Hindsight may be 20/20, though unfortunately mine takes me back to 2016 rather than 2020. Again, the hearts of young girls and grown women alike not only break but shatter. Another face-off between the possible first female president of the United States and notorious womanizer, Donald Trump, ends in a victory for abusers, for the white man status quo that has always, and seemingly will always, prevail.
2020 delivered many things, most of them unwanted. Yet, as the year closed, 2020 succeeded in granting us––or, at the very least, me––the most important deliverable of all: hope. The 2020 presidential election, while by no means a landslide victory for the grey and greying Joe Biden, presented the country with an opportunity to pivot, an opportunity for the country to replace politics that make for prime content for Colin Jost and Michael Che’s “Weekend Update” with mundanity. Forget the unprecedented. Forget “Make America Great Again.” How about “Make America Boring Again”? That, in my books, is a winning slogan––perhaps one the Harris campaign could have used.
Harris’s official slogan, “When we fight, we win,” stings with its irony, even four months after the election. A campaign condensed to a mere three and a half months was bound to be messy and chaotic. I desperately hoped this messiness, riding the wave of Brat summer, would be enough to push Harris to the finish line. Let me remind you though, especially as marathons become the new 20-something’s quarter life crisis: wait until you or your friend crosses the finish line to begin your celebrations.
Unfortunately, I did not heed my own advice and found myself basking in the glory of hope just days before the election. On Oct. 29, a hopeful crowd of 75,000 gathered on the National Mall to hear Harris deliver her final campaign speech. Among them were five teenage girls, myself included, dehydrated and hungry with sore feet from standing for six hours in one cramped spot. Little American flags adorned our cheeks, the first time our faces had been painted in nearly a decade. We carried the flag not only on our faces, but in our hearts and in our hands, waving them with a fervor we never thought possible. Patriotism did not come naturally to us, except in this moment, and we rode the high. We hoped to witness history this Tuesday (and the next!), and celebrate Halloween come Thursday.
Spookiness did indeed lay before us, though not the fun, carefree kind we imagined. One salient moment should have alerted us to the naivety of our youth, though I say this in retrospect. Cramped in the crowd, body flush against body like a sweaty nightclub, us girls sang and stiffly danced to the tunes blasted by the campaign, fueling the crowd’s already palpable excitement. The angelic voice of Beyoncé serenaded us, as did classic sing-along hits like “Sweet Caroline.” One song in particular, though, was a harbinger of the defeat to come: “Blurred Lines.”
Even copyright infringement disputes aside, “Blurred Lines,” a collaboration between Robin Thicke, Pharrell Williams, and T.I., remains highly controversial. An article by Dorian Lynskey published in The Guardian went so far as to suggest that the collaboration is the “most controversial song of the [2010s] decade.” In 2013, the song––not unlike the 2024 election––became a “lightning rod for moral outrage and censorship,” raising questions about consent and sexual abuse, which were soon to become explosive with the #MeToo Movement. The song’s funky opening beats accompanied by Pharell beckoning “Everybody get up” momentarily captivated the crowd, or at least our group. Its distinct radio sound left us wondering how and why we knew the lyrics but not the name of the song. When Robin Thicke finally delivered the line “Maybe I’m out of my mind,” I felt I might be out of my mind. This song? At the Harris rally?
“I know you want it,” Thicke’s deep and threatening voice rang out, sending shivers down spines. I think of all the women before me whose lives and dreams were crushed by these same words, and I think of Harris. In hindsight, this is the moment that should have crushed my dreams of a Harris presidency. Doesn’t she want it? This presidency? Doesn’t she know the bar that has been set for her? For a female candidate, something as seemingly innocuous as playing “Blurred Lines” at a rally is enough of a reputation hit to ruin presidential aspirations. However, for a man like Donald Trump, 26 public accusations of sexual misconduct are not a hindrance or even an annoyance but the seal of victory for his campaign. Even nasty objectifications caught on videotape and money trails investigated by the Manhattan District Attorney cannot obstruct the road to the White House. (And paying an underage girl for sex can win you a cabinet nomination!) Trump does not blur lines; he simply crosses them. And he is rewarded for it.
Meanwhile, Kamala blurred too many lines, and not just by playing the song “Blurred Lines.” Her campaign showcased the dangers of a woman trying to please everyone (as women do) and, in the end, pleasing no one. She blurred lines between parties as she offered Republicans “a seat at the table” in her speech that chilly night in October. She vowed to remove undocumented immigrants, much like Trump only with softer and “blurrier” language. Moreover, she made exaggerated appeals to moderate voters throughout her campaign, asserting her pro-Second Amendment stance, for example. She wanted voters to know that she supports the New York Stock Exchange and the New York Glock Exchange—and, she wields that glock proudly since she worked in “law enforcement.” Yet, these statements blurred lines between Harris upholding justice and upholding the (in)justice system. Consequently, she caught criticisms from both sides, and, in trying to invite the American people to know her, she confused them instead. This middle (wo)man tactic, in retrospect, seems only to have alienated voters from the Harris campaign. Blurred lines, in all their shapes and forms, paved the way for Harris’ downfall. Robin Thicke and Pharrell might sing “You’re a good girl,” but Kamala was not “good” enough––or, I guess more aptly, was not bad enough––to be presidentially-qualified.
Grace Guernsey is a sophomore in the SFS studying Culture & Politics and minoring in Spanish and Psychology. At the top of her 2025 “ins” list: Miley Cyrus.
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