Every time a new coronavirus case is reported at the White House, my group chats blow up. Some days it feels like there’s a new story every hour about who has been exposed, who is quarantining or who in the orbit of President Trump looks sick that gets shared among us, followed by our commentary and speculation about where the plot will head in coming days. Often, reading our message threads sounds more like we’re talking about contestants on some demented reality competition instead of a presidential administration in chaos.
“OMG have you heard?
“Kellyanne? I know.”
“Who’s next? What about Ivanka?”
“Why isn’t anyone talking about Melania?”
“Guys, he just tweeted again from the hospital.”
If this news cycle were a TV series, it would be titled something like “The Real White House of COVID” complete with a viral transmission rose ceremony after the super spreader challenge. I keep expecting Andy Cohen to host a reunion on Bravo of all the past administration officials voted off Trump island any day now.
Andy Cohen: “So, Omarosa, what’s the real tea on John Bolton?”
Omarosa Manigault Newman: “Andy, that West Wing is thick as thieves.”
John Bolton: “Ya’ blood type is Pinot Grigio, Omarosa!”
Sarah Huckabee Sanders: “Prostitution whore!”
Omarosa Manigault Newman: (drinks)
Andy Cohen: “Producers, can we get more throwing wine for Omarosa before you bring out Michael Cohen and the MyPillow guy?”
Although the above exchange is fictional, it doesn’t feel far from the truth.
The only way the Trump presidency will ever make sense is if you remember that from reality TV Trump came, and to reality TV he has returned.
Actually, did he ever really leave reality TV? He is no longer the star of “The Apprentice” so, instead, he’s turned his administration into a revolving door of contestants and treated staffing and Cabinet appointments more like casting opportunities(get well soon, Kayleigh McEnany).
At the center of all of it is Trump, the celebrity president who assumes what he thinks are the postures and gestures of leadership, much as he surrounded himself with what he thought were the trappings of wealth and taste to portray himself as a successful businessman. As the New York Times’ reporting on Trump’s taxes show, the only real financial success he had was as a reality TV star. With “The Apprentice,” Trump and the show’s creator, Mark Burnett, managed to move reality TV away from casts of “regular” people to create the phenomenon of the celebrity reality show, which led to a host of imitators from the VH1 dating shows of the mid-aughts to a family by the name of Kardashian on E. More than anything, it was reality TV thatpropelled him to the presidency.
我聊天线程再次发出嗡嗡声。
“Girl, do you see him on the balcony like some community theater ‘Evita’?”
“他是他mask off.”
“What the hell?”
“He’s huffing and puffing like the Big Bad Wolf, is he going to make it to the end of the season, I mean, election?”
Right now, we’re all hyperaware and hyper-engaged with this latest viral (literally) story arc in the Trump saga, but it feels like a cheap and hollow form of following what’s going on in Washington. It’s the junk food of news consumption, ultimately neither nutritious nor satisfying. And yet, we’re shoveling it in our faces anyway, just like when we opt for the low intellectual demands of viewing the “Real Housewives” and other reality TV staples.
After months of the administration flouting recommendations about social distancing and masks, our rapt attention also feels like something very connected to reality TV: a thirst for comeuppance for those who haven’t even bothered to offer the pretense of following the rules. Whenyour whole brand is reality TV, you might end up beingcast in the role of the heavy without knowing it.
Excuse me, my chat thread just pinged, and you’ll never believe what’s coming up on the next episode … I mean, news cycle.