As Joe Biden visited a Lutheran church last week in Kenosha, Wis., he was approached, as he often is, by a man looking for a handshake. This being a pandemic, however, the normal grip-and-grin rules of campaigning did not apply. “Can’t do that,” Biden said. And then he reached for the man’s biceps, squeezed it and said, “You’ve got some guns.”
I have spent the better part of three days trying to imagine what went on in the former vice president’s head as he improvised this strange moment of retail politics. There must have been a fear of seeming rude, followed by — and for an elderly male presidential candidate, maybe this would have been worse — a fear of seeming wimpy. Hypochondriacal. Unmasculine. Whatever he said next needed to de-wimpify the situation, and by that standard “you’ve got some guns” was actually sort of brilliant in everything it invoked: Muscles. Firearms. Testosterone. Ego. Plus a working knowledge of contagion, a biceps being a less high-touch surface than a palm.
What does a masculine presidential campaign look like, when it’s covered in a mask, doused in hand sanitizer and dutifully wiping down its groceries?
Joe Biden has spent the better part of six months sorting this out, via a series of efforts that swing between endearing and cringeworthy. President Trump’s repeated downplaying of the novel
coronavirus is dangerous and ill-advised — the city of Tulsa saw a spike in covid-19 cases a few weeks after he held an in-person rally there. But the president, a man driven equally by optics and ego, has attempted to recast this foolhardiness as bravery: He was out there among his people, while Biden was making YouTube videos in his house. On Tuesday, the president of the United States
took to Twitter to formalize a stupid new nickname for his rival: “Basement Biden.”
To be clear, staying in one’s basement continues to be the wisest and most appropriate response to a pandemic that has killed nearly 190,000 Americans, especially if you are in the vulnerable age bracket shared by Biden and Trump. But such caution violates Trump’s Rules for Manly Campaigning. Joe Biden is also playing by Manly Rules, but with a twist: He’s the kind of man who loves epidemiology.
So here is Biden, embarking on a safety-first campaign, doing his hokey best to make that safety sexy. Last month, he slapped on his aviator sunglasses and premiered a
nostalgic Corvette-themed campaign ad that looked as though it had been focus-grouped into existence by a panel made up of CDC scientists, Don Draper and a jukebox that plays only “Brown-Eyed Girl.”
“I was afraid I’d go through those guys,” he chuckled from behind the wheel of his 1967 Sting Ray, referring to the dust-eaters behind him. “God, could my dad drive a car,” he continued, while popping the hood and examining the Corvette’s innards. The ad was 100 percent engine-revving but also 100 percent socially distanced. At one point, though he was the only person in the vehicle, Biden wore a face mask.
Here is Joe Biden in another campaign ad, titled “
That’s a President” — 15 found-footage seconds that, some viewers noted, had the soundtrack of an ad for a truck you might use to haul the pulverized shards of a boulder around the desert. “This job is about protecting Americans,” a voice-over intoned as the screen flashed photos of Biden in between words like “strength” and “courage” but also “compassion” and “resilience.”
Growling guitars. Sweet rides. Nice guns.
Trump has spent the past few months courting “suburban housewives,” trying to convince them that Biden is leading an antifa army to come overthrow their T.J. Maxx. Meanwhile, Biden seems mostly interested in these women’s husbands.
I am coming for you, he seems to be saying. But when I get there, I mostly just want to compliment all your power tools.
What on earth is going on?
This election season has culminated in a battle between the grumpiest old men, who have created a public narrative in which they would be out-walloping each other, bare-fisted, were it not for a sense of decorum and for the pandemic safety regulations keeping them six feet apart.
By any measure, Biden emits a less-toxic plume of self-conscious masculinity than Trump, who measures manliness via military parades and how many groveling supplicants call him “Sir.” We’d need a whole dissertation to unpack all of that.
[
Read Monica Hesse on the weird masculinity of Donald Trump]
Biden, meanwhile, has made a concerted effort to embrace sentimentality and speak openly of his personal grief. He is an empathetic listener. His running mate is a strong woman. He cannot get over how proud he is to have a wife with a doctorate.
But running against a candidate like Trump (“Person, woman, man, camera, TV”) is bound to scramble anyone’s sense of normalcy. “[Biden is] on some kind of an enhancement, in my opinion,”
Trump asserted without evidence in a television interview last week. “Did something happen to Joe Biden?” a Trump campaign ad demanded earlier this summer, cutting to footage of Biden briefly stuttering.
So Biden has fought back, mostly by insinuating that he knows how to fight:
“If we were behind a barn somewhere, it would be a different thing,” Biden told reporters at a news conference last week, explaining how his belief that presidential contenders should be role models prevented him from joining Trump in the “gutter.”
“Watch how I run up ramps and how he stumbles down ramps, okay?” he
told an ABC news affiliate, as if the campaign were a special geriatric episode of “Floor Is Lava.”
This has been going on for a while, since before the pandemic. “I wish we were in high school and I could take him behind a gym,” Biden
told a Pennsylvania audience in 2016, a sentiment he repeated to a Florida audience in 2018: “If we were in high school, I’d take him behind the gym and
beat the hell out of him.”
Trump responded: “He doesn’t know me, but he would go down fast and hard, crying all the way.”
Last year on CNN,
Biden envisioned challenging the president to a fitness contest on the debate stage: “C’mon, man, how many push-ups do you want to do here, pal?”
Much like “you’ve got some guns,” there’s a lot going on with Biden’s phrasing. His imagined fight locales are always rugged, manly and vaguely Rust Belt. He never threatens to fight Trump in a Starbucks, for example; he’s never proposing a beatdown at the creperie. Even then, the actual pummeling isn’t going to happen in the barn, bar or gym. It’s going to happen behind, in an alley or parking lot. “Street rules,” a friend of mine translated when I pointed out this phrasing. As in, Biden is implying the fight needs to happen outside, because it’s going to stretch the bounds of legality and get dirty.
It’s not clear whether Joe Biden and Donald Trump actually want to beat each other up, but it’s abundantly clear they want you to know that they could.
As with most aspects of 2020, it's hard to wrap your brain around the fact that we ended up here. After wading through the most diverse, progressive primary season in history, we're suddenly back in Alexander Hamilton times: a world in which the president and his challenger are still conflating leadership with who can bloody up whom in some field outside of Weehawken.
Can you imagine this dynamic happening with Elizabeth Warren? With Pete Buttigieg or Cory Booker? Absolutely not. This is the kind of chest-bumping that occurs between two elderly men, past their physical prime but indoctrinated into the vision that physical prime is paramount. Men who have no business fighting and who most assuredly would embarrass themselves if they tried: something between artlessly hurling themselves at one another a la late-stage Walter Matthau and Jack Lemmon, and just endlessly circling in a Victorian fisticuffs pose while trash-talking each other’s small hands.
It might be amusing to watch. But it also pins the whole country in a “masculinity trap,” as an essay published by the Center for American Women and Politics points out. “Seeking to disqualify Trump — or any candidate — for his or her failure to meet masculine credentials only maintains power in those credentials and pressures candidates to engage in a competition over who meets them most,”
Kelly Dittmar wrote.
This is the campaign we are in. And it will go further. Because somehow, this posturing still works. Or, at least, the creators of campaign ads, yard signs and electoral paraphernalia believe that it works: American voters care about the economy, health care and education, but they also care, deeply, that those issues are taken up by a man who can change the oil of a vintage Corvette after vigorously beating a no-goodnik behind the garage.
As I type this sentence, Biden has just tweeted a new campaign ad. It features footage of the vice president bounding up to things: podiums, stages, airplanes. “Some people are always in a hurry,” a voice-over intones. “They run when they could walk [footage of Biden running up a ramp]. Race up steps, when others take it slow [footage of Trump trundling down a ramp]. . . . Joe Biden knows, when you get knocked down, you get up off the mat.”
Biden’s next ad will probably just involve leafleting all of northeastern Ohio with paintballing invitations. Anyone who RSVPs, he will meet them behind a barn. He will be masked up, and wearing eye goggles that are somehow shaped like aviator sunglasses. He will patrol the assembled masses, complimenting their equipment. He will say they’ve got some nice guns.
Monica Hesse is a columnist writing about gender and its impact on society. For more visit wapo.st/hesse.