(In the spirit of the recent Vogue story of Gov. Newsom)
Let’s get this out of the way: He is impeccably arranged. Nothing about him appears accidental, including the accidents he overcame early in life, which now seem thoughtfully placed in retrospect. His hair shows experience at the edges, like a distinguished document.
He stands at ease with his significance. Not proud of it — simply familiar with it.
The room is formal in the way only government rooms and high-end dental offices achieve. Wood tones. Flags. Air calibrated to preserve seriousness. He delivers his final Address of Importance to people who are important enough to be seated.
His voice does not rise. It is already where it intends to be.
Observers note the composure. Later, some will call it resolve. Others will call it leadership. One intern will call it “good posture” and be absolutely correct.
He speaks in complete thoughts. Each sentence arrives fully dressed.
There are warnings. There are principles. There are phrases that sound pre-underlined. The walls receive them without interruption.
He pauses briefly — not to think, but to allow history to keep up.
Aides nearby maintain expressions of professional agreement. One of them is holding a folder that appears to contain additional agreement, should more be required.
The atmosphere is not tense. It is curated.
In moments like this, governance resembles tailoring: careful measurements, invisible stitching, and a finished product meant to be worn in public without visible strain.
No one mentions the thermostat again, though it continues to perform flawlessly.