Every now and again, the circumstances of one’s life converge in a single incandescent moment to illustrate how absurd this world really is. Take, for instance, this scene from my Thursday afternoon this week: I had just cracked open my second Diet Coke of the day when I found out from a chain text message that Donald Trump had been convicted. The exact words that ushered this knowledge into my life? “Daddy Trump is CUMvicted on ALL Charges 😱 UH OH.”
UH OH, indeed! As both a U.S. citizen and a writer of nepo baby content, I knew that Trump’s verdict would have a seismic impact on my life. North West’s widely derided Lion King performance at the Hollywood Bowl performance was a strong contender for this week’s column, but now, how could we possibly talk about anything else?
“Daddy Trump” is the nepo baby to end all nepo babies—the son of a real estate mogul who somehow managed to fail upward out of the family business and into a TV career, and once that languished under the weight of his unbearable personality (and, OK, fine, the general collapse of TV viewership), he went and clawed his way to the top of another dying institution—our crumbling democracy. Now, he’s our first former president to be convicted of a crime, and while incarcerated people are not even allowed to vote, this man—this man—can run for president. Washed-up and legally embattled reality stars everywhere are taking note. Jen Shah’s release is supposedly coming in August 2028, so keep an eye out for that senatorial campaign, I guess!
For those who somehow have not heard, a Manhattan jury found Trump guilty on Thursday of all 34 counts of falsifying business records in order to conceal hush money payments to adult film actress Stormy Daniels ahead of the 2016 presidential election. This is what happens when you let a nepo baby run amok for far too long—he thinks he can get away with just about anything. Lately, however, the courts, at least, seem to disagree.
The clown show has already begun in conservative media, as Fox News and the conservative pundit industrial complex collectively share a meltdown. Predictably, Trump himself is crying “Rigged, rigged, rigged!” all the way home. Hillary Clinton is cackling, and Elon Musk is fuming. Melania is being very “Melania” about all this, which is to say she’s said absolutely nothing. In my mind’s eye, however, I can see her eyeing that infamous “I really don’t care, do u?” jacket in her closet. I imagine the Laura Benanti Late Show appearance is already underway.
But how are the second-generation Trump nepo babies doing? Well, as we all might have guessed, failsons Don Jr. and Eric are tweeting through it. Ivanka, meanwhile, has gone the conservative route and opted for a measured four words: “I love you, Dad.” And sources who are definitely not made-up tell me that Tiffany Trump is currently slurping margaritas on a yacht and dancing to the song “God Is a DJ.”
At this point, Trump might actually be so toxic that he couldn’t even book a gig on Dancing With the Stars—which is wild, because that show has already welcomed such public disgraces as Rick Perry and Sean Spicer to its shiny floor. And yet—and I cannot emphasize my average-Jane dismay enough on this point—he can still run for president. To borrow a turn of phrase the very Trumpian Succession patriarch Logan Roy, sometimes I look at this country and I think, we are not “serious people.”
In a fitting turn of events, former Apprentice producer Bill Pruitt also published a damning essay on Slate Thursday about his experience working on the show. Among other allegations, Pruitt described Trump saying the N-word on set—an anecdote that’s been the subject of ongoing rumors since at least 2016. But will any of this make a difference come 2024, or do all of these things—the conviction, the Slate essay, the E. Jean Carroll defamation verdict, on and on and on—simply energize his base? (Apparently, fans have already crashed his donation page following the verdict.) This is where I have to tap out and remind myself that I am an entertainment reporter and not a political analyst, but as a bystander, at least, it all starts to feel more than a little exhausting.
So, where does this leave us, fellow nepo scholars? I guess if you’re born on third base with the blessing of absolute delusion on your side, you really can do anything—except beat a court case in which the closing arguments against you are somehow six hours long.
Check out our past Nepo Babies of the Week.
