There’s a moment in every drugstore novel or Hallmark movie where one character whispers tenderly to another, “Don’t change a thing. You’re perfect just the way you are.”
I don’t exactly picture Tim Walz, Kamala Harris’s newly anointed running mate, as a protagonist in this sort of sentimental tale. He’s more likely to be the kindly local shopkeeper or father of the fretful bride: steady, supportive, compassionate.
Nevertheless, this is precisely what I would tell him: “Don’t change a thing.”
They are the ones who must resist their genetic impulses to “Sarah Palin-ize” him, and instead, ensure that Tim Walz remains unchanged.
Keep him away from phoney makeovers, better haircuts and suits that fit. Keep his ball caps fastened. Keep his New Balance sneakers laced up. He’s got something you can’t buy or manufacture: authenticity.
Politicians and their campaign teams are prone to forget this.
Here in Canada, you don’t have to look far for evidence. The annual cosplay parade of political figures at the Calgary Stampede donning jeans they’ve pulled out from the bottom drawer and cowboy hats that fit like a last-minute Halloween costume, provides particularly humorous testimony.
But politicians don’t just go in for tropes alone, but specific types. And this tendency is strong south of the border.
The runner-up for the Harris ticket was Pennsylvania Gov. Josh Shapiro. A talented politician and a rising star in the Democratic party, but someone who many noticed copies former president Barack Obama’s intonation to an almost absurd extent.
This level of mimicry is nothing compared to Shapiro’s Republican opponents. En masse, countless Republican spokespersons and even governors (Ron DeSantis chief among them) fell under the belief that imitation was not only the sincerest form of flattery to the megalomaniac in chief, Donald Trump, but the best way to reach Americans.
From Trump, they drew the wrong lessons. They stole the crudity of his rhetoric, the spasms of his speaking style and the cut of his suits. But they missed that Trump brought what few else had — and that by copying him they automatically forfeited — authenticity.
In politics, authenticity is the ultimate conduit to effective, credible messaging, to conveying genuine empathy. If you don’t believe someone is authentic, you will never feel they are truly standing on your side or up for what matters most to you.
For a long time, Democrats failed to grasp that this was why so many voters felt and still feel this way about Trump: because, for all his faults, to many he comes across as an authentic original.
Democrats — finally — have woken up and chosen an original of their own: Tim Walz.
He’s not a war hero, but he served his country in the military for more than 24 years.
He was not a billionaire hedge fund manager; he was a school teacher and he’s never owned a stock or bond in his life. An educator who made a difference in the lives of his pupils.
He’s never won the Super Bowl, but he coached his high school football team from last place to victory in the State Championship.
The point is he is refreshingly relatable. The kind of neighbour who not only has the extension ladder you need but also shows up to help you install your new flag just in time for the Fourth of July.
In today’s political landscape, in an era of relentless self-aggrandizement and bombast, these things shine through.
In Tim Walz’s case, his apparel, including the suits that don’t quite fit, are simply an authentic expression of who he is: a family man from the Midwestern United States who joyously loves his country.
A man who doesn’t care much for fashion.
Because he doesn’t need to.
Nor should he in the coming months.
