Lifestyle
Kilian Jornet Set Out to Summit 72 of America’s Tallest Peaks — in Just One Month
The Beginning
Kilian Jornet was drenched and tired.
Mr. Jornet, 37, was just a few days into an ambitious odyssey, a self-designed project he had named “States of Elevation.” His goal was to link, by foot and by bike, the tallest peaks in the contiguous United States — a series of 70-plus publicly accessible mountains in Colorado, California and Washington known as the “14ers” because they are all 14,000 feet or higher (symbolized on the map as ). He estimated it would take him around a month.
But now, in early September, Mr. Jornet wondered whether he could continue.
It is not often that Mr. Jornet, one of the most accomplished endurance athletes on the planet, seems susceptible to human frailties. In 2017, he reached the summit of Mount Everest twice in one week, without support or supplemental oxygen. In 2023, he climbed the 177 tallest peaks in the Pyrenees in eight days. Last year, he needed just 19 days to tackle the 82 tallest peaks in the Alps.
But now, after a long flight from Norway, where he lives with his wife, Emelie Forsberg, a former skyrunning world champion, and their three young daughters, Mr. Jornet was jet-lagged and struggling to acclimate to the high altitude of the LA Freeway in Colorado, a mountainous traverse along the Continental Divide.
Making matters worse, a steady rain left him feeling as if he were soaked through to his core.
“I just felt exhausted,” Mr. Jornet recalled in a recent interview. “It felt impossible to do one more week, let alone another month. But then the body switched, and I went from fighting to adapting.”
Climbing peak after peak in Colorado, he seemed to grow stronger as he moved west, through the Mojave Desert and into the Sierra Nevada, across Northern California and finally into the Cascades.
A small support crew in a recreational vehicle met up with Mr. Jornet periodically while he was hiking, and followed more closely during his long bike rides. He also had a rotating cast of friends and fellow athletes who joined him for parts of the project.
And, over the course of 31 days and 3,197 miles, he conquered a challenge in which, on any given day, he was completing a feat — or, in some cases, feats — that many climbers would consider a lifetime achievement in and of itself.
Colorado
16 days | 1,207 miles | 56 peaks
A couple of days before Ryan Hall, the retired Olympic marathoner, was set to meet Mr. Jornet near Crested Butte, Colo., he checked the forecast. An avid climber, Mr. Hall was alarmed enough to send Mr. Jornet a text message asking if they really wanted to tackle the Elks Traverse in a snowstorm. Mr. Jornet was not concerned.
“Yeah,” he replied via text, “we might get a little wet out there.”
The weather, though, turned out to be pleasant, and Mr. Jornet and Mr. Hall chatted throughout their 12 hours together — about their families, about training and nutrition, and even about “different levels of consciousness,” Mr. Hall said. At one point, Mr. Jornet, who is from Spain, described climbing as an out-of-body experience.
Mr. Hall was surprised to learn that Mr. Jornet did not drink coffee. His explanation? He worries caffeine will make him push too hard and hinder his ability to recover. Mr. Hall said Mr. Jornet made no mention of feeling tired or hungry during their time together.
“It was interesting to see how he managed his body and what he was putting it through,” Mr. Hall said, “and how, mentally, it wasn’t taking up any space.”
Mr. Hall also noticed that Mr. Jornet refrained from talking about the project. Instead, he seemed present. The only mountain that mattered was the mountain he was on. Mr. Jornet, Mr. Hall said, was “full of peace” — an impression that was reinforced when they reached Castle Peak, their fifth and final summit together. Not that Mr. Jornet was keeping track.
“The peaks don’t really mean anything to me,” he told Mr. Hall. “The peaks are just an excuse to be out here.”
Dakota Jones, an elite trail and mountain runner, joined Mr. Jornet for his final two days of climbing in Colorado, which started with an ascent of Mount Sneffels and a 25-mile traverse through the early hours of the night.
When Mr. Jornet awoke the next morning, he rode his bicycle several hours to the next trailhead. Mr. Jones followed Mr. Jornet’s crew in his Toyota Tacoma and prepared for the day by consuming a burrito, several doughnuts and lots of coffee.
“He’s so far beyond what the rest of us can do,” Mr. Jones said of Mr. Jornet.
At around noon, they embarked on a nearly 14-hour run through the Weminuche Wilderness, a remote area of the San Juan National Forest. By the time they reached their final peak of the day, Mr. Jornet had run out of food.
“He never said a word,” Mr. Jones said. “He just kept going. That’s Kilian.”
Mr. Jornet spent a total of 16 days in Colorado, where he made 56 summits while covering more than 1,200 miles.
Desert Ride
5 days | 877 miles
Up close, there was nothing inherently sexy about Mr. Jornet’s quest. Day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute, he was simply putting one foot in front of the other, or pedaling one stroke at a time. Mr. Hall likened him to a “metronome,” his rhythmic movements never hurried or rushed.
Mr. Jones approached Mr. Jornet as if he were part of an anthropological study: What was he capable of doing next?
“He has both the physiology to be great and the infinite discipline and focus to make the most of what he has,” Mr. Jones said. “And that’s a really rare combination.”
Mr. Jornet’s discipline was clear when, after conquering Colorado, he spent five days biking nearly 900 miles across vast expanses of the Mojave Desert. He averaged about 14 hours a day in the saddle.
He was accompanied for portions of the trip by athletes like Chris Myers, a trail runner, and Gemma Arró Ribot, a former teammate on the Spanish ski mountaineer team. But Mr. Jornet also spent a great deal of time alone, and he battled boredom, fatigue and the heat by listening to music and audiobooks.
Mostly, though, he biked as a mode of transport, as a means to an end.
California
7 days | 593 miles | 15 peaks
One of Mr. Jornet’s early challenges in California was Norman’s 13, a winding, 100-mile route that links all 13 of the 14,000-foot peaks in the Sierra Nevada. In search of some expertise, Mr. Jornet recruited Olivia Amber, a world-class trail runner who, about two weeks earlier, had done the route on her own.
Some context: Ms. Amber, 30, described Norman’s 13 as a “dream project” that she had pieced together over several years. For even the most accomplished adventurers, the route is serious business. And when Ms. Amber completed it in 89 hours (which included four hours of sleep), she became the fourth person to ever do so — and the first woman.
And then there was Mr. Jornet, fresh off hundreds of miles of bicycling through the desert, who intended to move through Norman’s 13 as just one part of a much larger project. It was difficult for Ms. Amber to comprehend.
“He’s rewriting what’s possible in the mountains,” she said, “especially with endurance feats.”
On Sept. 25, Ms. Amber was set to meet Mr. Jornet at the junction of the Taboose Pass Trail and the John Muir Trail, before their shared trek up Split Mountain. To reach him, she had to jog 12 miles while ascending 6,000 feet — and she had to do it in a hurry after receiving word that he was moving quickly.
“I honestly thought he was going to beat me there,” she said. “It was crazy.”
From the start, Ms. Amber could sense Mr. Jornet was egoless. He seemed genuinely grateful for her help. With rough weather approaching, he agreed when she suggested that he take a quick nap before leaving camp.
“I wasn’t totally sure if he was committed to sleeping,” Ms. Amber recalled.
They set out before dusk, and as they began to move through the night, heavy snow blanketed them. It was Ms. Amber’s sixth time up Split Mountain, and Mr. Jornet’s first. It hardly mattered.
“He had this feel for where we were and for the terrain even though he had never been there before,” said Ms. Amber, who accompanied Mr. Jornet for 25 snow-filled miles. “I could just feel that energy from him — a confidence that came from a place of deep understanding of how to move in that kind of environment and in those conditions.”
Of course, Mr. Jornet made it look easy, even when it was not. Later, after biking another 390 miles over two days into the Cascades of Northern California, he reached Mount Shasta — the 71st and penultimate peak of his project — where he was buffeted by an Arctic wind. He had to crawl the final 1,000 feet to the summit.
“You need to laugh in those situations and find the way to pass through,” Mr. Jornet said.
Oregon Ride
3 days | 489 miles
A few hours after summiting Mount Shasta, Mr. Jornet was on two wheels once again. He was joined by the triathlete Ian Murray for a 60-mile ride on crushed volcanic gravel before they slept just south of the Oregon border.
Mr. Jornet was by himself for the next two days as he rode 430 miles to the foot of Mount Rainier in Washington. The end was near.
When he was planning the project, Mr. Jornet worried about being hit by a car or a truck while biking. “A lot of people were telling me it would be very dangerous,” he recalled.
He and his team worked hard to locate the safest roads with the widest shoulders, and he found, to his surprise, that most drivers gave him ample space. He also was grateful for the company of his friends, new and old.
“He clearly could have done every inch of this on his own and he would have been totally fine and totally happy,” Ms. Amber said. “But he had this deeper appreciation that people showed up for him and were willing to help him.”
Mr. Jornet wanted to share the experience with those who joined him for portions of it — and with the wider world. Mr. Hall, for example, laughed whenever Mr. Jornet broke out his selfie stick. It was important to Mr. Jornet that he and his team use social media — Mr. Jornet has nearly two million followers on Instagram — to convey the beauty of the natural world and the importance of protecting it.
During his travels, Mr. Jornet saw moose, coyotes, goats, eagles, snakes and even a couple of bears from a distance. None bothered him, he said.
“We would look at each other,” Mr. Jornet said, “and say: ‘Hey, guys! How are you doing?’ And just continue.”
Mount Rainier Finale
Mr. Jornet started up Mount Rainier at dawn on Oct. 3, and it was a final test worthy of the project — a 29-mile haul up 14,320 vertical feet before he reached the summit. About 17 hours after he had set out that morning, he returned to the trailhead where his support team was waiting with celebratory slices of pizza and pickle juice shots.
After 31 days and 72 summits, Mr. Jornet’s objectively absurd project was complete. He covered 629 miles on foot and biked an additional 2,568 miles, which outdistanced this year’s Tour de France by more than 400 miles. And he did all that while amassing 403,691 feet of elevation gain.
Throughout the project, Mr. Jornet wore a smartwatch that tracked his heart rate, his mileage, his sleep totals (he averaged about six hours a night) and even something called his “recovery score,” which registered zero — yes, zero — for 17 consecutive days. (At one point, he broke his cellphone, and members of his team questioned whether he had done it on purpose.)
Mr. Jornet estimated that he had burned about 9,000 calories a day, but he managed not to lose any weight. One of his secret weapons: flasks of olive oil that he guzzled raw. By the end of his journey, he was looking forward to homegrown produce from his garden and thick slices of his wife’s sourdough bread.
The day after summiting Mount Rainier, Mr. Jornet awoke feeling disoriented. His first instinct, he said, was to reach for his bike: Didn’t he have more miles ahead of him? No, he realized, it was over. He slept more peacefully the next night.
His trek through the Alps last summer, while less physically demanding, had left him mentally drained because so many of the climbs were so challenging. His jaunt through the American West was a comparative breeze.
“It was just fun,” he said. “It was nice to ride and to run and to see the things and just to enjoy those places. And I could have gone on. I was happy to finish and go home, but physically it felt like my body was ready to continue.”
For now, Mr. Jornet plans to take a break and spend time with his family.
“But I know myself,” he said, “and I know in a couple of months that I will start to think of something else.”
Dr. John Henry Cook III hadn’t meant to appear bare-chested on Sylvia Rosemarie Auton’s iPhone when he called her for a chat last July. It was 7:45 a.m., and Cook, who was home alone with his dog in Leesburg, Va., was having trouble facing the day.
“I was lying in the bed my wife had died in,” he said. “I was feeling busted by sorrow, and I just wanted to talk to Sylvia.” An accidental push of the FaceTime button sent more than his voice through the ether.
Auton, who was visiting her daughter at the time in Phoenix, Md., was taken aback.
“He said, ‘Good morning, Love,’” she recalled. “I was stunned.” She was equally stunned a day later when, hours after their first kiss, he proposed.
Auton, 85, and Cook, 90, first met in May 2011, when Auton and her late husband, Forrest Hanvey, became patients at Cook’s concierge medical practice in Leesburg. Hanvey, who died in 2024, had known Cook since the 1950s, when both were midshipmen at the U.S. Naval Academy. A friendly relationship between the former classmates soon extended to their wives, Auton and Agnes diZerega Cook, whom friends knew as Di.
Both couples would routinely see each other at U.S.N.A. alumni events, and after Cook retired from medicine in 2017, they met up occasionally for group lunches with Navy friends.
“I got to know Di, who was a wonderful watercolor artist and wonderful person,” Auton said. When Di died in April 2025 of cardiac arrest, the friendship between the two surviving spouses deepened.
Auton is an author and educator. Before she moved to Fairfax, Va., in 1969 with her first husband, a nuclear physicist named David Auton, she lived in Chicago, where she grew up. Her bachelor’s degree in mathematics and master’s in mathematics education are from the University of Chicago. Her doctorate in mathematics education and statistics is from the University of Maryland.
Auton and David, who died of a cerebral hemorrhage in 2003, raised a daughter, Alyson Russo, now an anesthesiologist at the Johns Hopkins Hospital and the mother of Auton’s two grandsons, ages 6 and 2. The Autons also had a son, Timothy Lee, who died in 2014.
Auton taught in Chicago classrooms before she was promoted to her first position in educational leadership in the late 1970s. In 2005, she retired as director of staff development for Fairfax County Public Schools.
Auton now teaches personal finance classes at the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute, part of George Mason University. She also advises women on beginner stock market and investment strategies.
Her advice extends to navigating romance and relationships, too. “The Last Embrace: Caregiving for a Beloved Spouse,” a self-published 2025 book, was written after she spent a protracted period caring for Hanvey, who died after a fall at home in Fairfax Station. “The Wondrous Embrace: Finding Love in the Sunset Years,” also self-published in 2025, is meant to inspire hope among older people who may be souring on the chances of finding love.
Auton met Hanvey when she was well into her 60s and he was 70 in January 2005. They married the same year, in September. “One thing I do not want is for anyone to feel discouraged,” when it comes to love or otherwise, she said.
Before Cook earned his medical degree from Yale, he was a Polaris submarine commander in the U.S. Navy. During the Cold War, he served in nuclear submarines. He married Di in 1957, the day after he graduated from the Naval Academy.
Military service had been a Cook family legacy. His father was a Marine first lieutenant; he was born at Marine Corps Base Quantico in Virginia. With Di, he had a daughter, Elizabeth, and two sons, John and Harrison. His five grandchildren range in age from 24 to 30.
When Hanvey was declining in 2024, Auton wasn’t always certain she understood his needs. In those moments, she would ask Hanvey if he wanted to talk with someone else. “Invariably, it would be, ‘I want to talk with Jack,’” she said. Cook picked up the phone every time.
On May 17, 2025, Cook held a memorial for Di at St. James’ Episcopal Church in Leesburg, where they had married almost 70 years earlier. Soon after she died, Auton sent the family a condolence card and tucked a printout of the 1934 poem “Immortality,” by Clare Harner, inside. “I thought it might comfort Jack,” she said.
At the memorial, he told her how much he liked it. But Auton knew his grief was of a depth poetry could do little to assuage. “I saw the pain he was in,” she said.
Less than two weeks later, she was surprised when he texted her a handwritten poem. “He had taken the original poem I sent him and created a poem as if Di were reading it to him,” she said. “I was so taken with that I sent a poem back to him as though Forrest were writing to me.” Both poems touched on how they shouldn’t feel alone, how their spouses’ spirits wouldn’t leave them.
Auton was planning a June 2025 celebration of life for Hanvey at the time. “Jack had done such a wonderful job with Di’s, I asked him if he would come over and look at my ideas,” she said. Over lunch, the effects of his loss were as apparent as they had been at the memorial for Di.
“He was still zombielike with grief,” she said. Compassion and a sense of hopefulness about helping him through his pain led to a shift toward tender new feelings.
On June 29, as Cook was leaving the celebration of life for Hanvey, he bent down to hug her and whispered “I love you” in her ear. “What was astonishing is that, without a moment of hesitation, I responded ‘I love you, too,’” she said.
The next morning, he sent her a text message: “Bravo Zulu,” a Navy term for “well done.” She asked herself if his declaration of love at the service meant little more than appreciation for the celebration honoring his friend.
They didn’t speak again until July 11, when Auton was preparing to get in the shower at her daughter’s house and Cook was shirtless and in bed. Auton checked that only her face was visible when she answered the early morning call. They hung up with a plan to meet for lunch the next day, at Auton’s house in Fairfax Station.
“At 1 o’clock, there he was, holding a mini orchid plant” as a gift, she said. “He stepped into the foyer, stepped into my arms and gave me a long, deep kiss.” Two hours later, on a deck overlooking a lake on the property, he proposed.
At the memorial for Hanvey, Cook’s feelings for Auton had taken him by surprise. “When you’ve been in a long-term, loving marriage, you always have your feelers out” for your spouse, he said. When the spouse dies, “those feelers that had been intertwined wither away.” For Cook, maintaining hope that they would one day regenerate and intertwine with someone else had been a challenge.
But “the moment I kissed her, it’s almost like I put the key in the lock,” he said. “My life started again.”
On May 9, Cook and Auton married at St. James’ Episcopal Church. Rev. Chad Martin officiated a traditional Christian ceremony for 90 guests.
Auton wore a dusty rose ankle-length dress from her closet — the same dress she had worn to marry Hanvey. “It brought back loving memories,” she said. Cook wore a dark gray suit with a multicolored tie and his trademark red socks. Both had entered the church from a side door, then sat in chairs arranged in front of the altar, standing only to say their vows.
“At our age, stability is an issue,” Auton said. “I wobble well, but I didn’t want to wobble up a long aisle.”
After a kiss to mark the start of their married life and a careful recess to the church parish for a buffet lunch, they reflected on the resilience of the heart.
“Even if the days ahead are few, both of us would like others to have hope for the future,” Auton said. Since he and Auton fell in love, Cook said, “life has been delightful.”
“Beauty and music surround us all,” he added. “If you listen for it, you’ll hear it. If you don’t, you’ll miss it.”
On This Day
When May 9, 2026
Where St. James’ Episcopal Church, Leesburg, Va.
Church Finest The reception in the church parish was catered by Tuscarora Mill, a local restaurant whose owner Cook has known for years. On the menu were prime rib and roast chicken. The lively spring décor, including bright florals, pink napkins and white tablecloths, had been set up by the church sexton and came as a surprise to Auton. “People came up to us to say they had never seen the church look so lovely,” she said.
A Past Worth Preserving Cook will move into Auton’s home in Fairfax Station. He recently sold the 16-acre Leesburg farm he and Di lived on for over 40 years, known as Historic Rock Spring, to the City of Leesburg, to be used as a park. “It was important to Di that the land be preserved,” he said.
Accidental Vintage Auton’s wedding dress was at least 21 years old, she estimated, and Cook’s suit was more than 30. “We were not in today’s fashions by any means,” she said, unapologetically.
Gratitude The day after the wedding, Auton and Cook sent thank-you emails and texts to each of their guests. “At 85 and 90, we wake up each day with a sense of profound thanks-giving: for you, for our health and for the joy of hoping to continue to be of value in this world,” they wrote. They signed their first correspondence as husband and wife with, “Many thanks from two wrinkly, creaky, wobbly but very grateful people.”
L.A. is proof that sometimes all you need is a car, a streetlamp and that orange light to make something really special happen. Jonathan Anderson presented his first Dior Cruise show in L.A. under the fluttering shadows cast by Peter Zumthor’s new Brutalist building at LACMA, and the whole thing felt like the equivalent of sending a text after hours of getting ready, buzzing with anticipation: “I’m OMW.”
At the base of the David Geffen Galleries, anchored by classic American cars in colors like bubblegum and butter, where models sat inside sucking lollipops and talking close, was “an illusion of L.A., in L.A.,” so say the show notes. The scene mirrored the energy of a film set, all drama and specific lighting and smoke billowing from mysterious corners, honoring the house’s relationship with cinema. The show notes also came in the form of a film script — titled “Wilshire Boulevard” — opening with the “No Dior, No Dietrich!” of it all and followed by Anderson’s thoughts on escapism and dreaming. Today’s Hollywood stars — Taylor Russell, Greta Lee, Anya Taylor-Joy, Alison Oliver, Jisoo, Maude Apatow, Jeff Goldblum, Sabrina Carpenter, to name a few — were in attendance.
The looks that walked down the runway also called upon the dream, soundtracked by a score that included blues icon John Lee Hooker and beloved French band Air. A new iteration of the Dior Saddle bag was car-inspired, sharing DNA with John Galliano’s 2001 Dior Cadillac bags, featuring car paint surfaces and motor key charms. There were the bespoke Philip Treacy hats that revisited a technique the milliner has honed for years, with feathers forming typography in words like “Buzz” and “Flow,” worn with some of the men’s looks. There was Anderson’s take on the bar jacket that Christian Dior made for Marlene Dietrich to wear in Alfred Hitchcock’s “Stage Fright,” white with a geometric black collar. A grey flannel coat was inspired by film noir, featuring a stripe detail that took inspiration from Venetian blinds. A red velvet dress with a rosette was Anderson’s way of playing with Christian Dior’s practice of putting a red dress partway through a show “simply to wake people up.”
As polished-glam and old-Hollywood as the references were, there were moments that also felt sleazy and fun in the way that Hollywood in 2007 did, when getting photographed pouring out of a car on the way into the club was a rite of passage and full of its own twisted promise. Denim was intentionally pilled and embroidered with fine silver chains in the rips, replacing frayed strands of cotton (“the everyday becomes couture,” the show notes say). Leather pants were worn with oversized rhinestone-rimmed sunglasses. A fuzzy coat in almost a wood grain-like pattern was worn slipshod over a shoulder with a black dress. Shirts were made in collaboration with L.A. artist Ed Ruscha, worn by models with messy long hair and hands in their pockets, sporting the kind of attitudinal walk that the skater boy-actor-model working at your local coffee shop has perfected. “When I think of L.A., I think of Ruscha’s work, which has a fascinating sense of the mundane and how it relates to the city’s grandeur,” Anderson wrote in the notes.
A resort collection is all about the destination, and in L.A. a destination can be the most quotidian, normal-ass place. For example, even the rarest piece in your closet is first experienced by your car, or your backyard, or the courtyard of a county museum. L.A. people get that the mundane is the destination because our version of mundane is anything but.
Cut to the afters at the Chateau Marmont. It was a blur of champagne, full sized In-N-Out cheeseburgers, chic ushers wearing Dior uniforms with snug grey sweaters and slacks that pooled perfectly at the leg. Oh, and also, a collective fear that someone would slip and fall into the gleaming turquoise pool (but isn’t that the intrusive thought that hangs over every Chateau party?). Faces like Teyana Taylor, Mikey Madison, Paul W. Downs, Role Model and Dominic Fike, all in Dior, were soaking in the ambiance.
As the night waned and we piled into big black SUVs with an emblematic “CD” on the windows that were there to take us home, one couldn’t help but call to mind a Hollywood trope, where in L.A., the journey was the destination all along.
Dior creative director Jonathan Anderson.
Taylor Russell and Mikey Madison.
Malcolm McRae and Anya Taylor-Joy.
Greta Lee and her parents.
Steven Yeun and Humberto Leon.
That spot did not go over well with many fliers, who voiced their disagreement on social media (it’s unclear that getting gussied up would solve the upset caused by delayed flights, increasingly tiny seats and other flying indignities). But it was merely a warm-up for the longer show, which has its debut next month on YouTube. This one features Duffy in a whole variety of dad outfits straight from the “Father Knows Best” closet of the American mind, with his family as supporting characters, down to their matching PJs.
There he is in the Oval Office, introducing his kids (and the show’s concept) to President Trump as white-collar dad in a Trumpian outfit of blue suit, white shirt and red-and-blue tie. There he is in snowy Montana, leading his gang on snowmobiles in coordinated snowsuits. In Philadelphia, he’s in a polo shirt and jeans, introducing his children to a role-playing Benjamin Franklin. He hangs out in a plaid shirt with Kid Rock, a scene that also features Duffy’s wife, Rachel Campos-Duffy, a Fox anchor, in an American flag sweater and matching American flag cowboy boots. (The two met on the reality show “Road Rules: All Stars.”) He wears a lot of shackets. And that’s just in the show’s four-minute promo.
In other words, this does not seem to be in the mode of the storied road trips of American pop-culture mythology, be they the grungy road trip of Peter Fonda and Jack Nicholson in “Easy Rider” or the existential one of Chloé Zhao’s Oscar winner “Nomadland.” It does not even seem to be modeled on the gaffe-filled comic road trip of the Griswold clan in “National Lampoon’s Vacation.”
It’s more like “Road Trip: The Suburban Nostalgia Version.” (See the cars, which include throwback station wagons redolent of “Leave It to Beaver” and a big, black Toyota SUV with Duffy, of course, in the driver’s seat.) It was conceived, presumably, to evoke the values — “wholesome,” “patriotic,” “joyful” — enumerated by Duffy in his post on X and meant to define the show and, by association, himself.
As such, it effectively brands him as the Everydad of the administration, complete with ur-weekend wardrobe. And when it finally airs next month, it may turn out to be less about actual reality (reality TV rarely is) than about heavily messaged reality. In other words: marketing for history.
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