By admin 
Political events often have the tone and tenor of an exciting timeshare opportunity. Walk into one such event and you are perpetually being sold on a single, perhaps foolhardy decision that could change at least the next few years of your life. And what are you buying, exactly? The promise of hope, usually left unfulfilled. Before you know it, it’s your summer vacation and you’re stuck with an investment that you don’t necessarily believe in anymore.
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A candidate like Jack Schlossberg, now running for Congress in Manhattan’s 12th District, is at least more self-aware of his role as salesperson than most. New York 12 is an area of midtown that covers some of the richest parts of the city: Chelsea, the Upper West and Upper East sides, the Met, and the entirety of Central Park. It’s a district for and by affluent, mostly white New Yorkers, which makes Schlossberg a culturally apropos candidate. His mother is Caroline Kennedy, his grandfather is John F. Kennedy, and his cousin is, of course, snake-wrangling Robert F. Kennedy Jr. What he’s gathered from his family history is that to win an election, you have to put on a good show.
Much like his uncle, however, he’s woefully ill-equipped for a job in politics. Though highly educated with a Harvard MBA and law degree, well traveled, and in the possession of an excellent hairline and strong, Kennedyesque jaw, Schlossberg is just 33 years old, has no previous experience in elected office, and is connected to political life solely through his abundantly complicated family lore. He’s perhaps better recognized for shitposting than for knowing what to do in Congress; his prolific social media posts in which he rants to camera shirtless have served mostly as a lively distraction. Maybe, if he does it right, he could distract his way into some votes.
Last Friday, Schlossberg held a rally at Manhattan’s Terminal 5, the city’s worst music venue, known primarily as a place to barf while electronic music plays on the dance floor. Amid rumors that his campaign has been disorganized with high turnover, hundreds of district residents (and a lot of Columbia students enticed by the promise of free food, which did not materialize) took shelter from a sudden thunderstorm to hear Schlossberg talk the talk. Over an hour, the candidate’s campaign brought out housing activists, union representatives, and David Letterman, whom Schlossberg has known since he was 16. The message was clear, if flawed: Vote for Jack, because the other guys are worse, and, hey, it would certainly upset Republicans. “If we won this election, I would be so happy,” Schlossberg said onstage. “But also, the people who hate all of you are going to be so mad.” He’s probably right about that much—if Republicans already resent the Manhattan elite liberal, being represented by a sloppy Kennedy would indeed be a masterful troll.
The Democrats have been using this kind of playbook for a while now: Vote for me, because the other guy sucks harder. It hasn’t worked—this strategy wasn’t helping Joe Biden when he was in the race against Donald Trump, nor did it help Kamala Harris. For a progressive candidate like Zohran Mamdani to beat Andrew Cuomo for mayor earlier this year, his campaign had to be the most clever, the most viral, the most linguistically careful, and the poppiest; Cuomo’s suckitude wasn’t enough on its own.
Running against Schlossberg for the Democrats is a cornucopia of the status quo: George Conway of the Lincoln Project (and Kellyanne’s ex-husband); Micah Lasher, who formerly worked for Kathy Hochul’s New York state government; and Alex Bores, who used to work at Palantir, so I feel pretty justified in saying he sucks. It’s a sea of nightmares in suits, and among them is Schlossberg, the Dennis the Menace we don’t deserve, don’t really want, but are burdened with regardless.
And you know what? Sure. Why not. Let him win. It’s Congress. How much can he even do?
There are parts of Schlossberg’s campaign that look and sound like a typical one. His slogan, “Believe in Something Again,” is marked by an unearned optimism for the future and a conviction that we can fix everything made broken in the past decade (or more) of politics as usual. Constituents were writing out posters in support of Schlossberg: Believe in Love Again, Believe in Equity Again, Believe in the Power of Truly Representative Government Again. Much of the crowd was in their 60s, 70s, and 80s, supporting Schlossberg in large part because they remember his grandfather. They’re hard-line Democratic voters who wish JFK himself would rise from the grave to take on Trump.
Then there are all the facets of his campaign that remind us he’s new here, that he’s maybe just throwing spaghetti at the wall. At Terminal 5, his aides were windswept, screaming at one another because no one had the wristbands. After two speeches from textbook campaign types, including Susannah Carr from the Association of Flight Attendants-CWA and former New York 12 candidate Jami Floyd, Schlossberg emerged onto the stage, flanked inexplicably by two bagpipers. His lead-in was David Letterman, who not only doesn’t live in the district but doesn’t live in Manhattan at all.
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Letterman “has been a real friend to me for a long time,” Schlossberg said. “And I once saw him get up from lunch at our family table and jump into the pool with all his clothes.” What did this have to do with the midterms? Who cares. I’m tired. Just let him run things for a few years. He’ll probably put an inflatable bouncy castle in the Capitol building, and I’m actually perfectly fine with that.
Letterman has known Schlossberg since he was a teenager; he had come to speak about the candidate’s tenacity and spirit but got somewhat sidetracked by the fact that his own ear was full of blood after a hair-trimming incident. “I’ve never volunteered for anything in my life,” he started, an effort to acknowledge Schlossberg’s many volunteers, before trailing off to talk about his injured ear. “Anybody here have to shave their ears? Nothing to be ashamed of, sir.” Eventually, Schlossberg and Letterman sat down for the world’s least essential Q&A. It was hard to ignore the thought of blood pooling in Letterman’s ear, maybe dripping down onto the shoulder of his henley.
Is this a strategy? I don’t know, but it’s … working?
Schlossberg has the advantage of low expectations in this race. The others in the contest either have little to no chance of winning or, again, used to work for Palantir. In terms of policy, Schlossberg’s ideology is easy to get behind: He seeks more funding for social services, wants no more defensive weapons for Israel (though he dutifully and painfully avoids saying the words Palestine and genocide), and is refusing any PAC money, unlike a few of his opponents. “Anyone else think e-bikes are out of control?” he asked the audience, a setup for his policy on speed limits to reduce e-bike deaths and not the beginning of his tight five on Manhattan traffic. Schlossberg characterized himself and his campaign as “women-run and women-owned,” which objectively does not make sense but does inspire a kind of “OK, I guess” resignation toward light stupidity.
Schlossberg’s main argument seems to be that electing him is beating Trump at his own game. He’s semi-famous, a huge troll, and about as qualified as Trump was. “Trump lives in all of our heads all day long, and I admire him for that, I respect him for that. I don’t want to be like him, I think everything he does is awful, but he’s programmed all of our brains. And I can’t live like this anymore!” he said on the podium. “The only answer to that is not to complain, and not to get sad, and not to look at your phone. The only answer to that is to build a movement that’s more fun, more entertaining, put on a better show.” That’s all Schlossberg has been doing. Through his events—and online too, if you take a broad view of his social strategy—he veers from colloquial nonsense to spiritedly talking about how money and super PACs have influenced our campaigns. For older voters, he has Kennedy bona fides. For younger ones, he’s a freak on Instagram. Something for everyone.
“I’m so excited to subpoena RFK Jr.,” he said, and indeed, that spectacle alone is perhaps worth voting him into office. Schlossberg’s inexperience and total lack of punctiliousness would make him a horrible candidate for mayor, president, governor, even comptroller. I don’t think I would trust him to reorganize my pantry. But Congress? The place where nothing makes sense and even less happens? Schlossberg feels like a fake candidate for a fake system that doesn’t do anything; what’s the harm in letting the guy run around the place with his tie wrapped around his head? What’s the worst he could do? Be more ignored by Trump in the pursuit of sending billions’ worth of arms to Israel? No! Not that! It would be unprecedented!
“Chaos liberal” is not a strategy most Democrats should be aiming toward, especially as left-leaning voters are truly asking for more progressive stances from their candidates. But Schlossberg and all the Kennedys operate beyond politics, beyond talking points, beyond mere virality. They have what few candidates get: the opportunity to be unhinged and distracting in the opposite direction of someone like RFK Jr.
He wants to be in Congress? For midtown Manhattan? He’s hoping to be the next great Kennedy promise? Ah, let him try. He’s not the least qualified or the most evil. What he is, actually, is the most annoying to Republicans: an untouchable media and political figure who can take for granted his association with the Democrats, who spent a significant amount of time posting that he was having a baby with J.D. Vance’s wife. The name of this game is ragebait, and it has been for a while when it comes to Trump and his version of Republicans. Why not let Schlossberg take this fight to Congress?
“I’m going to be the most confusing member of Congress,” Schlossberg said, and he’s right. “We just have to believe in ourselves, and that’s what this whole campaign is about. We’re here to have fun tonight, because I don’t want everything to be a bummer. This is the first-ever annual ‘Believe in Something Again’ dance party for America.”
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Then he dabbed.