Wearing a Trump Shirt in New York City

Wearing a Trump shirt in Florida is like wearing a Rolling Stones shirt at a Rolling Stones concert. In cities such as Berkeley, Madison, or Portland, however, it’s like wearing an M16 covered in dead babies of color. Liberals have built The Donald up to such a ridiculous straw man of pure villainy, showing support for him is worse than throwing acid in someone’s face. New York Times editorial writer Brent Staples recently asked, “What planet do they come from, these people who argue that a totalitarian, white supremacist government would [be] good for democracy….” New York is an interesting city to support Trump in because although it hasn’t voted for a Republican president since Coolidge, there are still plenty of hardscrabble blue collars who don’t fit Cruz’s “New York values” stereotype. Within only a couple of miles, you can go from retired cops to mobsters to third-generation welfare Puerto Ricans to middle-class hipsters to Wall Street billionaires. The blacks in Harlem think the blacks in Brooklyn are lazy losers who wear outdated jeans. It’s called a melting pot, but it’s really several dozen totally distinct cultures that manage to coexist without saying a word to each other, ever. I’d be surprised if even one Upper East Side Jew has ever met a Hasidic Jew from Williamsburg.

That’s where I started my journey. I wore a “Make America Great Again” hat and shirt to a hipster bar called Nitehawk in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. The venue doubles as a movie theater and is the epicenter of a cool-kid enclave that has become so yuppified, the real estate is now more expensive than Manhattan’s. I noticed some smiles as I sat down at the bar, and people nodded their heads and even raised the occasional glass. I said, “Thanks” and was pleasantly surprised until I realized they assumed I was being ironic. “Where did you get that?” asked one grinning millennial on a date. I said, “The website,” and my new friend glared at me with a confused face. “You support Trump?” he asked, on the off chance I was serious. “I most certainly do,” I responded. He laughed and faced the bar, deciding it wasn’t worth his time to try to figure out how serious I was. This happened several times throughout the night, with people smiling, then looking confused, then giving up.

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The next day I was still in the neighborhood (I’m selling my place there) and could walk down the street with the shameless glory only the morning sun can provide. Williamsburg doesn’t get busy until around 11 a.m., but the few stragglers walking to work or home alone from a one-night stand were not like their peers from last night. I thought I’d get sneers, but what I got—almost without exception—was capitulation. When people looked at me, I’d happily return their gaze and they’d inevitably face the ground. They didn’t look disappointed. They looked cowed. This is what I’ve always suspected. They don’t want to smash the patriarchy. They want to rail against the patriarchy, unless of course, it has a problem with that, in which case, well, uh, nothing, sorry. Jared Taylor discovered this phenomenon after chasing down a necklace snatcher in New York City many years ago.

[The thief] then did something that saved him from a terrific beating. He went completely limp. He laid his head back on the sidewalk, stretched out his throat, put his hands up by his head, and opened them wide. He was holding a gold-colored necklace, which he let me take without the slightest resistance.

It feels great wearing this shirt around liberals, and it’s not just because they’re offended. Wearing a photorealistic shirt of a vagina would offend old ladies, but that would feel needlessly intrusive. This is more like being on the winning team. When Tampa Bay won the Super Bowl back in 2003, I was hanging out with a New Yorker from Tampa and he was wearing the Buccaneers jersey. He was fighting anyone who had a problem and doing shots and picking up girls like he owned the world. During a break in the festivities, he came up to me holding the front of his shirt out and said, “I feel like a superhero.” I finally understand what he was talking about.

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