Americans are a fundamentally aspirational people.
For example, an indication that a belief is sincerely-held is our willingness to share it with our children, and Americans instill in their children that they can be anything they put their minds to. The desire to climb the social ladder is practically inherent, and kids of all economic backgrounds dream of being doctors, lawyers, actors, business owners, and even presidents. And we call this ambition “The American Dream” — something so fundamental to our national character that strivers have been drawn to the experiment since its inception.
Naturally, Americans search for this quality in their leaders, because they consider it to be inherent to American-ness. The measure of a good leader is not how long the candidate has been in government but how well they embody this essential characteristic of ambition.
Presidential candidates come from a myriad of backgrounds, and many have a desire to remain “relatable” to voters once in power. But what voters find relatable is not an emulation of a middle-class lifestyle by the most powerful official in the world. Moreover, Americans don’t need rich and powerful people to depict themselves as lower-class because they understand America to be a meritocracy which rewards people splendidly for their talents and work ethic.
We do not desire to believe that our leaders are “just like us” but rather ascended versions of ourselves. In fact, it is disheartening for Americans to see the mundane and mediocre elevated to positions of achievement — especially in an economic climate that is frustratingly difficult. We want something aspirational, and we want our leaders’ image to reflect the success we believe they have earned. We believe that normal people can achieve exceptional things, but we do not find it inspiring for exceptional people to worship normal things.
Trump won his re-election bid in part because his conspicuous consumption, unabashed self-confidence, and opulent personal style represent a vision of a prosperous and exceptional future. He displayed a powerful aesthetic of success which appealed to many voters dissatisfied with their own economic conditions. In fact, Trump increased support among low-income voters and those without college degrees.
Conversely, Harris failed in part because her efforts to appear “relatable” or “normal” depicted a stagnant, downwardly mobile America focused on preserving a sub-par status quo. Americans recognize that powerful people, regardless of the self-image they attempt to curate, are out of touch. It is simply not believable that the rich and powerful have middle-class sensibilities, and many find it more palatable to observe someone enjoying their wealth than pretending that they are ashamed of it.
Some do not understand the rise of Trump as a populist leader because they find that to be oxymoronic for a wealthy person; moreover, critics of Trump often point out that it seems incongruent that a fabulously wealthy man would have the common people’s interests in mind. In fact, New York Magazine insists that Trump and Vance are waging the “real class war against normal people” and are merely “cosplaying” solidarity with the working class. But Americans of all economic backgrounds believe that what you start with is not as important as where you go. Trump was born into a wealthy family but ultimately turned millions into billions, created a global brand, had a successful television career, and ran for president three times.
Consider how the life trajectory of Trump’s running mate, JD Vance, is similar to Trump’s. Though Trump was born into wealth and Vance was born into poverty, both rose above expectations to become not only personally successful but politically significant. Vance was born into poverty in a declining region, escaped his stagnating community by joining the Marines, attended an Ivy League University, became a venture capitalist in Silicon Valley, wrote a best-selling book, was elected to the U.S. Senate, and became Vice President-elect of the United States by age 40. JD Vance has become one of the most galvanizing populist icons in recent memory, and his notoriety is no doubt in part due to his lower class upbringing.
Vance experienced a meteoric rise as a populist candidate because of his achievements — not because he remained working-class in his ambitions or pretenses. Many people have accused him of being a traitor to a downtrodden region because he has adopted affectations typical of America’s upper class. One writer derides Vance as a class traitor in a recent editorial:
“The escaped sons and daughters of poverty don’t need to deride their less fortunate peers to inflate their own self-regard. The truth is that we need fewer stories of poor people making good.”
But downtrodden regions or groups cannot hope for a better future if their leaders aim to embody or venerate the traits of the average person. JD Vance becomes aspirational, and this ambition necessarily alienates him to a degree because his success creates distance from his community of origin. However, Americans don’t want common people to run their country. They want exceptional people of common stock to represent their interests, and partly because it reminds them of their own potential.
As such, Americans feel proud to be part of the same country and cultural identity which produces success stories, and they want to be reminded of these victories frequently. So even though Trump undoubtedly has a taste for luxury, he also interacts in the same universe as normal people. He serves McDonalds at White House receptions and his CPAC VIP parties. He “worked” at McDonalds at a campaign stop. He drinks twelve Diet Cokes each day. He watches “Fox & Friends” every morning. This makes Trump relatable to many, because his supporters can point to a shared trait or behavior and say “I do that, too.”
Andy Warhol once wrote about this lack of power distance as a uniquely American phenomenon:
“What’s great about this country is that America started the tradition where the richest consumers buy essentially the same things as the poorest. You can be watching TV and see Coca Cola, and you know that the President drinks Coca Cola … and just think, you can drink Coca Cola, too. A coke is a coke and no amount of money can get you a better coke than the one the bum on the corner is drinking. All the cokes are the same and all the cokes are good.”
When you see the President eating McDonalds, you don’t think about how it makes him more middle class. It makes you think that McDonalds, something you have access to, is so good that even the President, who ostensibly has access to anything he wants, still chooses McDonalds.
Americans imagine their leaders become qualified through the Hero’s Journey – they use their talents and resources to overcome and destroy boundaries to success and then share their knowledge to benefit their countrymen. America’s favorite leaders do not speak ill of normal concerns and may participate in them, but critically, they have a strong vision of the future that includes luxurious or exceptional aspirations. Especially in times of bad economic prospects, people do not want to be continually reminded of their standing. Instead, they want someone who has “made it” to lead them. They connect the individual’s personal record of success with a promise of a better vision for the future.
As such, many Americans see Trump’s success and want a piece of that for their country, and ultimately for themselves. And when we see Trump eat McDonalds or drink Diet Coke, it makes us feel like we share in his success. This upwardly-mobile tendency and desire for continual improvement is an admirable and quintessentially American characteristic.
Trump was able to embody this trait in his bid for re-election, and his victory in 2024 is partially owed to this balance of living as a common person but one with lofty goals and achievements.
