As we count our blessings this week, we can exult in the undisputed fact that JD Vance is vice president of the United States. And if, over the last 11 months, this has slipped your mind, no need to worry, because JD will consistently remind you that he is — little drummer boy roll please — vice president of the United States.
“Angels we have heard on high, sweetly singing o’er the plains, JD Vance is our vice president…Gloria, in excelsis Deo! Gloria, in excelsis Deo!”
Let us rejoice and be glad for all the ways JD Vance reminds us he is vice president of the United States.
In late October, Vance, who apparently has nothing better to do, trained with the Navy SEALs (the vice president is also a warrior), and he was the only one pictured with a beard, which is very much a no-no in Pete Hegseth’s “War” Department.
“When I was a young United States Marine, I did not have a beard. I am now the vice president. So I get to do what I want to do,” Vance boasted.
Earlier this year, like a giddy little tike who just got a gold star on his forehead, Vance gushed, “I’m the vice president of the United States, I’m a very blessed man, but we have three little kids who eat a lot of eggs…”
This came during rising egg prices, which coincided perfectly with Vance’s rising VP vanity.
Then came this reminder, lest you forget over the holiday break.
“Let me be clear,” Vance declared. “Anyone who attacks my wife … can eat s–t. That’s my official policy as vice president of the United States.”
Granted, attacks on Vance’s wife are unacceptable, so his response was partly justified. That said, Vance didn’t need to add the self-important flourish. It’s a ridiculous add-on, because vice presidents do not have “official policies.”
Yes, he meant it facetiously, but with Vance it lands as smug. It’s as if his brain sends narcissistic words to his tongue, which protests, “Do we have to say this?” Then Vance’s larynx coughs up the conceit anyway.
Egos come and go in Washington like messengers dropping off gifts of gold at the White House, but in an administration chock-full of fools, Vance’s haughty head would barely squeeze into Trump’s new ballroom.
For most of American history, the vice presidency has been understood for what it is: a political dead zone. Ego is to the vice presidency what Santa is to an elf. As John Nance Garner famously said, the job wasn’t worth “a bucket of warm p—.” History later tried to dilute the metaphor by substituting “spit.”
Thomas Marshall, Woodrow Wilson’s vice president, once joked, “Once there were two brothers. One ran away to sea; the other was elected vice president of the United States. And nothing was heard of either of them again"
The patrician George H.W. Bush was always deferential to Ronald Reagan. Dan Quayle, less than bright, was taken less seriously than Mr. Potato(e) Head. Al Gore was naggingly self-assured. President Dick Cheney — enough said. Uncle Joe Biden was a “big f—--- deal” for Barack Obama. Mike Pence was Mother’s deferential husband, and Kamala Harris’ sensibility didn’t fall out of a coconut tree.
Vance appears poised to follow Richard Mentor Johnson, Martin Van Buren’s vice president, whose legacy rests more on oddities — such as his belief that drilling to the Earth’s core might reveal a habitable interior. That certainly sounds like the conspiratorial Vance, who fits right in with that Little House on the Prairie era.
Vance demeaned postmenopausal women and “childless cat ladies” long before he became vice president. He still thinks women should stay home, presumably listening to bro podcasts. Earlier this year, alluding to his wife, he said, “Here’s the thing. The cameras are all on, anything I say, no matter how crazy, she has to smile, laugh, and celebrate it.”
Yes, because he’s vice president, the second lady must obey in her secondary role.
Now he’s ascended to the lower seat on Trump’s golden, plaque-filled throne, he hasn’t stopped uttering defenseless nutty witticisms in his condescending, patronizing, manner.
Vance loves to throw around his title and lap up his VP-ness, but he surely knows vice presidents have no independent executive authority. They don’t issue doctrine. They don’t set national rules. They don’t decree. They wait. Or they play war games with Navy SEALs.
And when you serve only two years in the Senate before becoming vice president, you have less credibility and stature than Quayle.
The job’s emptiness isn’t a flaw unless the person occupying it is. Vice presidents endure it because they are supposed to want something else. Most have been unknown, many have been disliked, perhaps all didn’t want to be there in the first place.
But not Vance. He loves being vice president of the United States.
The reason isn’t hard to discern. Outside conservative media bubbles and choreographed appearances, Vance is not liked. More Americans view him unfavorably than favorably.
Even among Republicans, enthusiasm is shallow. Private descriptions leak out: awkward, smug, preachy, trying too hard. A man desperate to be taken seriously, reminding everyone he’s an empty barrel making a lot of noise. Many are turned off by his holier-than-thou attitude.
That was plainly evident when he spoke to Turning Point USA last weekend and declared that America “is and always will be a Christian nation.” The founders barred religion precisely to prevent it from being used as a tool of power. But who cares about the Constitution when, as vice president, JD Vance can apparently do anything he wants?
For now, we can be grateful Vance isn’t governing. He doesn’t have to fix anything. He doesn’t have to make decisions that can be measured, judged, or blamed. He can declare “policy” that binds no one. He can posture as a national authority while remaining insulated from consequences.
Those same rules generally apply to Donald Trump, too.
If something were to happen to Trump in 2026, Vance would assume the office. But there’s little evidence he wants that day to come. One suspects he’d greet it with panic. He’d be a man forced out of a ceremonial role and handed real authority before an audience predisposed to dislike him.
Because right now, he has exactly what he wants. Vance has a title that sounds formidable, an office that demands very little, and a ready-made explanation for why nothing ever quite rests on his shoulders. Oh, and he has a beard!
The last president with a beard (if you don’t count Harry Truman, who briefly grew a goatee) was Benjamin Harrison — widely considered mediocre at best. So Vance has a mentor.
For generations, vice presidents resented how little the job mattered. JD Vance may be the first to love it precisely because it doesn’t. For him, the bucket isn’t an insult. It’s a refuge.
All this may be for naught, since Trump is doing everything possible to be king forever. So this Christmas, Vance will no doubt caterwaul, “Born a King on Bethlehem’s plain, gold I bring to crown Him again. King forever, ceasing never, over us all to reign.”
