Lifestyle
How personality trumped policy in this media election cycle
Donald Trump speaks to the media at Green Bay Austin Straubel International Airport in Green Bay, Wisc., on Oct. 30, 2024.
Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images
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Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images
Looking at the media coverage leading to and throughout President-elect Donald Trump’s massive electoral success Tuesday, I wonder if we are seeing — at least a little bit — the impact of politics rendered as entertainment and spectacle.
Former Trump press aide Erin Perrine touched on the point Tuesday during the chatty live election night special hosted by ex-NBC anchor Brian Williams on Amazon’s Prime Video. Perrine noted Vice President Kamala Harris may have spent too much time during the campaign focused on her opponent, making the election seem like a referendum on his personality.
“Not only are we a deeply divided nation, but we aren’t sure where we want to go directionally at this point,” Perrine said early in the evening, before the size of Trump’s victory was apparent. “It’s a policy versus personality conversation that voters are having with themselves.”

Williams’ election special itself seemed to reflect the turn toward spectacle, conducted from a studio set in Los Angeles with huge screens to display sweeping graphics, deploying the kind of technology used to film TV shows like Disney+’s The Mandalorian. They had no decision desk for calling vote projections — which kinda seems the point of live election specials — forcing the audience to focus on the entertainment of seeing big-name guests spar with each other while Williams cited results originally reported on other news platforms.
That turn toward entertainment benefits a candidate like Trump, who is an expert at building an image aimed at captivating and engaging people, using the news media as his messenger. Over his presidential campaign, there was plenty of coverage detailing what policies he proposed to advance in a second term — from extensive tariffs to mass deportations of undocumented immigrants.

But I suspect what really moves many Trump fans is his unique charisma, turning rallies into a display where he can say and do things which would typically end a conventional politician’s career. (Remember what he did with a faulty microphone at a recent rally?)
Helping him out are areas in media — and elsewhere — that pundit Matthew Sheffield has labeled “partisan ecosystems,” like Fox News Channel, Newsmax and conservative-friendly podcasters like Joe Rogan. Sheffield notes these corners of media can provide lots of important benefits to politicians: attacking political opponents, defending candidates’ behavior, keeping people loyal to the party and encouraging people who may feel negatively about the candidate to vote with the party.
It’s a media environment where politics is often presented as an entertaining spectacle, with amped-up conflict featuring distinct heroes and villains.
Over the past election season, my thoughts have turned many times to a legendary book, Neil Postman’s prescient 1985 analysis, Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business — often used as a textbook in many media analysis and ethics classes. It argues a now-obvious idea: as entertainment becomes a larger element in news coverage, especially on TV, a political leader’s image and ability to entertain us may become more important than their actual policies or actions.
And creating a powerful image is what Trump has excelled at, from his earliest days decades ago building his persona as a real estate baron in New York, to his modern incarnation as a political strongman promising to impose his will on American society. His supporters find him entertaining and feisty; even critics who hate his policies or his demeanor find it difficult to avoid talking about him.
When Harris first stepped up to assume the Democratic nomination from President Joe Biden, it seemed she might have found a way to create her own spectacle — focusing the political conversation on her rapid rise, selection of a running mate, unique identity and the need to introduce herself to voters, despite serving as vice president for nearly four years.
Watching the sitting vice president navigate a wave of media interest that included memes after pop star Charli XCX declared “Kamala is brat” and suggestions she go on the celebrities-interviewed-while-eating-hot-wings YouTube show Hot Ones, you couldn’t escape the sense that Harris faced pressure to entertain the public while explaining why she should be elected president.
But that dynamic quickly changed again, as talk turned to the outrageousness of Trump’s actions — from using expletives to refer to Harris in speeches to presenting a rally in New York City featuring a comic who joked about Puerto Rico as a “floating island of garbage.” It seemed an extension of an ethic Trump developed long ago: That being talked about in the press is always better than not being talked about, even if people are mostly saying he’s terrible.
And the media elements connected to his effort — from selling keepsake Bibles to hawking Trump-centered NFT’s with gaudy images and appearing with popular podcasters like Rogan — kept the public focused on the GOP candidate’s outsized image.
Trump’s ability to yank back the spotlight persisted, even when Harris pulled off her own spectacles — like superstar endorsements from Beyoncé and an appearance on Saturday Night Live with her doppelganger, Maya Rudolph.
That kind of media ubiquity – where people are entertained and feel a connection to a big personality – doesn’t just excite supporters. It seems calculated to reach voters who are less involved in the political process, like undecideds and first timers. It also can make extreme policies seem more palatable, allowing supporters to shrug off or downplay Trump’s talk of prosecuting enemies or deporting masses of undocumented immigrants.
What once struck me about conservatism in a simpler time — say, the days of George W. Bush and Sarah Palin — was that the party developed a way of talking about the issues anyone could adopt, like learning a language. But Trump’s ability to leverage media attention as entertainment seems more unique to him — something that legendarily awkward figures like JD Vance and Ron DeSantis might have trouble re-creating, raising questions about how lasting the impact may be.
In the days and weeks to come, there will likely be a lot of columns like this, trying to make sense of a result that some didn’t see coming, and which heralds tremendous change for society and media.
But it may be wise to consider how the rise of politics as entertainment, and the media’s contribution to that ascent, has shaped the current social landscape.
Edited by Jennifer Vanasco. Web page produced by Beth Novey.
Lifestyle
‘How to Rule the World’ explores education and power at Stanford University
Students walk on the Stanford University campus on March 14, 2019, in Stanford, Calif.
Ben Margot/AP
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Ben Margot/AP
When Theo Baker arrived at Stanford University a few years ago, he joined the student newspaper, following the path of his journalist parents, Peter Baker, a White House correspondent for The New York Times, and Susan Glasser, a writer for The New Yorker.
Through his reporting as a student journalist, he eventually broke a story about manipulated data in Stanford President Marc Tessier-Lavigne’s neuroscience research that helped lead to the university president’s resignation.
Theo Baker’s book, How to Rule the World: An Education in Power at Stanford University was released May 19. In it, Baker describes Stanford as a place where proximity to Silicon Valley gives rise to a parallel system of influence, recruitment and money, with investors looking to identify promising students almost as soon as they arrive on campus.
He told Morning Edition host Steve Inskeep there was “a sort of Stanford inside Stanford,” where elite students are drawn into an “alternate reality” of excess and access to cut corners.
In the interview, he discusses how Stanford is not just a university but also a pipeline where status and power can matter as much as ideas.
We reached out to Stanford University for comment and have not heard back.
Listen to the interview by clicking play on the blue box above.
Lifestyle
OTB Takes Full Control of Viktor & Rolf
Lifestyle
How having zero points in tennis — or ‘love’ — came to sound so sweet
The scoreboard shows the results of the women’s singles final match between Iga Swiatek of Poland and Amanda Anisimova of the U.S. at the Wimbledon Tennis Championships in London, Saturday, July 12, 2025.
Kirsty Wigglesworth/AP
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Kirsty Wigglesworth/AP
Fifteen points in tennis? Nice. Thirty, 40 — even better. Advantage — that sounds good. “Love” — that also must be great, right? Well, not quite.
As the French Open rolls on and Serena Williams has announced her return to the sport, maybe you’ve been paying a little more attention to tennis. The sport’s scoring system is notably distinct, and can sometimes be hard to grasp for newcomers. But even tennis aficionados might not know why, or how, “love” became the unmistakable callout for zero points. For this installment of NPR’s Word of the Week, we’re exploring how a word that signifies trailing behind got such a sweet name.
“Love” comes from the heart — or an egg?
It’s hard to pinpoint when the first tennis ball went over the net. Tennis is a derivative of lots of other sports, such as “jeu de paume,” a handball game played in France, said JT Buzanga, the collections manager at the International Tennis Hall of Fame museum.

But tennis became a patented, official sport in 1874, said Steve Flink, a journalist whose tennis coverage got him inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame. It has retained its unique, mysterious scoring system ever since.
“By and large, the original system has held up almost entirely,” Flink said.
The use of “love” goes back to the late 18th century, said Jesse Sheidlower, a lexicographer. But it was used earlier than that in card games such as whist and bridge. Before the term made its way to tennis, the sport favored plain old “nothing,” or “nil,” he said.
Why love in the first place, though? Historians don’t really know for sure, but there are a few theories.
The French could have something to do with it. Some historians believe “love” derives from “l’oeuf,” which means “the egg” in French. Because eggs are shaped like zeros, terms such as “goose egg” and “duck’s egg” have been used in other contexts to mean zero, Sheidlower said.
It’s also possible English speakers mispronounced l’oeuf as “love.” But Sheidlower isn’t convinced that’s the answer.
“It’s the French equivalent of an English expression. But since that expression doesn’t appear in French, the French word wouldn’t have been used,” he said.
To be sure, France has had a lot of influence on tennis culture, Buzanga said. For example, “deuce” or a game tied at 40 points, comes from the French word for “two”: “deux.” But he prefers another prominent theory: that “love” comes from the idiom “for the love of the game.” Even if a player hasn’t scored, it doesn’t matter, because their heart is in it. It’s the theory Sheidlower said is the most plausible, because the idiom was used by the English before tennis was popularized.

Another variation of the “love of the game” theory is that the word could have come from the Dutch “lof,” or “honor” — or the Latin “amare,” meaning “to love,” Flink said.
But if tennis’ “love” doesn’t come from a French word, the theory at least has a French sensibility.
“I think the ‘for the love of the game’ is kind of romantic,” Buzanga said.
“Love” probably isn’t going anywhere
Tennis used to be a sport of leisure. The style of play has changed a lot over the years; players are more athletic and competitive, for instance, Flink said. But the rules of the sport are more steadfast, he said.
“There’s this incredible, enduring respect for tradition in tennis,” he said. “Changes are not made easily.”
There has been one major change in modern history: the tie-break. Matches can go on and on because players have to score two consecutive points to break a deuce, or by two games to break a tied set. But the onset of television meant matches would have to get shorter if the sport wanted to capture a larger audience, Flink said.

Change even came for “love.” An alternative sprouted up in the 1970s, and is still used today: “bagel,” named for its zero shape, Sheidlower said. Novices may say “zero,” and insiders will understand what they mean, but they “will needle them about it,” Flink said.
But “love” still prevails.
“People kind of like it,” Flink said. “It’s different. Why say zero when you can say love?”
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