Leisure-Class Theory for the Age of Gold-Leaf Authoritarians**
Thorstein Veblen, the delightfully acerbic economist-sociologist who wrote The Theory of the Leisure Class in 1899, was not a man impressed by society’s “best people.” He looked at America’s Gilded Age, that glittering carnival of robber barons, railroad princes, and industrial titans, and concluded—quite academically—that much of what passed for class, refinement, and civilization was merely rich people’s clown shoes.
Veblen’s world was one of monocles, parasols, afternoon teas, servants dusting the chandeliers twice daily, and men who judged their masculinity by how many horses they didn’t personally groom. And in the middle of it all, Veblen quietly muttered: This is ridiculous.
He invented the concept of conspicuous consumption—spending money very publicly, not because one needs something, but because one wants everyone to know how much money one has. It was a scholarly way of saying, “Nice yacht, Cornelius. Trying to compensate for something?”
Fast-forward 125 years.
Veblen has been out of fashion for a while—he’s no meme, no TikTok soundtrack, and tragically underrepresented in fashion influencer reels. Yet suddenly, as if summoned by the faint golden glint of a toilet seat at Mar-a-Lago, his name is relevant again.
Why?
Because the Trump era and the MAGA movement have resurrected the Gilded Age impulse to treat public life as a stage for wealth display, ritual loyalty, dynastic power, and predatory bravado. If Veblen were alive today, he would not be surprised by Donald Trump. He would simply sigh, dip his quill, and write a sequel titled:
“The Leisure Class Strikes Back: Revenge of the Gilt.”
Trump, in his own brash way, has done the impossible: he has turned Veblen’s satire into campaign strategy.
A Quick Refresher on Veblen, for Those Who Slept Through Econ 101
The Theory of the Leisure Class was Veblen’s razor-sharp diagnosis of an upper class that proudly avoided useful labor and flaunted its status through waste, ritual, and display.
Some of his key concepts:
| Veblen Concept |
Rough Definition |
Trump/MAGA Analog |
| Conspicuous Leisure |
Displaying one’s exemption from useful work |
“I work so hard I don’t need briefings.” Golf. Rally tours. More golf. |
| Conspicuous Consumption |
Flaunting wealth to gain status |
Gold-leaf everywhere. Private jets. $400,000 membership fees. |
| Pecuniary Emulation |
Trying to mimic the wealthy to gain status |
MAGA hats, gold sneakers, “I’m a billionaire too—spiritually.” |
| Canons of Taste |
Wealth sets fashion & aesthetics standards |
Giant flags, gilded eagles, “classy” chandeliers, gaudy suits. |
| Dress as Status |
Clothing proves one’s social rank |
Extra-long red ties, MAGA couture, super-PAC-funded wardrobe. |
| Archaic Traits |
Survival of warrior, predatory, patriarchal values |
“I alone can fix it.” “Real men don’t wear masks.” “Fight like hell.” |
Veblen noted, with a mischievous academic smirk, that the leisure class devoted intense energy to appearing powerful while doing as little productive work as possible. In fact, being seen working was considered undignified, even shameful.
Sound familiar?
**Trump as the Modern Veblenian Archetype:
The Gilded Age Reborn—with More Caps**
Trump is, in some ways, the greatest Veblen character never written. He doesn’t merely embody conspicuous consumption—he marinates in it, bottle-ages it, and sells it as a luxury brand.
Mar-a-Lago is the 21st-century version of a Vanderbilt drawing room: gold trim everywhere, glistening in the Florida humidity like an oil spill at Liberace’s beach house.
The Trump Tower penthouse?
It has so much gold it could double as a Bond villain’s vault or a museum exhibit titled “The Baroque Period, but Make It Queens.”
The MAGA movement, meanwhile, treats wealth-flamboyance as a lifestyle religion. One does not merely support Trump; one wears it. Loyalty performs itself in bumps of red fabric, truck-sized flags, and caravans that look suspiciously like a Bass Pro Shop parade gone rogue.
To borrow from Veblen, MAGA culture is built around:
“pecuniary emulation”—the desire to live like the rich by looking like the rich.”
Except in this case, emulation means wearing the hat, buying the NFT, attending the rally, and believing, very earnestly, that a golden escalator can lead America back to greatness.
Conspicuous Leisure: “Working Hard So I Don’t Have To Work”
Veblen said the aristocrat’s goal was to be visibly idle, to prove status by not participating in productive life.
Trump has perfected the aesthetic of labored leisure:
-
Golf as statecraft
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Tweetstorms as policy briefings
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Press conferences as stand-up routines
-
Phone calls as diplomacy (“find me 11,780 votes” sounds like a rich guy ordering a rare vintage from the wine cellar)
Trump is the first modern leader to run the country as though it were a country club whose membership criteria include tax-avoidance, grievance, and strict adherence to polo-shirt theology.
And when asked about work?
He assures us he does it harder than anyone—so hard, in fact, that he transcends the need to read memos or attend intelligence briefings.
Veblen would clap politely from beyond the grave and whisper, yes, yes, flawless technique.
Conspicuous Consumption: The Gold Standard of Gold Standards
Veblenian consumption means using wealth in absurdly non-useful ways to signal dominance.
Trump’s examples are practically textbook:
-
Gold toilets
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Gold room accents
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Gold sneakers (retail: $399—democracy sold separately)
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NFT trading cards featuring Trump as a muscle-bound superhero, sheriff, boxer, Godzilla-adjacent figure, and cosmic warlord
If Veblen were writing today, he’d include a chapter titled:
“Conspicuous Digitization: Status Display via the Blockchain Grift.”
And let us not forget the Trump jet, with its gold-plated seatbelts—because nothing says “elite” like gilded torso-restraints hovering above working-class America at 30,000 feet.
Pecuniary Emulation: MAGA as Lifestyle Envy Politics
Veblen argued that people imitate the wealthy in hopes of sharing their prestige. MAGA supporters don’t just vote for Trump—they cosplay the brand:
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$99 NFTs
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$500 autographed shoes
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$399 Bibles (“Now with patriotic leather and special MAGA gospel commentary!”)
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Red hats for every occasion: rally, parade, indictment, arraignment, sentencing, fundraising brunch, coup, and post-coup brunch
If Louis XIV had lived today, he would not say “I am the state.”
He would say:
“I am the merch drop.”
MAGA ideology turns wealth aspiration into nationalism and grievance:
“We are rich in spirit; we just need to elect a rich man to lead us.”
Trumpism is aristocracy by imitation—signaling power by proximity to gold objects and family branding.
If Veblen could see the Trump children—social media aristocracy, sporting tailored suits and curated hauteur—he would jot a fresh note in the margin: dynastic consumerism: a hereditary performance of relevance.
Canons of Taste: Patriotism, But Make It Packaging
Veblen noted that elite taste was never about beauty; it was about cost.
Aesthetic judgment becomes a receipt.
In Trumpworld, “classy” means:
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Bigger flags
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Larger crowds (no matter what the photos show)
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Higher heels on First Lady (but never higher poll numbers)
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Marble, but shiny
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Curtains purchased “at cost” but reimbursed in dignity
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Neoclassical buildings, but with a casino feeling
Trump hijacked the Republican Party and transformed it into a Baroque Revival Republicanism—an ideology defined by ornamental grievance, exaggerated masculinity, and the aesthetic sensibilities of a Monaco parking garage.
Veblen described this perfectly:
“The canons of taste demand display of wasteful expenditure.”
In MAGA politics, waste is a proof of virtue.
Why run a lean operation when you can run twelve rallies, three legal defense funds, and a lifetime commitment to televised martyrdom?
Dress as a Status Language: Long Ties, Red Hats, and Power Cosplay
Veblen dedicated an entire chapter to fashion as class signaling. Trump understood inherently that clothing is political plumage.
Consider:
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The uncomfortably long red tie—a medieval heraldic banner symbolizing potency (or insecurity; Veblen would wink)
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Matching MAGA rally outfits, like a peasant army reenacting The Pirates of Palm Beach
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Giuliani’s post-election press conference wardrobe: funeral-director-meets-mildew-prophet
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Supreme Court photo ops styled like empire-era portraiture
When Melania wore “I really don’t care, do U?” while visiting detained immigrant children, she inadvertently delivered the most honest Veblenian commentary on elite callousness since Edith Wharton.
**Archaic Traits:
The Warrior Chief, the Strongman Fantasy, and the Bronze-Age Twitter General**
Veblen believed leisure-class leaders retained the values of ancient warriors and chieftains—aggression, dominance, vengeance, ritual humiliation of rivals.
Trump:
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Calls critics weak
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Admires autocrats
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Promises retribution politics
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Urges supporters to “fight like hell”
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Defends violence when performed in his honor
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Hosts policy roundtables that resemble medieval councils of barons plotting to sack the Capitol
The January 6 insurrection was not merely an attempted coup.
It was, in Veblenian terms:
“archaic predatory behavior resurrected through cable-news mythology.”
Trump supporters did not storm the Capitol as democratic citizens.
They stormed as tribal warriors defending the sacred chieftain’s honor, clad in tactical cosplay and furs, waving banners like medieval crusaders except with poorer spelling.
It was an uprising inspired by grievance, myth, and Facebook memes—America’s failed Beer Hall Putsch with better Wi-Fi.
Veblen Didn’t Predict Twitter, but He Would Recognize the Freak Show
Veblen didn’t live to see social media, but he did understand performative waste and moral exhibitionism. Twitter is the ideal Veblenian arena:
Trump didn’t merely use Twitter.
He weaponized it into a digital ballroom for the idle rich and the ideologically unemployed.
If Veblen were assigned to moderate social-media disputes today, he would resign, move to a cabin, and write a book titled The Idiocy of the Algorithmic Leisure Class.
The Tragic Comedy: A Return to 1899 Without the Manners
It is tempting to laugh at the spectacle—like watching a flock of peacocks try to run a constitutional republic.
But Veblen understood something crucial:
Societies that worship wealth more than work,
symbol more than substance,
and display more than duty
eventually rot.
The Gilded Age, for all its excess, still believed (at least in public) in invention, progress, and railroads that went somewhere other than metaphorical ruin.
Trumpism offers the gilt without the guilds, the mansions without the manufacturing, the dynastic power without the industrial progress.
It’s the ornamentation of empire without the empire-building, a cosplay of aristocracy without the literacy.
If the 1890s were a gilded age, the 2020s are gold-spray-painted populism with lay-away authoritarianism.
Conclusion: Veblen’s Ghost Watches, Bemused
Thorstein Veblen saw the absurdity of elites who believed the world existed as their mirror. He mocked them elegantly and pointedly, imagining that progress and industrial intelligence might someday triumph over predatory vanity.
And now here we are, scrolling past gold sneakers and patriotic Bibles, parsing rally transcripts for clues to constitutional decay, and staring in disbelief at the idea that America is, once again, flirting with hereditary rule by a family of gilded grievance merchants.
Trump and MAGA have not merely revived Veblen’s leisure-class satire.
They have turned it into a political platform, a merchandising strategy, and a social identity program.
Veblen walked so Trump could golf.
Veblen mocked the aristocracy—
Trump became one by branding.
And 74 million Americans looked up at the golden escalator and thought,
Yes, take us back to 1899. We didn’t like the factory jobs anyway—just give us the hats.
One can almost hear Veblen chuckling, somewhere in the afterlife, taking notes for the second edition:
“When satire becomes political reality, civilization has entered its Karaoke Gilded Age.”
And he would finish, much as we must, with weary amusement:
History does not repeat itself,
but sometimes it returns wearing a red hat and a 70-inch plasma screen tan,
shouting about greatness while selling you a Bible and a NFT.
