Upon reading the draft of McKay Coppins’ reporting from his adventures with Donald Trump in 2014, I knew with so much certainty that this man would never be president. His actions, his words, his unabashed egomania assured me that his charade of wanting to hold political office was just an attempt to garner more free press for himself, as he had done so many times before. I was working as Art Director for BuzzFeed and was tasked with the job of illustrating this story and my instinct was to depict this insane and impossible ambition as a reality. What could be more ridiculous than seeing a realistic rendering of this man behind the desk of the Oval Office as president?
I decided to imagine a White House that would reflect the changes Mr. Trump would decree to match his unique style. That aesthetic begins and ends with one word — GOLD. Everything had to be gold. The curtains, the carpet, the late 19th century Resolute desk gifted by Queen Victoria to Rutherford B. Hayes; if it had a surface then it had to have gold adhered to it. The hinged front panel door that many can recall seeing John F. Kennedy Jr. pop through while playing at the feet of his father would be sealed shut and modified to display the made-up Trump family coat of arms. Behind the desk are framed photos, one depicts President Trump and First Lady Melania at one of their inaugural balls. The Rose Garden that flanks the West Wing since it was established in 1913 by first lady Ellen Wilson would be torn out to make room for something flashier, more casino, like a golden fountain with water and light shows throughout the day. In art school a professor would often remark, “you’re gilding a turd” when a student would continue to pore over a piece of work in an attempt to give it a false sense of value instead of seeing its intrinsic failure from the start. This was the opposite of that. The Oval Office was perfect and it was the reflection of the respect one should have for the office of the president, the gilding of that room was for the sake of the turd behind the desk to feel as though he belonged there.
Suddenly it’s 2016 and I’m watching Trump plow through the Republican primaries. He speaks to his fellow party nominees in a manner more befitting a Real Housewives reunion than a debate. I think of my picture of him in the golden Oval Office. I still find the image funny and think it’s just ridiculous that he’s pursuing this. There’s no way the Republican party would allow him to get too far. Then he’s receiving the nomination at the RNC. I still think to myself there’s no chance, but let me contribute to Hillary’s campaign just in case. His presidential campaign is now in full swing, I’m watching polls rise and fall in his favor and then against. Finally they seem to level out and he’s trailing Hillary. I think of him ripping out the Rose Garden. Let me make another donation to the HRC campaign. Surely everyone will come to their senses, it seems like everyone in my little Facebook bubble agrees he has no chance. After weeks of watching CNN and FOX News back and forth for some semblance of balance, election night draws near and all reason and logic points to the better, more experienced candidate winning. The candidate who hasn’t spewed hate or talked about sexually assaulting women. Obama’s presidency was the sign we wanted change and got it. Hillary in the White House was to be the next chapter of that story. I think of the picture. I post it to Instagram and comment, “The fact I made this two years ago still haunts me.”
I had unknowingly put something out into the world which at the time seemed absurd but became very real. I had let Trump become a meme. We all did. I let Facebook shelter me from dissenting opinions, silencing anyone who thought otherwise. As Mr. Trump would have said, “Get him the hell outta here!” the moment anyone had infiltrated a Trump rally with an unkind word to say. I did the same with anyone who wasn’t “with her” on my social accounts. They were wrong, we were right. I missed the opportunity to have the conversation with friends and family about how they were voting. Would they think of me? Would they protect my rights and the rights of others when they went to the ballot box? I didn’t think we needed to discuss it, the choice was clear.
The image I created, with its intent to appear absurd through its realness, lost its humor on November 8th. It became painfully clear on November 9th in the sobering light of post election day when we saw almost half of eligible voters didn’t care enough to turn out. Half of those who did vote didn’t see the ridiculous man I did, and elected him president. How could it have been so close?
I have seen my image popping up across social media and various websites since election day being used to convey two very different sentiments. Through one lens Trump is a man with little reverence for the highest office in the land and his lack of knowledge and dignity to serve is represented by his vandalization in gold. Through another lens he is an outsider determined to serve the people who “made this country great” by giving them a sense of power after “suffering in silence” through the last eight years. To them he’s an alchemist, taking what the “losers” left of our once great nation and turning it into pure gold.
