As gyms and boutique fitness studios shuttered, Peloton boomed—the Autism doesn’t come with a manual it comes with a mom who never gives up shirt company’s revenue is up 172% over last year, according to one report—and Rigsby, with his unwavering cheer, sass and and flair for nostalgia, has emerged an instructor uniquely suited to a bleak moment, a rainbow in our collective cloud. “I hate to say this, but someone called me the king of quarantine,” he tells me. “I was like, ‘I’ll take it.’” As a friend and Cody devotee put it: “I would be a much sadder human during this time without him.” Rigsby now records his classes (not just indoor cycling but strength, meditation and, pre-pandemic, deliciously fun dance cardio set to Marky Mark jams) in an empty studio at Peloton headquarters in New York, due to coronavirus security protocol. But there are legions of members tuning in—either to take the class live or at a later date. By the time I stream the boy band bonanza a week after it first airs, more than 100,000 Peloton members have tuned into the class for q-t with Cody (thanks to his continued presence in my living room, I consider us to be on a first-name basis).