'The new Trumpian order may have many flaws but Trump is obviously and irreducibly real and human.' Photo: GREG NASH/POOL/AFP/Getty Images.


January 22, 2025   6 mins

With hindsight, Covid was a high-water mark of elite idealism: an apparently widespread belief that you could simply decide what was real, then make it so via a combination of fiat declaration and media censorship. And whatever else Trump brings, the end of the Biden administration stands as a sharp rebuke to elite hubris. But what kind of “real” can we expect from the Trumpian New Normal?

Last week the Biden era’s devotion to reality-as-fiat climaxed not with a bang, but an internet whimper: an apparent effort to meme an amendment to the US Constitution into force, by posting about it online. This bizarre moment saw Joe Biden (or, more likely, someone else writing on his official account) announce that the Equal Rights Amendment is “the law of the land” — even though the National Archive declared in December that it was not.

It was the perfect finale to a regime characterised from its inception by eerie fakeness: what Nathan Pinkoski recently called “a simulacrum of a functioning progressive presidency”. This order treated as stage-managed and artificial even meetings normally understood as living, relational politics. Donors, for example, were given scripted questions to read out at supposedly private meet-and-greet events.

Between Biden’s increasingly obviously scripted appearances and the accumulating visual evidence for his frailty, conspiracies proliferated. He was characterised as fake, played by actors, or even computer-generated. Such claims were easy enough to “fact check”, but they conveyed a fundamentally true intuition: Biden was a cipher, and no one knew who was really in charge. Consensus just seemed to coalesce, as if by otherworldly telepathy, often followed by policies everyone was assumed to agree with, and which you’d then be ostracised for questioning.

This sense of rule by a headless, faceless and monolithically ideologically aligned swarm was characterised by writer Curtis Yarvin as “the Cathedral”: an architecture of political coordination that comprises journalism plus academia, NGOs, foundations, the permanent bureaucracy and other institutional actors. In Britain we might just call this “the Establishment” and shrug; but as David Samuels showed recently, the digital revolution turbocharged a specifically modern, progressive American version of this “Cathedral” to such potency, that its partisans seemingly came to believe they really could re-write reality just by posting.

The phenomenon gained momentum through the early 20th century with the Obama-era discovery that digital communications could be wielded to transform public opinion in progressive directions, using an activist technique known as “permission structures”. This method of persuasion, developed by consultant David Axelrod, induces people to vote against their own prior convictions, by convincing them they’ll gain moral standing among their peers by adopting the approved viewpoint.

To those who grasped the method, social media provided a powerful new tool for engineering political permission structures. The resulting consensus-manufacture machine then swiftly ate the legacy press, reaching a peak of ideological dominance during the Covid years. At its ascendancy, the moral outlook that came bundled with this approach was perhaps best encapsulated by the famous “In This House, We Believe…” lawn sign: a utopian creed associated with the progressive knowledge class, mainly because it’s largely those rich enough to delegate the material side of life to underlings who cannot see its obvious shortcomings. Its moment of peak hubris (and, arguably, a crucial nemesis) was encapsulated in its adherents’ adoption of the belief that someone could become the opposite sex simply by verbal declaration: as though words really were magic spells.

And if there’s a lesson from the pitiful end of the Biden simulation, in a wholly ineffectual attempt to make lawn-sign type updates to the US Constitution via blog post, it’s that this mechanism always had hard limits. Around this time four years ago, I glimpsed a harbinger of these limits, in the strange story of Hilaria Baldwin. Hilaria, wife of the actor Alec Baldwin, was accused of having spent a decade pretending to be Spanish — even though she grew up in Massachusetts. Even four years ago, this read as a cautionary tale for the reality-engineers: no matter what you say, if the gap between “Hilarity” and reality is too large, eventually someone will point this out and the whole thing will implode.

And so it has transpired with the civilisation-scale Hilarity that was the Biden simulation. The first and most significant crack in its architecture came the year after Hilaria-gate and the (simulated) Biden inauguration: the sale of Twitter to Elon Musk. Musk then promptly fired most of the website’s Trust and Safety team, released documents revealing the website’s routine government-requested censorship, and unbanned Right-wing accounts including Donald Trump himself. And this triggered a cascade which culminated in Trump‘s re-election.

It’s not quite right to say that the information-repression mechanism broke, and allowed reality to shine through. The alteration in tone and content since Twitter was rebranded as X has not been principally in the service of “facts”, as such. But Elon bought the Cathedral’s Rolls-Royce permission-structure machine, retuned the engine, and took the silencer off the exhaust. Now a vehicle meticulously assembled under Obama, and driven with reckless hubris by Biden’s carers, is full of tipsy anons and doing doughnuts in the public square.

What will reality look like, once the dust settles on their antics? There is reason to expect at least a correction toward pragmatic engagement with the world as it is and away from Hilarity’s progressive dream of the world as it should be. Signals include Trump’s scepticism toward Net Zero, already prompting a cascade of corporate indifference to its once sacrosanct green edicts. American foreign policy shows indications of an analogous turn away from liberal internationalism; a shift with uncertain geopolitical implications, but that would at least mean an end to the “peacekeeping” bellicosity characteristic of the “global policeman” stance.

And, importantly, from almost the moment he became President, Trump signalled an explicit re-orientation away from utopian gender politics, declaring in his inauguration speech itself that “as of today, it will henceforth be the official policy of the United States government that there are only two genders, male and female”. He also signed a Day One executive order legislating against the notion that sex is a matter of verbal fiat rather than physiological reality.

“From almost the moment he became President, Trump signalled an explicit re-orientation away from utopian gender politics.”

In this context, the effort to meme the ERA into the constitution is a powerfully symbolic damp squib. For while Trump surely owes his new mandate prosaically to reality — notably prices, Ukraine, and the southern US border — it was Hilarity’s gender politics that came to stand totemically for that regime’s faltering grip on the facts.

In this context the ERA was also totemic, as a longstanding flagship cause for the liberal-feminist Valkyries of progressivism — America’s “Affluent White Female Liberals” or AWFLs — since it was first proposed in 1923. And it stood for reality-as-fiat in that the ERA’s wording would have enshrined in the US constitution an assertion that the sexes are always interchangeable: the OG effort to re-engineer reality using language. Thus, as transgenderism followed logically from the ERA’s liberal-feminist claim that men and women are always interchangeable, AWFLs slid into their Hilarity-era position as the noisiest and most self-righteous caucus in its favour.

And now the whole thing is in ruins. Even the efforts to revive a Women’s March (now renamed, and I’m not making this up, the “People’s March” because the organisers refused to define “woman”) drew barely a tenth of the 2016 numbers. “Vibeshift” doesn’t really do justice to the seeming completeness of Hilarity’s rout. But it would be naïve to imagine we can escape unreality altogether — or that the incoming administration would want to. Handing a different group the keys to the Current Thing machine is not at all the same as dismantling it.

Consider: media titans who until recently operated in lockstep with progressive consensus are hurriedly updating their bylines in line with the new normal. The house journal of Yarvin’s “Cathedral”, the New York Times, signalled its change of stance recently by interviewing Yarvin himself; the Grey Lady has also parted company with several longstanding columnists and brought on board new voices such as James Pogue, long a well-connected observer of the New Right and its paradoxes.

Similarly, Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg has opted to PR-blitz himself a new backstory as — if not exactly Right-wing — at least Right-curious. More substantially, Facebook has replaced the erstwhile Lib Dem leader, Nick Clegg, as head of global affairs with the former Bush staffer Joel Kaplan. What we are witnessing is, in other words, less a dismantling of the reality-formation apparatus than an imperial-scale reshuffling of its moral sensibility. Likewise, the long-running TikTok saga is less about banning the platform, than ensuring American control of its propaganda power. We shouldn’t necessarily expect any of this to result in more reality.

But we might, perhaps, benefit from a change of utopia. What scotched Hilarity was how disappointing its utopianism was in practice: a blend of idealism and levelling-down that grew increasingly unpalatable in the atmosphere of scarcity and suspicion that succeeded the Global Financial Crash. By contrast, the Trumpian caucus has no shortage of grandiose visions — at least off the record, after a few beers.

There’s a lot about those visions that trigger my scepticism. And the real reality of Trump 2.0 is likely to disappoint many of his true believers: expect ambivalent dealmaking on actually realist hard-policy questions such as Nato, mass migration, and how best to manage America’s oligarchs to be richly gilded with “real” Trumpian Ws on gender and DEI.

This aside, though, having a vision at all surely beats the pod and the bugs. And the incoming regime has one characteristic we should all welcome: personalism. When the progressives tried to save democracy and bring about their vision of utopia on earth, what we got was Hilarity: democracy-like simulacra as a skinsuit for managerial tyranny, all enforced by a distributed digital propaganda machine. Against this, the new Trumpian order may have many flaws but Trump is obviously and irreducibly real and human. That is the point of him.

So with his coronation, we leave behind Hilarity, hopefully for good, along with its dogma, its shrillness, and its glass-eyed Presidential golem. In its place I expect politics to remain mostly as technocratic, de-materialised, unequal, and fractious as ever, and perhaps in some ways just as unreal — but now, at least, with a chance of re-centring human thought and needs in human politics. There is a great deal of mopping up to do, but the 21st century is upon us. Bring it on.


Mary Harrington is a contributing editor at UnHerd.

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