The Court of the Sun King

“So Charlie Kirk tweeted about it and Don Jr. shared it, so I think I’m OK,” one presidential nominee told me earlier this year. The important thing, as they say in the City of Brotherly Love, is the implication. The implication here being that he was among the chosen ones, counted upon, trusted, a five-star A-list recruit.

Of course Matt Gaetz, the former Florida congressman, also had the backing of the President’s eldest son and Kirk, who founded Turning Point USA. Kirk spent a day urging a potential alternative for the role of Trump’s attorney general to take the job, only to follow up with: “Can we count on you for Matt?” But Gaetz wasn’t able to cross the line. He is now a host on One America News. Even the most fervent courtiers in Washington’s Court of the Sun King cannot carry you without the right social-media strategy.

Yet Gaetz is the exception, not the rule. The other “MAGAvengers” sailed through the nomination process in record speed, facing far less opposition than the likes of Politico, Axios and Semafor predicted. Kash Patel needed Mitch McConnell and Pete Hegseth needed J.D. Vance, but they made it. Their advancement depends on a new system. Gone are the days when endorsements and activism from vast and well-funded institutions mattered. Now, proximity to power is power itself.

“The most important thing for me,” another nominee told me, “is endorsement from conservative influencers with big followings and” – after an awkward pause – “ideally, prominent Fox News personalities.” Message received. A thumbs-up from a recognizable name on the biggest cable news channel is now more important to advancement in DC than any amount of vetting.

The courtier system built around Donald Trump has its virtues and defects. The virtue is that, unlike the first term, the cascade of individuals wandering through the White House causing trouble and pushing wacko ideas has largely been put into a walled garden. But now the wacko ideas are coming from inside the house, from a cadre of sycophants who still think they have to talk about Trump as if he is a benevolent, all-knowing dictator to gain his respect.

Major matters of international policy are decided according to what you can get Elon Musk to tweet. The whim of a middling tech bro can turn into a news cycle and an internal communications memo to all-staff on a congressional listserv within a day. The problem is no longer policy driven by elite, globalist, anti-American institutions; the problem is policy driven by memes. Neither is, in the frame of the civilizational future of the West, ideal.

A key aspect of this courtier system is the pervasive, delicate and hierarchical understanding of placement on the periodic table of “based,” a concept Google AI defines, somewhat inadequately, as “a term of praise for someone who is ‘un-woke’ or holds unconventional opinions.” A small illiberal portion of the right that has always existed. What’s different now is that a group has seized on illiberal messaging as a linguistic tool to support playing out their personal vendettas against those they dislike.

To disguise this agenda, driven by individual animus as opposed to any deep principle, they have embraced a fictional mantra surrounding the “based” lifestyle brand to disguise their true motives. “You should’ve done his podcast after you went on vacation, you’re more tan now,” a friend said to another potential nominee. The look of the second Trump era is very important to maintain: you need the right bronzer and fillers even if you still shop at Safeway.

Today, Washington is full of an upper-class set of conservatives who share all the personal predilections and tax brackets of the people they’re criticizing. They advocate for, but do not attend, church – RINOs have been replaced by TINOs (Tradcath In Name Onlys). They preach the doctrine of large families while having small ones; their friends all quietly forget the IVF journey they pretend never happened. They hire foreign nannies, buy multi-million dollar properties, have scads of gay married friends, while never owning a used car (that’s for poors) and not knowing the first thing about building an AR-15 (what’s a “lower?”).

On the surface, they are no different from all the people who voted for Kamala Harris and know the difference between East and West Coast oysters on sight. But they blast anyone to their left (or even to their libertarian right) as effete, out-of-touch liberals. The coin of the realm is who others think you know, not who you actually know. “Yes, I can try to get him to tweet that,” says the sherpa to the nominee at Butterworth’s, lying obviously about even having a remote connection to the suddenly critically important Daily Wire host they are discussing – who may not be as important in three weeks.

A steel man version of this would be a kind of Tucker Carlson who kills, butchers and eats elk with the best bone-out techniques – but come on, guys, he’s an Episcopalian with four names, born in San Francisco. The ever-present work to manifest a real-man, Paul Ryan lifestyle of bow hunting and lifting for these courtiers is nothing more than the right-coded equivalent of Tim Walz wearing a new field jacket and not knowing how to load a shotgun. But Ryan was defined as a nerdy cuck because he cares about numbers and spreadsheets and Medicaid’s long-term care program – not like Musk, who has put his staffer, Big Balls, atop DoGE like a boss. Consider it a reminder that branding matters.

David Ogilvy reportedly once said, “Don’t bunt. Aim out of the ballpark. Aim for the company of immortals.” Ryan bunted, where Musk is building his own Arabian-shah style family tree in an apparent attempt to live forever. This is based, for unexplained reasons that collide directly with Marcus Aurelius, who was also very based. Stoics haven’t had it this good since the 16th century – but it’s odd how they’re so often dressed in Brioni.

The courtier system is the most obvious grift in the world, a project precipitated by a bunch of mostly male mean girls, obsessed with maintaining proximity and power in an environment where such things are obviously fleeting and there is always another clawing up the ranks. Where what once mattered were résumés built on years of solid work, academic excellence, proven brilliance in an arena of policy and thought, now the remorseful text from one potential nominee is, “I was stupid, I shouldn’t have written a book, I should’ve just started a podcast.”

In the Court of the Sun King, “based” is just a lifestyle brand. It’s not about what you do or what you believe, whether you understand what time it is or if the agenda at hand is even one you understand. It’s entirely about vibes, to be used as a weapon against all the people you hate. It’s a suit of armor for flabby-minded men in the third generation of families that used to build something, now awash with veneers and therapists, who preach a thoroughly inspiring doctrine of manly strength while scheduling their next round of fillers. You might feel depressed about this state of affairs. Whatever happened to DC’s status as “Hollywood for ugly people?” Perhaps the old way was better, but a fundamental problem in America, as numerous conservatives identified it, is that elites don’t preach what they practice.

Don’t give up hope, though. There is a happy ending to all this that emerges in the imagination. Leonor, Princess of Asturias, the beautiful first daughter and heir presumptive to the Spanish throne, is just a year older than our national future leader and human skyscraper Barron Trump. Maybe it’s finally time – time to Make the Bourbons Great Again.

This article was originally published in The Spectator’s May 2025 World edition.