Now we know what Robert Francis “Beto” O’Rourke was waiting for to jump into the Presidential race: a fawning Vanity Fair profile complete with Annie Leibovitz photographs.
How fawning?
Behind the door, in the O’Rourke living room, a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf contains a section for rock memoirs (Bob Dylan’s Chronicles, a favorite) and a stack of LPs (the Clash, Nina Simone) but also a sizable collection of presidential biographies, including Robert Caro’s work on Lyndon B. Johnson. Arranged in historical order, the biographies suggest there’s been some reflection on the gravity of the presidency. But there’s also some political poetry to it, a sense that O’Rourke might be destined for this shelf. He has an aura. Most places he goes in El Paso, he’s dogged by cries of “Beto! Beto!” Oprah Winfrey, who helped anoint Barack Obama in 2008, practically begged him to run at an event in New York City at the beginning of February.
More fawning:
Settling into an armchair in his living room, he tries to make sense of his rise. “I honestly don’t know how much of it was me,” he says. “But there is something abnormal, super-normal, or I don’t know what the hell to call it, that we both experience when we’re out on the campaign trail.”
O’Rourke and his wife, Amy, an educator nine years his junior, both describe the moment they first witnessed the power of O’Rourke’s gift. It was in Houston, the third stop on O’Rourke’s two-year Senate campaign against Ted Cruz. “Every seat was taken, every wall, every space in the room was filled with probably a thousand people,” recalls Amy O’Rourke. “You could feel the floor moving almost. It was not totally clear that Beto was what everybody was looking for, but just like that people were so ready for something. So that was totally shocking. I mean, like, took-my-breath-away shocking.”
For O’Rourke, what followed was a near-mystical experience. “I don’t ever prepare a speech,” he says. “I don’t write out what I’m going to say. I remember driving to that, I was, like, ‘What do I say? Maybe I’ll just introduce myself. I’ll take questions.’ I got in there, and I don’t know if it’s a speech or not, but it felt amazing. Because every word was pulled out of me. Like, by some greater force, which was just the people there. Everything that I said, I was, like, watching myself, being like, How am I saying this stuff? Where is this coming from?
Generational fawning:
At 46, O’Rourke is only a couple of years younger than former rival Ted Cruz. But part of the excitement, and the content of his potential candidacy, is generational. Whereas Obama is from the tail end of the baby boom, Beto O’Rourke is quintessentially Generation X, weaned on Star Wars and punk rock and priding himself on authenticity over showmanship and a healthy skepticism of the mainstream.
The word “honesty” gets thrown around. “O’Rourke came off as free of political calculation, as if his charisma were a mere side effect of Beto just being Beto.”
Tonstant weader fwowed up.
The tone is so hagiographic it’s a mild surprise that by the end of it Beto’s not wandering the streets of El Paso curing the sick with the laying of hands.
They do address the intersectional elephant in the room:
O’Rourke is acutely aware, too, of perhaps his biggest vulnerability—being a white man in a Democratic Party yearning for a woman or a person of color, a Kamala Harris or a Cory Booker. “The government at all levels is overly represented by white men,” he says. “That’s part of the problem, and I’m a white man. So if I were to run, I think it’s just so important that those who would comprise my team looked like this country. If I were to run, if I were to win, that my administration looks like this country. It’s the only way I know to meet that challenge.”
Expect the MSM backers of Kamala Harris to hit these points hard, while Beto backers magically ignore them. Being a rich, privileged white male is a sin, unless you’re a rich, privileged, dreamy white Democratic male with fawning media coverage.
Jim Geraghty thinks we’re in for a repeat of Obamamania:
The insufferable tidal wave of Betomania is coming…
Here we go again.
The magazine covers and posters . . .
. . . the graffiti murals . . .
. . . the gushing media profiles, the adoring interviews with late-night hosts, the hagiographic documentary, the t-shirts, the celebrity endorsements and appearances, the social-media mania, the volunteers creating their own designs for posters and logos and campaign imagery . . . we’ll probably get the flash mobs from 2018 restarted, too.
Except the last time we did this, all of the hype and hoopla was for a once-obscure slender guy in his mid-to-late 40s who had been in the legislature for a while, hadn’t been able to get many pieces of legislation passed whether his party was in the majority or minority, who boasted about his across-the-aisle friendships but who had never really defied his party’s orthodoxy, who had little or no executive experience, who could do mundane tasks such as driving or sweating and have them described by political reporters like he was completing the 12 labors of Hercules, who was full of charisma but vague enough in his answers and agenda to be a blank slate to everyone looking for an ideal candidate. Same script, slightly different leading man.
We’re doing all of the Obamamania stuff again, except this time with a white guy from Texas. It’s all starting up again: the retro hipster t-shirts, the bracelets on Etsy, the votive candles.
Snip.
If Beto O’Rourke had an “R” after his name instead of a “D,” the world would know a lot more about the less-appealing aspects of his life story. Not just the DUI, but his private-sector development career that used eminent domain and gentrified poor Latino neighborhoods, and marrying into a billionaire’s family. The image celebrated in these gushing profiles doesn’t match the reality. He was never in the military but talked about veterans’ issues so much that some people think he was. He’s not Latino, but his “rise fuels hope for Latino Democrats.” He’s the outsider who was in elected office from 2005 to 2018. He’s the modest everyman with a net worth of $9 million. He’s a boarding-school-attending son of a judge who escaped serious consequence for not just the DUI but also burglary charges.
This Obamamania parallel is true, up to a point. But O’Rourke isn’t going to get the huge boost provided by a lifetime of liberal white guilt.
O’Rourke clearly brings strengths to the race, including personal wealth, notable fundraising prowess, and a pretty young-ish face that liberal women seem to swoon over. But the truth is that O’Rourke has never won a race outside his hometown of El Paso, and polls show him in single digits, behind Joe Biden and Bernie Sanders. There’s a world of difference between scooping up Democratic dollars when you’re running against Ted Cruz as opposed to running against other high-profile Democrats with their own fan clubs.
Expect more fawning media coverage to boost him, but also strong pushback from Kamala Harris partisans, and possibly Julian Castro, who has to miffed at the fake Texas Hispanic getting ten times the attention of the real one. In addition to Harris and Castro, O’Rourke’s entry in the race probably hurts Biden and John Delaney (same “lane”), Kirsten Gillibrand and Amy Klobuchar (I bet “dreamy” is going to beat out “feminist duty” for a long of 20- and 30-something women), and Pete Buttigieg (“look at me I’m young”). Maybe he doesn’t hurt Warren, whose supporters I think skew older.
You know who he probably doesn’t hurt at all? Bernie Sanders. His fans don’t seem to be into “dreamy” or “young.”
It’s gonna be a hell of a race…
