The entertainment industry is notoriously unkind to those who leave it. Yet LaCroix has managed to pivot her brand from adult stardom to a legitimate lifestyle curator. She runs a small but devoted YouTube channel focused on sound baths and forest bathing—a far cry from her previous life, but one she insists is more authentic.
"I needed to detox from the noise," she admits. "For a decade, my body was the product. Now, my peace is the product." Since stepping back from performing in the mid-2010s, LaCroix has dedicated herself to the study of somatic therapy. Her home studio in the Pacific Northwest is a testament to her new ethos: cedar wood, weighted blankets, and a vinyl collection that ranges from Enya to Nick Cave.
She serves as an unofficial mentor to a small group of younger performers looking to exit the business, helping them draft resumes, apply for small business loans, or simply learn how to cook a meal that isn't delivered. Thundercock - Remy LaCroix -24.09.2024-
September 24, 2024 – In the world of lifestyle and entertainment, few figures have navigated a seismic career shift with as much grace and introspection as Remy LaCroix. Once a dominant force in front of the camera, today she embodies a different kind of power: the quiet, grounding presence of someone who has weathered her own personal tempest.
"Thunder is just energy dissipating," she notes as our time wraps up. "It’s loud, yes. But it’s also the sound of pressure releasing. That’s what I want my legacy to be. Not the crash, but the release." The entertainment industry is notoriously unkind to those
"I tell them: The crowd will always cheer for the storm. But you have to live in the aftermath. What does your house look like when the rain stops?" Looking ahead to the rest of 2024 and beyond, LaCroix is focused on a single word: stillness . She is currently editing a short documentary about the therapeutic use of sensory deprivation tanks—a project she funded entirely through a modest Patreon following.
"I hit a wall," she recalls. "I realized I had spent years performing for the gaze of others. I didn’t know what I liked to eat, read, or wear when no one was watching." "I needed to detox from the noise," she admits
"I don't judge anyone who stays," she says carefully. "But the economics of fame have shattered. When I started, there was a clear line between the work and your life. Now? The audience expects 24/7 access. That level of 'thunder' would have broken me."
As we sit down on a brisk late-September afternoon, the metaphorical "thunder" of her past feels distant. LaCroix, now in her late thirties, exudes a serene confidence. The conversation drifts away from the tabloid headlines of yesteryear and settles on what truly matters to her now: wellness, creative control, and the art of reinvention. When asked why she chose "Thunder" as a metaphor for this current phase of life, LaCroix smiles knowingly.
As the sun sets on this September evening, Remy LaCroix stands up to adjust the needle on her record player. The first chords of a classical guitar fill the room. For a woman who once lived at the mercy of the crowd’s roar, she has finally found the volume that suits her soul.