Leadership used to mean showing up, doing the hard work, and making decisions in service of something greater than yourself. It meant listening more than you spoke, knowing your facts before you formed your opinions, and striving toward long-term progress even if it meant short-term sacrifice.
But that kind of leadership doesn’t trend on social media.
In today’s political theater, the currency is attention—and attention is won through outrage, performance, and clever editing. We’re no longer governed by statesmen and women who deliberate with depth and restraint. We’re governed, in large part, by actors. The legislative chambers have become stages. The microphones are props. And the goal, far too often, is not progress—but virality.
You can see it clearly in this year’s cabinet hearings. If you watched the sessions in full, as I did, you’d see something peculiar. Members chatting casually, lobbing friendly questions, agreeing more than disagreeing. But then, right on cue, the transformation begins. A member adjusts their posture, sharpens their tone, and delivers their pre-scripted, performative question—knowing full well it’s not about answers, it’s about the clip. Within hours, the exchange is online, edited for maximum drama, complete with bolded captions and background music. It's not a civic moment—it's a content drop.
This behavior is now the norm, not the exception. And it’s not just embarrassing—it’s dangerous.
Because while we’re busy turning government into a stage, the real work is being left undone. Our cities are struggling with addiction, homelessness, and crumbling infrastructure. Our schools are underperforming. Our small businesses are weighed down by bureaucracy. Our trust in each other, and in the institutions that hold this nation together, is eroding. These challenges demand grown-up conversations and serious compromise. But you don’t get standing ovations for nuance. You don’t go viral for humility. And so the cycle continues: incentivizing the worst impulses of our political class while punishing those who dare to speak with restraint.
What we are witnessing isn’t just the evolution of politics—it’s the devolution of public service.
We’ve confused visibility with virtue. We’ve traded substance for style. And we’ve begun to treat our government like it’s a platform for self-branding rather than a sacred responsibility to serve. This isn’t a partisan problem. This is a cultural one. The left does it. The right does it. Even those in the center are tempted. Why? Because the system rewards it. The more combative your language, the more money you raise. The more outrageous your question, the more followers you gain. It’s a game. And the American people are the ones losing.
We are in desperate need of a reset.
We need leaders who know that public service is a trust—not a trend. Who believe in the slow, sometimes painful work of building consensus and driving change from within. Who care more about getting things done than getting applause. The truth is, good governance rarely makes for good TV. It’s boring. It’s procedural. It’s full of late nights, compromise, and complexity. But it’s also where real progress is made—where cities are rebuilt, policies are shaped, and lives are changed.
So how do we get back to that? How do we break the grip of performative politics?
We start by changing what we reward. We stop sharing every outrageous clip and start supporting the voices that don’t play to the crowd. We stop donating to the loudest people in the room and start backing those who are quietly effective. We demand media coverage that values context over conflict, and we engage as citizens, not just consumers of content.
But most importantly, we stop waiting for someone else to fix it. The antidote to performative leadership is real leadership. And that means stepping up. It means running for school board. It means showing up to town halls. It means mentoring young people, building things that last, and refusing to let cynicism win.
Because while the noise may feel overwhelming, I believe the majority of Americans are craving something deeper. Something honest. Something real. They want leaders who lead, not influencers who posture. They want truth over theatrics, action over anger, and unity over division.
I believe we can give that to them. But only if we stop playing for the camera—and start playing for the future.
If this sparked something in you—if it made you think differently about leadership, politics, or your own role in shaping the future—I’d love for you to follow or subscribe on Substack, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify.
We don’t need more influencers in government—we need more grown-ups. And that shift starts with us: what we reward, what we share, what we demand, and what we choose to become.
So let’s stop playing for the camera—and start playing for the future.
I’ll be back tomorrow with more.
Until then—stay thoughtful, stay steady, and keep showing up for what matters.
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