Kamala Harris paved the way for Donald Trump to return to the white house

Kamala Harris at her concession speech. Photo: AFP

Even a Vogue cover and the story that accompanied it, and the snazzy suits she wore throughout a short campaign could not help Kamala Harris win the US election. There were even 16 American designers enlisted to create a “campaign collection” back in August. Americans do not listen to fashion folks. And Vogue, a veritable bible, proved a clear lack of sway. Kamala Harris was trounced. By noon yesterday, our time, we sensed quite strongly which way the result would go. American news media was beginning to not sound upbeat. There was no sign of the vice-president, dressed in her designer pantsuit, enjoying the victory lap, or beaming for the cameras. Her campaign team was not saying much other than there was a slim path to triumph. In the mean time, the “blue wall” was not holding up. Red was the colour of the night. Flashy, bloody, unapologetic red.

About three-and-half hours later, Donald Trump declared victory. On stage at a watch party near his Mar-a-Lago estate in Florida, he called it an “unprecedented and powerful mandate”. He was not attired like a victor. It was business as usual, as if attending yet another rally. The dark suit is as unflattering as usual, the red tie as flaccid as unfresh fish. But it was he who came out as the president elect, the man of the moment, and only the second in US presidential history to regain the presidency—after leaving it disgruntled and enraged—but the first to assert vehemently and repeatedly that the election was “stolen” from him, and the first felon. Frankly, Mr Trump’s win is not digestible. It feels worse in the gut this time because it is hard to imagine that Americans really want more of him.

Donald Trump at his victory speech. Screen shot: cbsnews/YouTube

Now that he won, nothing is stolen anymore. He can even brag about winning the popular vote. And he did. However not presidential he looked, the more the president he became. In an era when optics supposedly matter, Mr Trump paid no attention to self-image. There was not the sleekness of Joe Biden, with his sharp suits and his aviators. It did not matter what Mr Trump had on his body. It did not even matter what came out of his mouth. The MAGA masses liked what they saw and heard— the ugly suits, the hideous tie, the boorishness, the cruel rhetoric—and they delivered the victory to him on a silver platter. His failure in 2021 was not a failure. It was prelude to the most triumphant, and now exalted political comeback of recent memory.

For all her seeming eloquence in speech and elegance in dress, Kamala Harris proved to be the political rookie in the oft-said “fight” against her more belligerent opponent. At her concession speech, delivered hours after Mr Trump’s announcement of victory, she was dressed in funereal dourness. She wore her usual smart pantsuit, all darkly sombre, their usual cheerfulness bled out of every fibre. American media described the colour as “aubergine”, but on our smartphone, it looked black, an it’s-all-over, vanquished black. In the past was joy in her get-ups. Now, it was chromatic reminder of failure. She came out, laughing and clapping, but both actions looked somewhat forced, as she desperately needed to conceal the crushing blow of defeat.

Kamala Harris at Howard University to deliver her concession speech. Photo: AFP

In the end, Ms Harris did not read the room rightly. She said on that stage in the grounds of her alama mater, the historically Black college Howard University in Washington: “I am so proud of the race we ran.” But it was not a race that led to her win. Ms Harris could be many things, but they were not what the electorate wanted. She spoke as cheerfully as she could, yet her voice stifled on the emotions that threatened to choke her. But there was no dramatic tightening of the neck, which was underscored by a neckline adorned with what appeared to be some sort of a cravat (again on TV, it was hard to tell, but it was not a pussy bow). It laid there, limp like Donald Trump’s tie.

Throughout her campaign, she wore mainly pantsuits. They were well-cut, fitted her perfectly, and emanated products of acquired at considerable expense. Ultimately, the pantsuits were not relatable. She may look professional, ready for office, but she did not appear to be one of them, no matter how positive she was, how jolly. She did not share their deeper concerns for the economy and their fading financial security. Her pantsuits were businesslike, for sure, but they did not augment her ability to handle the business at hand—the people’s dissatisfaction with her party and her boss, whom she would not disassociate from. The women of her opponent, such as one gaudy lawyer, did not need to rely on the pantsuit, and they got him the presidency. In 2016, the pantsuit did not help Hillary Clinton win her presidential bid. Eight years later, it did not aid Kamala Harris, either.