IN POSSIBLY THE LEAST SURPRISING NEWS OF THE WEEK — aside from Justin Bieber getting himself kicked out of Coachella — our homegirl Hillary announced her candidacy for the 2016 presidential election. Democrats waved their flags, Republicans sharpened their claws, and I steeled myself for another onslaught of inane election-season coverage focused entirely too heavily on pantsuits. While the idea of a POTUS without a penis is just as exhilarating to me as it is to the next American feminist, I admit I do have a few qualms.
Other than round-the-clock reporting on style choices like this, that is.
1. The only American “dynasties” I want to see are those involving Joan Collins. Or ducks.
No matter what your political leanings are — if you’re an elephant enthusiast perusing a site like this, I’m simultaneously impressed by your open mind and worried that you’re lost — it’s undeniable that with the exception of Barack, the past decade-or-so of American leadership has been pretty darn redundant, incestuous, whatever you want to call it. Washington has been chock-full of Clintons and bursting with Bushes. Hillary’s double-X chromosome might be groundbreaking, but her surname sure isn’t. For a nation that gets off on setting the global standard for democracy, we sure do like our royal families. I’m sorry, I was under the impression that this was the land of the free, not King’s Freaking Landing.
2. To paraphrase Destiny’s Child: Bill, Bill, Bill
On that Clinton note, Bill is a bit like guacamole: most people like him, but those who don’t really don’t. And boy, is he messy. (Politically speaking, you perverts.) “All press is good press” doesn’t apply once you’re in the running to hold one of the world’s most important titles, and in this digitally-saturated age the last thing Hillary’s campaign needs is controversial clips and sound bites of her husband running his mouth. Dude makes Joe Biden look positively demure. And even on his best behavior, Bill Clinton is still, you know, Bill Clinton. Which makes Hillary’s “typical middle-class all-American family” schtick seem particularly well, schticky. Just because your daughter had bad hair in the ’90s doesn’t make you one of us plebes, Hil. Nice try.
3. The Great E-mail Fail
When I first heard Hillary had used a personal email account to conduct government business, I wasn’t fazed. Who among us hasn’t occasionally logged on to their personal account whilst at work for the a furtive late-afternoon Amazon Prime session? Or to reply to a group message about weekend plans? Exactly. Then I realized: Hillary was Secretary of State, not an editorial intern. And as much as I love to picture her pounding mimosas with Ruth and Condoleezza — disclaimer: probably more than is normal — the fact remains that, ostensibly, a lot more unregulated shiz could have been going down besides brunch-planning. The stakes of mixing business and pleasure are a little higher when you’re answering to the entire American public and not Laura from HR.
Way harsh, Tai.
So yes, come Super Tuesday, I’ll be there at the polls with bells on. And, by bells, I mean my hot-pink Smash the Patriarchy sweatshirt that is, frankly, as itchy as it is defiant. But in the haze of girl-power and shattered glass ceilings and a rainbow of sensible but stylish HBIC pantsuits, I’ll be keeping my eyes open. As Hillary herself would say, I’ll be ready.
