Republicans aren't just weird—they're creeps

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There’s been a concerted and successful effort since Vice President Kamala Harris became the presumptive Democratic nominee for president to paint the Republican party as a bunch of raging weirdos. From the official campaign to campaign surrogates and regular social media users (like me), the weirdo messaging has caught fire. When Abortion rights activist Renee Bracey Sherman was asked Monday why JD Vance is so obsessed with the nuclear family and birth rates, she replied, “The short answer is he’s a weirdo. The longer answer is he’s a white supremacist.” 

I have no qualms with this and fully embrace it on the basis that it’s true. But I’d like to offer an addendum, if I may: These people are creepy weirdos. Or if you prefer, weird creeps. 

Being a weirdo isn’t inherently bad. I have definitely been called weird and self-identified as weird, and not necessarily in a negative way. I mean, I was Class Thespian in high school. Weird can be a synonym for unusual, and being unusual is what sets apart the geniuses in their craft. Unusual can mean special.

The thing about Republicans and their off-putting ideas is that they’re not remarkable or special or particularly unusual; they’ve been adopted by millions of supporters of former President Donald Trump and treated as gospel. They believe that a doctor can perform an abortion after giving birth and that step parents aren’t “real” parents and that women should be trapped in abusive marriages. Those beliefs aren’t just weird; they’re creepy as hell.

Calling Republicans creepy weirdos clarifies that they’re weird in a way that is uncomfortable, invasive, demeaning, anti-social and in some cases, outright illegal. They’re vulturous voyeurs who want to look at your genitals and take notes on what kind of sex you’re having in your own home and hack into your menstrual tracking app so they know when you’re ovulating. They want information that even your closest family and friends often don’t have—and that’s what makes it creepy.

For all conservatives’ talk about “small government” and “states rights,” their actions have demonstrated that what they really want is big government to invade your rights. 

If you don’t want to have children and choose to cohabitate with a cat—or multiple cats!—for your entire life, that is your right. Just because you can reproduce doesn’t mean you must. Therefore, looking at a childless, cat-owning woman and saying “she must fornicate with a man and repopulate the Earth” is creepy as hell. Believing that makes you a creep. And JD Vance is a creep of the highest order.

“Is it any wonder, then, that when someone made up out of whole cloth a joke that Vance fucked a couch, everyone believed it?,” Defector’s Barry Petchesky wrote on Monday. It really isn’t any wonder, because he’s an unfettered creep.

Maybe you’d have a beer with him, but you probably wouldn’t leave him alone with your pet or your child. (Or your couch.) He has the vibe of violation, the swagger of a sinister wretch, the air of a guy who’s unironically said “no means yes.” Some weirdos can be trusted. The same can’t be said for creeps.

I keep coming back to this excerpt I read from Vance’s book “Hillbilly Elegy” in which he describes his relationship with his wife, Usha:

Vance has finally found himself in a situation his wife can’t “manage.” A huge number of voters think he’s a creepy weirdo, and there’s nothing she can do to change their minds. She could sit down with Diane Sawyer and swear up and down that her husband never fucked a couch and is a victim of misinformation, but that would only make the legend grow. 

With all this deserved scrutiny, you have to wonder when he’ll finally explode—and perhaps even more concerning, who will get hit with the shrapnel. And only a true creep like Donald Trump could look at a creep like Vance and choose to run with him.

Quick update: I got back from Kansas Saturday night after an incredible reporting trip to mark the one-year anniversary of the police raid on the Marion County Record. From Lawrence to Emporia and Marion to Newton, I was able to experience a large swath of the state in a short time, and it was exciting to see so many people and places I’ve written about in the flesh. I’ll be forever grateful to everyone who donated and subscribed to help fund this trip.

Sherman Smith, Editor-in-Chief of the Kansas Reflector and my reporting partner in this project, was an outstanding host, along with Reflector intern Grace Hills. We’ll be putting together multiple stories about the latest from Marion, the state of press freedom, and how the media remains defiant in the face of government overreach. All stories will be published on both The Reflector and The Handbasket starting Monday, August 5th. Stay tuned.