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The Politics of Appearance

By Jordan Stein

Maxim, magazine and sometimes masturbation aid, plasters only the universally hot on its covers, and so hot they can be construed no other way. That is how the publication sells its wares; it doesn’t take chances with acquired tastes. This campaign season, either do democrats. Faced with the arduous task of trying to unseat an incumbent president, the DNC, like Maxim, wants something that will sell, too.

Howard Dean, the asterisk who became a star, the star who became an asterisk, was an acquired taste. It’s why he’s out. When voters in Iowa and New Hampshire went to the polls in the fledgling days of the primary season, the conviction and hubris – attributes of which contemporary politics is too often void – that had made Dean the front-runner no longer mattered. The race ceased to be a campaign of ideas; now it was a referendum on electability.

Electability, as Dean’s piss-poor returns would convey, is not rolled-up sleeves or folksy diatribes. And it is definitely not a frenzied roll call of states that crescendos with an ear-piercing “Yee Haw!” The Dean campaign, built on the specter of a Washington outsider who will stand up to special interests and implement broad, high-minded change, was sexy. It was the candidate, ultimately, who was not.

Which brings me back to Maxim. That glossy, by far the best selling of all men’s titles, isn’t about to let the thespian promise of some plain Jane get in the way of its bottom line. Better its next cover girl be the worst of actresses with the best of racks. Fuckability moves units; dramatic chops do not.

Electability, like fuckability, is not relative. The fact is John Kerry looks more presidential then Howard Dean. His platform, mostly kazzaed intellectual property (i.e. poached liberally from Dean’s treasure trove of ideas), is of little consequence to voters, because he’s working with a broad base of prerequisites, all physical:

-          His head of hair is full (and purportedly costs 70 bucks to cut).

-          He wears a suit. That is, his physique, although wiry, is vigorous.

-          He has lines that denote experience. He will have a lot more, win or lose, when the campaign is over.

-          And he is polished. He stumps and gestures like a statesman, sometimes employing that thumb-resting-on-top-of-closed-fist pointer thing that Bill Clinton was so fond of.

Politics hasn’t been show business for ugly people since the first televised presidential debate between then Senator Kennedy and then Vice President Nixon. Today that adage is about as relevant as a group of claymation raisins that sing Motown. Even as the substance of Nixon’s talking points were a match for Kennedy’s smooth delivery (those who listened on the radio declared it a draw), his stubborn 5 o’clock shadow, sweaty brow and unusually blotchy complexion had nothing on his opponent’s bronzed aesthetic. The medium had become the message.

John Kerry might fancy himself a Kennedy, but John Edwards, with his quick smile and Jack Tripper hair, actually looks like one. Around the water coolers where America congregates, much has been made of this boyishness – almost as much as has been made of his effective, if blithely repeated, “Two Americas” speech. In an unusual poll conducted by CNN, it was discovered that Edwards made people feel good, especially women. (Election outcomes the result of something as unquantifiable as a feeling? That’s disconcerting. If voters were any less circumspect, they might elect to public office an aging Hollywood star because Kindergarten Cop gave them the warm and fuzzies. Oh, wait.)

A republican operative, who spilled his guts on the condition of anonymity, told me Edwards is the candidate his party fears most. He didn’t say if it was because he’s better looking than George Bush.