway Sweat” — a 60-minute exercise routine “set to Broadway tunes” — rests with a few dozen other VHS tapes: more Simmons workout tapes, old Disney movies, double-feature hits from the 90s. They all spill from a set of broken plywood shelves that once belonged to a family room entertainment center, now left on the side of the road next to an abandoned property in my neighborhood, baking in the sun.
I could grasp for some broader point about humanity, but mostly I just feel amazed at what this vast social organism produces, consumes, and discards.
It’s not so much about which story you pick, as it is that there are so many stories, layered and inextricably locked together — a vast array of individual consciousnesses, making uncountable personal and social decisions, embodying uncountable manifestations of cultural conditioning and individual agency.
We tell stories, in part, to reduce the irreducible. We cannot handle the richness of what surrounds us. The throngs of souls traversing the tapestry of our material world. It is too much. We screen it out.
Sometimes, though, it’s good to notice. To look down, and see a thing discarded, and consider all its stories.
Dude, today was already a super introspective day today, so I guess I better lean into it. Love the thoughts here
Truth! I once had a guy knock on my van door. (I live in it. It’s old. From the outside, you’d easily get the picture I’m down and out.) Anywho, the guy knocks and offers for me to come check out his home/work yard. He’s a tow trucker driver, maybe a repo guy. The place is full of stuff, still in the cars, extracted from the cars. I’m welcome to see if there’s anything I need. Sometimes, I think I should have gone. Just to see what was there. Thanks for helping me unearth that memory. (Also reminds me of a piece I posted last week on lost shoes in the world - https://hollystarley.substack.com/publish/posts/detail/130787844?referrer=%2Fpublish%2Fposts)