Donald Trump has spent his adult life branding everything in sight: casinos, hotels and towers. Anything tall and loud enough to carry his gold lettering.
Now he’s attempting to do the same with the White House.
While the nation struggles with a bungled war in Iran, long lines at the airport and soaring gas prices, the president is preoccupied with putting his stamp on the people’s house with a grandiose ballroom.
On Wednesday, a federal judge blocked Trump’s plans, but the National Capital Planning Commission — which Trump packed with allies — voted 8-1 to approve it Thursday afternoon.
But whatever happens next, this is more than just an architectural exercise. Trump wants to add his own tacky aesthetic — an oversize ballroom, grand staircases that lead nowhere, ornamental windows with no purpose — to the building he reportedly described in his first term as “a real dump.” (Trump denied making the comment.)
Trump governs the way he approached real estate: loud, extravagant and self-important. But his imperial aesthetic is less Versailles and more Gawd-Awful: gold leaf everywhere, including the toilet, and chintzy reproductions of classic architecture.
But the White House is not a luxury development. It belongs to the American people. And every time Trump tries to turn it into another gilded monument to himself, he reminds us that he sees the office very differently.
For Trump, the symbols of power seem to matter more than the substance of democracy. Corinthian columns. Grand halls. A “beautiful” classical facade. His executive order promising to make federal architecture “beautiful again” was sold as a tribute to American tradition.
But what made America great was never the columns. It was the Constitution.
The genius of the American system was never the grandeur of the buildings but the restraint of the people inside them. Checks and balances. The rule of law. A presidency limited by Congress, the courts and the will of the voters. Trump seems to believe that what made America great was marble and symmetry (even as he attempts to build a ballroom which would disrupt the White House’s famous symmetry). In reality, America’ s greatness is its messy, resilient architecture of democracy.
You can see the difference in the way he treats the White House itself. He tore up the Rose Garden and tore down the East Wing. He’s obsessed with grand additions that would remake one of the most symbolically important buildings in the country as if it were another Trump building.
Trump may leave behind a visible legacy: the physical imprint of his ego on the White House.
Presidential legacies usually take decades to come into focus. Historians argue about policies, wars and economic decisions long after a president leaves office. But there is one mark Trump may leave behind that is already visible: the physical imprint of his ego on the very house meant to symbolize the republic.
It fits a pattern. Trump’s Atlantic City casino empire once stood as a glittering monument to his brand. It was supposed to be unstoppable. Permanent. A symbol of wealth and dominance. Instead the Trump Plaza casino was demolished in 2021 in a controlled implosion watched by crowds cheering as the dust settled.
The lesson from Atlantic City is simple: Buildings built around one man’s ego do not age well.
The White House is not supposed to reflect the personality of whoever temporarily occupies it. It represents something much larger: a democratic system that outlasts any one president. When Trump treats it like the latest site for a gaudy renovation, he reveals what he has always revealed about himself.
Trump was never truly interested in the presidency as a responsibility. He was interested in it as another construction project in tribute to himself.
For more thought-provoking insights from Michael Steele, Alicia Menendez and Symone Sanders Townsend, watch “The Weeknight” every Monday-Friday at 7 p.m. ET on MS NOW.
Michael Steele
Michael Steele is a co-host of "The Weeknight," which airs Monday through Friday at 7 p.m. ET on MS NOW. He is a former lieutenant governor of Maryland and a former chairman of the Republican National Committee.