Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Oh, Donnie went to the United Nations again? How adorable. Nothing quite says serious world power like sending your orange-skinned toddler-in-chief to the international grown-ups’ table, where leaders gather to discuss things like climate catastrophe, famine, war, peace, and—oh right—democracy. And what does Donnie bring? His usual grab bag of grievance, chest-thumping, and the subtle diplomatic nuance of a drunk uncle at Thanksgiving dinner.

It’s becoming painfully clear that every time he steps foot in that marble hall, he manages to confirm the suspicion shared quietly by diplomats everywhere: maybe the United States doesn’t actually deserve a seat at the big boy table under his “leadership.” You know, the table where people behave like statesmen, not like Twitter-addicted monarchs screaming about how unfair life is.

Instead of presenting America as a steady hand in an unstable world, Donnie treats the UN like his personal therapy session. Cue the endless victimhood routine: the media is mean, other countries are freeloading, everyone should be nicer to me. Nothing says “superpower” quite like whining to 192 nations that your feelings are hurt. It’s as if the world is supposed to take notes while he performs his “poor me” routine on the global stage. Forget addressing global hunger or nuclear proliferation—what really matters is how the French president didn’t clap hard enough during Donnie’s speech.

And let’s talk about that paper-thin skin. Dictators everywhere must love him. He’s their best PR guy. When Trump rails against international criticism, demanding fealty and respect like some tinpot banana republic strongman, he’s not projecting strength. He’s projecting insecurity so loud it’s practically deafening. The whole charade screams: please clap for me, or I’ll throw a tantrum. America once stood for freedom and resilience; now it stands for the diplomatic equivalent of a toddler smashing his toy truck because someone looked at it funny.

What’s worse is how his UN appearances erode America’s standing. Once upon a time, the U.S. was the adult in the room—the flawed adult, sure, but the one others looked to when the world was on fire. Under Donnie, we’re the clown no one wants to sit next to. It’s hard to push for global cooperation when your leader is onstage basically saying, “It’s all about me, folks, and if you don’t adore me, you’re the enemy.” International alliances thrive on trust and respect; Donnie operates entirely on loyalty oaths and flattery.

So what are we left with? A United States that looks less like a superpower and more like a deeply insecure guy screaming at the maître d’ because his “VIP” table wasn’t close enough to the spotlight. Other nations see the bluster, the ignorance, the fragile ego, and they draw the obvious conclusion: maybe America isn’t really up for this whole leadership thing anymore.

And Donnie? He’s perfectly fine with that, as long as someone, somewhere, calls him a genius while he’s in earshot. Forget legacy, forget democracy, forget respect on the world stage. All that matters is the applause meter. And when the applause is weak—or worse, polite silence—he interprets it not as global exhaustion but as betrayal.

So yes, Donnie’s UN show-and-tell once again proves the point: under his rule, the U.S. doesn’t deserve a seat at the big boy table. Maybe a booster seat at the kids’ table, where he can shout about how unfair the rules are while everyone else gets on with the business of running the world.