The Fool's Mask
Donald Trump is not a fool. He's a con man, a grifter. And like every great con man, he often wears the fool's mask.
The caricature of Trump—the bumbling buffoon who "listens to the last person in the room," who blurts out nonsense like a drunk uncle at Thanksgiving—is not the man who became President of the United States twice. If he were truly a puppet, played by whoever whispered in his ear last, he'd have been sent packing by Washington in his first year. Instead, he bent the Republican Party to his will, survived impeachments, shrugged off indictments, relegated the Democratic Party to the basement, and then walked back into the Oval Office.
Does that sound like a fool being played? Or an actor playing the role of a fool so convincingly that everyone else keeps underestimating him?
The Actor's Art
Trump is a good actor—the kind who can play different roles for different audiences and make them all believe they're watching the real man.
At his rallies, he's part stand-up comic, part wrestling villain, part revival preacher. On television, he toggles between indignant victim and all-powerful strongman. To his base, he's authentic. To the press, he's a clown. To his enemies, he's an easy mark. And to himself? He's resolute.
That's why the "last person in the room" trope is so naive. He doesn't drift. He doesn't surrender conviction. He lets people think they're influencing him while he remains resolute. The mask of the fool disarms others. But the man under the mask is never confused about what he wants.
The Negotiator
If Trump were really as gullible as his critics say, he'd have been conned out of his fortune long before he ever conned his way into the White House.
The man has been negotiating his whole life—in Manhattan real estate, in licensing and branding, in television, in politics. He's been up against banks, unions, politicians, contractors, lawyers, and the press. And yet he's still here.
You don't last fifty years in the roughest markets in America by being an easy mark.
The Con Works Because You Don't See It
Every con has the same fatal feature: the victims don't think they're being conned. They think they're too smart, too savvy, too aware.
Every crowd around a three-card monte table thinks they've got it figured out. They know where the money card is. They're sure they're too sharp to be played. And that's why they lose.
Shakespeare Knew This Trick
Shakespeare wrote Trump centuries before Trump was born.
The Fool in King Lear mocks, jests, and looks disposable—but he's the only one who sees the truth. Feste in Twelfth Night dances between classes, disguising wisdom as wit. Richard III plays the crippled victim, seducing a kingdom into underestimating him until he takes the crown. Iago in Othello whispers "honest Iago" while orchestrating everyone's downfall.
Each survives—and thrives—by wearing the mask of weakness. They play the fool.
Who's the Fool?
The comforting illusion is that Trump is a dupe—Putin's puppet, the donor class's stooge, the last whisperer's tool. That lets us believe the danger comes from others manipulating him.
But the greater danger is this: he's the one manipulating us.
If Putin gets his way, it's because Trump wants him to get his way.
All those people trying to save Trump from Putin's manipulation are the real fools in this play.