THE MALE GAZE

Why It Matters That Trump, 80, Is Having Such a Gay Old Time at His Rallies

The president is coming out of the closet, but it’s nothing to do with his sexuality.

Opinion

God bless our gay president. As we zoom towards the midterms and, thus, the 2028 presidential race, a Democratic name that keeps bubbling up is that of former Secretary of Transportation, Pete Buttigieg. The smooth-talking Hoosier is widely rumored to be contemplating a presidential race, though the knock on him is that America isn’t ready to elect a gay man.

Friends, I’m here to deliver some good news—we already have.

Donald Trump has, of late, been positively gushing over the male figure. At two different rallies last week, Trump praised the hands, jawline, and taut butt of Jon Husted, the former football player and Ohio senator. Especially the ass. “I don’t do this with men very often,” Trump said, thereby confirming that he does do so on occasion. “I started examining his body… I looked up and down. I looked at his a--,” he continued and, impressed with what he saw, commented that said a-- was like “a pile of muscle.”

The president then had to lay himself down on JD Vance’s couch for some “executive time.” (Vance, meanwhile, has been left promising voters he won’t talk about butts or bulges like his boss.)

This isn’t the first time Trump commented on a man’s anatomy. Readers may recall the time in 2024 when he brought up the size of golfer Arnold Palmer’s penis during a campaign stop in LaTrobe, Pennsylvania. “When he took the showers with the other pros, they came out of there. They said, ‘Oh my God. That’s unbelievable.’”

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Or when he described Giants quarterback Jaxson Dart as having “legs like tree trunks.” Or when he recalled the “big, strong, handsome soldiers” that routinely approach him with tears in their eyes to thank him for, I don’t know, relaxing fuel standards. Trump has also praised Montana Sen. Tim Sheehy as a “very handsome man” and Georgia gubernatorial candidate Rick Jackson as a “beautiful-looking guy.”

And then there’s poor Ken Paxton, who the president has said is “maybe not the best-looking.” You can’t win ‘em all! Maybe you can’t even win Texas.

Jon Husted may, indeed, have a nice ass. Having not personally examined it like the president, I don’t know. Did Arnold Palmer have a true 3-wood? Again, I have no idea. Nor do I begrudge the president’s compliments.

But it’s weird.

Not because there’s anything wrong with one fella admiring another fella’s backside, but because if any of us talked about other men’s bodies at work the way Trump does, we’d find ourselves on the receiving end of a lengthy HR lecture. There’s also the fact that the political party Trump leads has spent the last half century demonizing gay people. Homoeroticism for thee, but not for me? It hardly seems fair.

And look, no matter how much Village People he listens to, Trump has a long history of downright florid heterosexuality. His history of womanizing is extensive. The many sexual abuse and harassment allegations against him (which he denies) are all from women. While it’s fun to paint him as some caged songbird wishing to fly free, nobody thinks Trump aims to star in a revival of La Cage Aux Folles anytime soon.

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Instead, what’s notable about his recent remarks isn’t necessarily the particulars but the fact that he’s saying such things at all. Never a disciplined speaker, Trump now routinely offers incoherent ramblings on all matters. From Hannibal Lecter to the danger of sharks to the schlongs of dead golfers to windmills, Trump now regularly exhibits “disinhibition,” the mental brakes that prevent people from blurting out whatever weird baloney floats into their brains.

It’s a common symptom of people with dementia. So is the inability to find the correct word or phrase for what you’re trying to say. How often have we seen Trump fumble for a word or forget a name? Or doze off in the middle of a meeting?

I’m definitely not saying the President of the United States has dementia. How could I? I’m just some jerk on TV so I’m not qualified to make any sort of medical diagnosis. Then again, this isn’t an administration that cares about “credentials” or “expertise,” so why not?

What I am saying is that we should celebrate this new Trump. The man who loves disco dancing, Broadway musicals, and make-up has also, of late, discovered a love for the aesthetic pleasures of rippling abs and all things girth. Trump’s masculinity has always been the toxic variety; perhaps a turn towards queerness will take some of the edge off. Maybe a cuddle with one of those big strong soldiers could alleviate some of the pressure of being the world’s most powerful man. And who knows? Maybe one day, we could even see the president participating in a drag queen story hour.

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Then again, maybe not. I’m not worried about his ability to do drag. The amount of make-up he wears every day on his ailing hands alone belies any concerns there. No, I’m worried that he might not be able to read.

Like so much with Trump, these newest and weirdest outbursts are alternately funny and alarming. Time and again, we’ve seen his brain melting in real time. His rants are getting rantier, his moods moodier, his obsessions more obsessive. Whether or not he admired a senator’s a-- hardly matters on its own, but combined with his erratic behavior and incoherent policymaking, the playful allusion I made to a colorful songbird yearning to fly free may be more correctly described as a canary in a coal mine.

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