Cody Rigsby, You're Killing Me
Why you won't catch me taking a Peloton class with Cody any time soon.
If you have a Peloton, or even if you don’t, you probably know Cody Rigsby. He’s a Peloton cycling instructor. He’s one of the breakout stars of the platform, crossing over into Dancing with the Stars and memes on Twitter feeds. His classes are fueled by Top 40 pop music, sassy quips that read like sayings on a millennial tea bag. And he will whip (snap) you (snap) in (snap) shape (snap, snap, snap)!!!!
Here’s another thing about Cody: I can’t stand him.
Maybe that’s too harsh. After all, I don’t know Cody; we’ve never met. But what Peloton does do so brilliantly is put forward their instructors as stars, pushing them into our living rooms and home offices and garages (and our phones) so aggressively that we feel like we know these people.
There’s Cody, and then there’s “Cody”.
The instructors inspire us to transform, and they see us do it. Or so we believe, because they tell us as much in the final minutes of the $44/month classes, when they share how we’re stronger than we were before, how we came we conquered and whatever else is on the script of wellness-speak.
It’s so effective of a marketing strategy that when we talk about our passions for the bike, it’s not the machine we discuss, or even the classes themselves. We don’t say “I like distance” or “I prefer interval training.” We say, “I love Hannah Frankson” (obviously the best) or “I take Christine and Ben” (the best power workouts) or “I’m obsessed with Cody.”
Of course, you won’t catch me saying that last one. I have taken a couple of his classes. Or, more specifically, I’ve started the classes and promptly exited when he starts talking over the workout about Britney Spears or my ass or whatever else nonsense spills out of the script. (There are scripts and writing teams at Peloton, by the way.) When I work out, I like to focus and achieve a goal; I’m competitive, sometimes to a fault. (See my daily quest to destroy my mother through Wordle.) Cody’s classes are golden entertainment, positioned to someone spending minute one on the bike and distracting them long enough to make it to minute two, and so on.
It works. Cody is certainly one of the most popular instructors and the most culturally relevant. It also feels important that he’s gay. Not just gay as in like dudes, and is in a relationship with one that he openly shares, but gay as in culturally – using terms and references (often stolen from queer Black culture) that put homosexuality on the little big screens in our homes.
This is a Big Deal. When I was growing up, we had Jack on Will & Grace, a fictional character who was dangerous because he was likeable and funny. He, along with Will, the opposite side of the coin in that he was more masculine and less threatening, came onto our TVs once a week. Cody now comes into the living rooms of suburban white ladies every day, subtly transforming how people think about queer culture. One year, when we were living in Atlanta, he was the grand marshal of the Pride Parade; so many female coworkers told us they were going to Pride for the first time. They wanted to see Cody. They may not be close to many gay people, but they’re close to Cody. (Or, “Cody”.)
In fact, a coworker recently told me he reminded her of me. “Because you keep telling me I’m doing a great job,” she said. Which was kind, but I shivered.
That may be what is so unsettling. Seeing Cody on the screen makes us – me – feel seen as well. And that’s uncomfortable. For so many years, some gay men of a certain age – say, 30s and up – hid behind glass closet doors. We were out, kind of, in that friends and family knew we were gay, but the respectability politics of it all stopped us from fully stepping into our full selves. We could reference our weekend plans, but not get too excited about them that our voices ran up into soprano territory. We could talk about our partners, but only if our wrists were rigid and our lisps erased. Openly queer actors have only been playing lead roles for the past year or so – the Academy Awards still reserves it’s top recognition for straight actors playing gay. In a sense, “Cody” threatens that, by playing an outsized version of himself. When I’m biking, I don’t want to look at myself and think about how I’ll be perceived and if I’ll be accepted, all things that bubble up to the surface like a scared child just trying to pedal my bike through the neighborhood.
Recently on a podcast, Cody talked about how he is conscious he’s playing a part. That by being “Cody” through Peloton, he reaches new people who may not understand or experience queer people otherwise. (Full disclosure, I didn’t listen to it; Brad told me about it.) This was refreshing to hear, even second-hand, but not surprising. Of course Cody is in on it. (Everything everywhere is on purpose, by the way!) What’s wild to me, because my brain is still stuck in some time in the Y2K era of my own development, is that it’s working. He’s been able to build currency and capital on this persona, the foundation of which is his true self. He’s not hiding it – he’s putting it out there for all of us to see. Even if there’s a script or it’s an exaggeration, it’s grounded in a big fat gay truth.
There’s also a feeling of selling out, as if Cody is in the town square and showing our cards. Not in front of the straight people, I think each time I read something he says (because I’m not watching it.) There’s a layer of satisfaction I get when I see him derided on social media, or other gays say they can’t stand him either. See, I knew that it wasn’t possible, is the thought, as if being gay means you’re unlikeable and unable to achieve success.
Of course, I’m wrong. And I should be. Cody is incredibly popular and that level of interaction and recognition with straight people is exactly the ideal we should be going for. I guess. (KIDDING.) We all want to be our full selves and fuck all the rest who say otherwise. Cody, in a sense, is doing that in ways that feel new, given the technology and platforms that Peloton and social media have provided. And, he’s making a ton of money doing it.
It scrambles my perception of queerness and of myself. In order to enjoy the classes and the banter, there’s a certain level of needing to accept ourselves – myself – and how we’re seen. Why else would I react with something other than gratitude to my co-worker’s compliment? The commercialized wellness of Peloton is bringing up more than we bargain for. When the instructors, with their cheery spiritual-sweat-speak, tell me to look deep within, it’s more than just motivation for the workout I see looking back. Sometimes, whether I like it or not, it’s Cody.
Straight people love this type of gay. They pander to straight people. Similar to queer eye. I don't know any queer people who watch it. Just queer content digestible for straight eyes. And then straight people get upset when they meet ~real~ queer people being their authentic self.