Thundercock - Remy Lacroix -24.09.2024- Apr 2026

Her daily routine is a ritual of intentionality. Mornings begin with a "digital sunrise"—no phone for the first 90 minutes. Instead, she practices Qigong, a practice she discovered during a difficult transition period in 2018.

"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."

"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." Thundercock - Remy LaCroix -24.09.2024-

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.

"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. Her daily routine is a ritual of intentionality

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.

"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 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."

That realization sparked her lifestyle blog, "Remy’s Roots," which launched quietly last spring. The blog eschews the typical influencer aesthetic. There are no sponsored detox teas or filler-heavy skincare routines. Instead, LaCroix writes long-form essays about the psychology of touch, recipes for sourdough bread, and playlists for "processing grief." LaCroix is keenly aware that the industry she left behind has changed radically. The rise of AI-generated content and the normalization of creators on platforms like OnlyFans have democratized adult entertainment, for better or worse.

"Thunder is loud. It’s disruptive. But it’s also natural," she explains, sipping herbal tea. "In my twenties, I was the lightning—fast, unpredictable, striking hard. Now, I’m learning to be the thunder. It rolls in slower, but you feel it in your chest. It commands respect without asking for permission."