The shrinkage of Donald Trump

He looks small. And weak. And he hates that.

Opening arguments started this morning in Donald Trump’s hush money trial in New York City but it’s already clear that the trial is having at least some negative effect on the billionaire businessman.

It’s, well, shrinking him.

This, from Maggie Haberman, the best chronicler of Trump in the country, captures that idea nicely:

For the first few minutes of each day during jury selection, a small pool of still photographers was ushered into Part 59 on the 15th floor of the courthouse. Mr. Trump, obsessed with being seen as strong and being seen generally, prepared for them to rush in front of him by adjusting his suit jacket and contorting his face into a jut-jawed scowl. But, by day’s end on Friday, Mr. Trump appeared haggard and rumpled, his gait off-center, his eyes blank.

Mr. Trump has often seemed to fade into the background in a light wood-paneled room with harsh fluorescent lighting and a perpetual smell of sour, coffee-laced breath wafting throughout.

His face has been visible to dozens of reporters watching in an overflow room on a large monitor with a closed-circuit camera trained on the defense table. He has whispered to his lawyer and poked him to get his attention, leafed through sheafs of paper and, at least twice, appeared to nod off during the morning session. (His aides have publicly denied he was dozing.) Nodding off is something that happens from time to time to various people in court proceedings, including jurors, but it conveys, for Mr. Trump, the kind of public vulnerability he has rigorously tried to avoid.

“Haggard.” “Rumpled.” “Eyes blank.” “Fade into the background.”

These are not usually adjectives and terms ascribed to Trump. Like him or hate him, he is someone who always stands out. He makes it his business to do so.

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One of my favorite Trump quotes — because it is so revealing — is this one, which he gave in a Playboy interview in 1990: “The show is Trump, and it is sold-out performances everywhere.”

He has always thought of his life as just that: A performance in which he is the unquestioned star. A story he is telling where he is the hero.

This trial is, well, anything but that. Trump has very little control — over the proceedings, over the timing, over what he can and can’t say. (He isn’t even allowed to use his phone in the courtroom.)

All of which has the effect of shrinking Trump. A man who is obsessed with big-ness — from his hand size to his wealth — is being forced to endure a court proceeding like a normal. And it’s clear it’s already wearing on him.

Trump’s post- court, impromptu press conferences show his frustration with the proceedings — he complained loudly last week about the temperature in the courtroom — as does his Truth Social feed.

He sent this, uh, missive shortly after midnight Monday morning:

“To be stuck in a courtroom”!!!

Trump’s frustration is likely to be even higher today as he was unable to do the thing he loves best — campaign among his supporters — over the weekend. Despite a large crowd in Wilmington, North Carolina gathered to see him, Trump canceled due to severe weather. “We want to keep everybody safe. That's the most important thing,” Trump told the crowd via a phone call.

Regular readers of this newsletter know that I have been very skeptical of the impact of this trial — regardless of the outcome — on the 2024 presidential race.

I still, generally, believe that to be true. Views on Trump — both good and bad — are pretty baked-in at this point. It’s hard to imagine a trial — or anything else — changing them in a major way.

With that said, I DO think the longer this goes on, the worse it is for Trump. Because he looks small, common and weak — a trio of things he has spent his entire life trying to avoid ever appearing as.

And, remember that much of his appeal is built around the idea of him being a tough guy. When his supporters are asked to name, in a word, what they like best about him, the most common word mentioned is “strong.” Other backers say things like “ballsy” or “leader.”

That is, of course, an image Trump has spent a lifetime cultivating — as Maggie notes in her piece. Never forget this almost-moment when Trump was recovering from Covid-19 in the White House, which is from Maggie’s terrific book about Trump “Confidence Man”:

He came up with a plan he told associates was inspired by the singer James Brown, whom he loved watching toss off his cape while onstage, but it was in line with his love of professional wrestling as well."

[H]e would be wheeled out of Walter Reed in a chair and, once outdoors, he would dramatically stand up, then open his button-down dress shirt to reveal [a] Superman logo beneath it. (Trump was so serious about it that he called the campaign headquarters to instruct an aide, Max Miller, to procure the Superman shirts; Miller was sent to a Virginia big-box store.)

Yes. Trump as Superman.

At the moment — and for the foreseeable future — Trump is more Clark Kent, however. (Trump would hate that comparison; Kent is a member of the “fake news.” HA!). He has to be quiet. (Relatively) mannerly. Follow directions. Mostly just sit there and shut up.

It makes him look small. Passive. Not in control. All the things he hates — and the opposite of what draws his supporters to him.

Will this have an appreciable effect on how voters view him? I remain skeptical but am now at least open to the possibility. What all of this second banana stuff will absolutely do, however, is impact Trump’s psyche. Which could make him even less predictable than usual.