Like many who enjoy dunking on J.D. Vance, I hope Tim Walz uses tonight’s debate to stunt on J.D. like a white man who installed a lower-than-reg-hoop on his garage. I suspect that Walz would also enjoy 90 minutes of screwing J.D.’s tiny little face into every own goal the emo boy has ever committed. The gleam in Walz’s eye when he makes a direct reference to one of Vance’s many trips into the uncanny valley is a rare flaw in the Minnesotan’s almost supernatural level of appeal. (I mean, only at this debased point in American political history does “Look at me, I have no problem picking out donuts” sound even a little like a brag, but here we are.)
A recent NBC Poll found Walz to be more popular than Taylor Swift, a fact that the Harris campaign might trumpet were Walz not also more popular than his running mate. Here’s a brief list of other figures that Walz came out on top of: Joe Biden, Elon Musk, the Republican Party, the Democratic Party, and, of course, J.D. Vance. Vance was the most unpopular human of all the options offered respondents, though as a concept Vance beat out both “socialism” and Project 2025. (Capitalism outperformed everyone, as it must if we are to keep the illusion going.)
But risking that almost supernatural level of appeal is the one reason Walz should probably restrain himself from the sort of taunts that have surely followed Vance around for his whole damn life. Don’t get me wrong: Mocking the conservative movement is always punching up. Mocking a venture capitalist will never make you look like the small one, either. But right now, Walz’s enormous cache of positive name recognition balances on being the guy that protects people from bullies, and IRL, J.D. Vance’s chin-trembling attempts to ape normalcy look too much like those of a scared child for Walz to benefit from in a “they’re weird”–centered strategy.
Focusing too much on “they’re weird” in the brightest spotlight Walz and Vance will see all season would also underserve the scale of both the moment and the epic tragedies unfolding around us. The aftermath of the last debate showed us the risk of dismissing hateful rhetoric as merely deviant. It was weird to accuse Haitian immigrants of eating cats and dogs, sure. And amplifying that internet conspiracy has led to racial terrorism, which is, unfortunately, well within historical norms for this country. Not weird at all, in a way.
To actually take Vance, Trump, and the rest of the MAGA ghouls more seriously suggests a different kind of direct assault: Instead of mocking Vance, and risking that he’ll come off looking like a victim, Walz should use his time to make sure people know who the real victims are. Let him speak with tight-lipped anger over what’s happened to the people of Ohio—especially those in its Haitian American community. Let him pound the table over the climate catastrophe that currently has the Southeast United States in its grip; lend his voice to the grief felt by people who have lost loved ones to the bans on reproductive care. Walz’s biggest asset as a politician is weaponizing the energy of a dad whose child has suffered.
By comparison, Vance is the disfigured vessel of horrific policy. Walz can talk to him like you talk to a customer service guy for the insurance company that’s ripping you off: “Look, I know you just work there, I’m sorry they’re making you do this! But, man, your boss is a real asshole, and people are dying.” There’s little risk of making Vance look like a victim and a fairly large chance that Vance will insist that he’s actually a real big boy who helps make policy! “Aww, sure you do, kid, sure you do.”
My real suggestion for Walz, however, is neither japery nor indignation. I think Walz should shuffle onto stage in a thick cardigan and glasses, letting Vance know he’s coming in for a Robin Williams–in–Good Will Hunting hug. Just murmur, “Son, it’s not your fault” for 90 minutes, because J.D. Vance is an American White man (the Americanest, whitest, really). That oughtta bring him to tears.
Bear with me in this fantasy for a second. In a debate that CBS has already freed from fact-checking, openly weeping on national television might be the only thing that would disqualify Vance in the eyes of Republican voters. Viewers not already aligned with Trump would see the absolute best version of Tim Walz that exists: serenely secure in his masculinity, a rock that a weaker soul can rely on. It’s an intervention—not just for Vance but potentially an intervention for the hundreds of thousands (millions?) of white men who flock to Trumpian cruelty and xenophobia because it makes sense of a changing world they are otherwise too scared to experience.
The problem with my plan is not that it’s hitherto gone unattempted. In its most general outline, my suggestion is a continuation of what American politics has always been: a system to help white men feel safe and seen. The problem with my plan is that it’s a really direct expression of that pattern—and that Tim Walz might not carry off a chunky cardigan. Still, the larger goal of this debate, if you’re Walz, is to peel back the many layers of odd artifice that Vance has built around his psyche like a protective labyrinth and expose what’s squirming around down there. There’s a scenario in which that happens and Vance gets some healing. There’s also a scenario where Walz stomps the living shit out of Vance’s sluggish, dark heart. That too would be satisfying to see.
