I keep thinking about how strange fame can be — how loud it sounds for a while, then how quiet some people want it to become. Kris Humphries is one of those cases. If you remember his 72-day marriage to Kim Kardashian (who could forget?), you probably also remember how different his instincts felt next to hers. He seemed private, a little old-school perhaps, while she was — well — everywhere. That contrast made the whole thing feel almost inevitable. But what happened after the tabloids moved on? Turns out, a lot. And not all of it is public.
The move to the Midwest — not what tabloids predicted
There’s a little bit of irony here. In an episode of Kourtney and Kim Take New York, Humphries said something that sounded small but stuck with people: he wanted to spend half the year in Minnesota after retirement. Kim’s reaction — that such a choice would end his public relevance — became a sort of zinger in pop culture. People liked the idea that celebrity was forever. Humphries, by all appearances, didn’t buy that.
Fast-forward to his piece in The Players’ Tribune after he retired in 2019, and you see a man who actually followed through. He moved to the Midwest. He didn’t just move for peace and quiet, either — he switched gears into business. That part felt authentic to me. It wasn’t a flashy Hollywood pivot; it was practical, quietly ambitious. Humphries wrote about opening restaurants: several Crisp & Green locations, a handful of Five Guys franchises, and even bringing Dave’s Hot Chicken to Minnesota with family members. It’s a pivot that makes sense — food businesses, community tucked into familiar places, a steady rhythm. Also: burgers. He seemed almost amused to tell people that yes, he was in the burger game. You can sense a bit of pride there, and why not?
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What I like about this is the ordinary-ness of it. Celebrity people often chase an angle that screams, but Humphries opted for something that hums. He also kept one foot in basketball — he runs camps in St. Cloud through his foundation, which feels like closing a loop. He gave himself a way to stay connected to the sport without living under the glare. That balance seems deliberate. Or maybe it’s just what felt right. Either way, it worked for him.
Privacy, anxiety, and being a dog dad
It’s tempting to reduce everything to “he fled fame,” but that would be a bit unfair and simplistic. Humphries has spoken about the fallout from that period and how it affected him. In his Players’ Tribune essay he admitted there was a “dark place” — a year he didn’t want to leave his house. That kind of candor is sobering; it’s also why he’s kept so much of his personal life out of the tabloids since then.
So yes, he’s been quiet romantically. He’s rarely posted romantic details on social media, and when he did drop a hint in 2022 with an Instagram Story that read “Single summer coming my way,” it felt fleeting — like a momentary, joking admission, not a headline. I don’t blame him. After a very public breakup, the sensible move is to protect yourself. If love happens again, it’ll likely be low-key. That’s my guess, anyway.
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But he doesn’t hide everything. He’s shared glimpses of family and friends now and then, and there’s one image that shows a softer, everyday side of him: his dog Riccardo. He posts about being a dog dad — small, steady joys. In 2022 he called his Miniature Pinscher “My heart.” Later, Riccardo even made an appearance for National Pet Day in a blue outfit. Little things, really, but they tell you where someone’s attention is: not always on headlines, but on small comforts, on routines, on a pet who doesn’t judge.
A few people may find that disappointing. They liked the drama, the high stakes. I don’t. I find it human. People rebuild — sometimes through business, sometimes through family, sometimes through quiet days with pets. Humphries’ path is one of those quieter rebuilds.
Why that matters: because it reminds you that life after fame doesn’t have to be glamorous. It can be steady. That steadiness may even be enviable. He’s investing in food franchises, in his hometown community, in kids through basketball camps. That’s practical impact. Not flashy, but useful. And honestly, it’s a good look.
A couple of small, messy truths: he’s not an exile from the spotlight, exactly. He still posts, still uses public platforms, and still maintains relationships with family and friends online. But he’s far from the constant celebrity churn many expected. That’s worth noting because most people don’t get to see that side of public figures. We see the loudest parts and assume that’s all there is.
Another thing I noticed: there’s a tentative pride in his voice now. When he talks about restaurant openings or camps, he isn’t bragging. He’s genuinely excited. Sometimes I think there’s a relief to it — relief that he can direct energy into something that matters to him without the noise that used to follow. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s the whole pivot.
Final thoughts — or at least where I’ll leave it
Kris Humphries didn’t vanish. He redirected. He left a life of headlines for one that looks, to me, more intentional. He’s an entrepreneur in the Midwest, a community-minded ex-athlete, and yes — a dog dad. He’s careful about relationships and the public eye, understandably so. If you ask me, that’s not a sad story. It’s a quiet recalibration. Not all endings have to be fireworks. Some are small, stubborn decisions to build something steady. I kind of respect that.
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