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For most of my adult life, I worked in and around Democratic politics, and my hobby was work. Then, in 2022, I started taking surf lessons and got hooked. In April of 2023, and again last December, I took a trip to an outdoor wave pool in Waco, Texas.
If you want to meet the voters who swung toward Donald Trump and put him back in the White House, you could do worse than the hot tub at Waco Surf. I went there with my pickup-truck-driving, Joe Rogan–superfan brother-in-law, and from the moment we arrived, he couldn’t have felt more at home, and I couldn’t have felt more out of place.
At first I couldn’t put my finger on what, exactly, made me feel like the odd man out. But I soon developed a theory: The great divide between us is that I constantly think about politics and they do not.
Two surf trips are hardly statistically significant. But research corroborates my wave-pool hunch: Democrats are becoming the party of political junkies; Republicans, the party of people who would rather think about anything else. And there are more of the latter than there are of the former.
[Read: What we lose when we’re priced out of hobbies]
Last November, a poll from Data for Progress asked voters how much attention they paid to news about the election. Among voters who answered “none at all,” just 32 percent supported Kamala Harris. Among those who paid a great deal of attention to politics, Harris’s support shot up to 52 percent. Similarly, according to the research firm Catalist, Harris improved on Joe Biden’s 2020 margins among so-called super voters—people who voted in each of the four most recent elections—by a percentage point. The good news for Democrats is that by definition, these voters turn out consistently. The bad news is that the rest of the electorate moved toward Trump by 10 points.
The Democratic Party’s candidates, donors, staff, and voters are thus caught in a contradiction. Americans’ obligation to engage politically—always present in a democracy—has never been greater. President Trump is trampling our system of checks and balances, dismantling our government and institutions, pitting the military against protesters, and putting all Americans at greater risk of disease and natural disaster. These are serious times, and serious measures, including collective action such as the “No Kings” protests that took place this past Saturday, are warranted.
Yet the best hope for defeating authoritarianism remains the ballot box. And to win elections, Democrats have to win back at least some voters who have no interest in becoming more politically engaged. The party is going to need another way to reach people—and perhaps that path goes through activities other than politics.
Democrats used to do more to put their hobbies on display. The party’s most recent two-term presidents were a saxophone-playing Rhodes Scholar and a pickup-basketball-playing former editor of the Harvard Law Review. I wrote speeches for the latter and can say from experience that President Barack Obama’s sports-guy-in-chief persona was not an act. Standing backstage, watching the president ad-lib about the Bears or Bulls, I often got the sense that he found talking rosters or playoff games far more enjoyable than diving into the details of the day’s policy announcement. The voters in the audience usually felt the same way.
Today’s Democrats aren’t completely somber. I attended last year’s convention in Chicago, where “Joy” was a campaign slogan and a guest appearance by Lil John turned the roll call into a 23,000-person party. But that’s actually a symptom of the problem, not a solution. Democrats focus on making politics fun, when the real question is whether they can have fun outside of politics. Faking hobbies, or trying desperately to appear relatable, won’t cut it. It’s got to be real.
In that respect, the party has taken a giant step backwards during the Trump era. Biden’s age and limited schedule didn’t just make it harder for him to command the bully pulpit; it meant Americans got fewer chances to see him enjoying himself outside work. In 2020, Harris launched a YouTube cooking show, but it was scrapped by the time she became vice president, and it never returned.
In Harris’s case, I suspect her campaign worried that women candidates who share too much about their hobbies are quick to be branded as unserious. It’s a valid concern. But so, unfortunately, is its opposite. Women candidates who share too little will be branded as being motivated solely by personal ambition. Besides, Democrats now struggle to have fun in public regardless of gender. Make a mental list of the most likely 2028 nominees—JB Pritzker, Gretchen Whitmer, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Pete Buttigieg, Cory Booker. How many of them have a single identifiable interest outside of their job?
It’s not just candidates. The more that donors and staff surround themselves with people who are into politics, the easier it becomes to ignore the fact that most Americans aren’t. Critics have mocked every detail of the donor retreats that bring together strategists, funders, and influencers in attempts to create “the Joe Rogan of the left.” But the biggest flaw with these gatherings is baked into the premise: There will never be a Joe Rogan of the left, because there was never a Joe Rogan of the right. Rogan rose to prominence as a mixed-martial-arts color commentator. According to the fan site jrelibrary.com, he went 1,169 episodes before recording his first interview with a sitting elected official, and even now, his catalog lists just 19 episodes (out of more than 2,300) under the “Politicians” category.
[Read: How hobbies infiltrated American life]
Building progressive political media networks is important for those opposed to Trump. Progressive podcasts and news sites are where people who are deeply engaged in politics can stay informed, discuss strategy, and build both on- and offline communities. But to win over people who aren’t already political junkies—say, even a small fraction of Rogan’s audience—it’s important to recognize that his political credibility comes in large part from the fact that he doesn’t think of himself as political. The same is true of nearly all the other “manosphere” hosts who powered Trump’s reelection. Andrew Schulz and Theo Von are comedians. Dave Portnoy talks sports and reviews pizza. Jordan Peterson focuses on self-help. The Nelk Boys do pranks. Each of them followed the same path: focusing first on interests, then issues, and only years later turning to elections.
These hosts have something else in common: The media they use to reach people are all relatively new. In prose writing, where gravitas is still valued, Democrats maintain a cultural advantage. But in media that prioritize fun over seriousness—podcasts, YouTube, TikTok, memes, or any other format you were never assigned as homework—conservatives dominate.
What can the anti-Trump opposition do to reverse this trend? Although governor-hosted podcasts are an interesting experiment, what the party needs are channels that build audiences by being purely entertaining and then, on rare occasions, bring on candidates as guests. The Harris campaign was smart to land an interview with Call Her Daddy, and I suspect some newly launched podcasts, such as Good Hang With Amy Poehler, will be similarly sought-after for appearances as the primaries approach. Look at the comedian Ian Fidance parrying a MAGA heckler, or Ricky Velez’s brutally accurate assessment of Biden’s age. These stand-ups don’t bill themselves as Democrats. In fact, I would guess they find Democrats cringe inducing. Which is why, if they were ever to take a Rogan-like political turn, their endorsement might actually move the needle.
Democrats should also double down on their last remaining cultural edge—traditional celebrities such as Taylor Swift and Beyoncé, who both endorsed Harris in 2024. When celebrities endorse a candidate on social media, they reach millions of voters who might not otherwise consume much political content. Even though the Swift and Beyoncé endorsements were clearly not enough, the strategy still holds promise. The challenge for Democrats is how to get even more exposure to that audience. Imagine, in 2026 or 2028, entertainers from across genres and fandoms lending their platforms to long, personal conversations that get past campaign talking points and allow candidates to connect directly with their fans. It would be the kind of opportunity to reach disengaged voters that no TV ad or well-attended rally could replace.
Republicans might not have their normal-guy advantage for long. Having taken over the political establishment, they risk losing their place as the party of people who don’t like politics. President Trump is determined to inject government into every corner of American life. J. D. Vance is a walking “How Do You Do, Fellow Kids?” meme. Stephen Miller is many things, but chill isn’t one of them.
Democrats, in other words, have an opportunity to become the party of fun again. The moment is far too serious for them not to seize it.
Article originally published at The Atlantic
