Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Trump Derangement Syndrome: A Diagnosis With a Mirror

Donald Trump recently accused Rob Reiner of suffering from “Trump Derangement Syndrome,” or TDS—capital letters implied, stethoscope optional. As with most Trumpian diagnoses, this one was delivered remotely, without examination, credentials, or any awareness of irony. Because if there is one thing America has learned over the past decade, it’s that when Donald Trump accuses someone else of being obsessed with Donald Trump, it’s time to check who’s actually wearing the merch.

Let’s revisit the original conservative definition of Trump Derangement Syndrome. According to MAGA folklore, TDS is a condition afflicting Democrats who cannot stop thinking, talking, tweeting, writing, joking, or warning about Donald Trump. Symptoms include anxiety over democracy, an irrational attachment to constitutional norms, and the persistent belief that laws should apply to presidents. Tragic stuff, really.

But then something strange happened.

The people most concerned about Trump’s mental real estate began building shrines to it.

They put his name on hats, shirts, flags, bumper stickers, boats, houses, and occasionally their own bodies. They fly banners depicting him as Rambo, Jesus, a king, or all three at once. They attend rallies years after elections ended, chant his name like it’s a sports franchise and a religion rolled into one, and spend entire news cycles explaining that everything wrong in America is either Joe Biden’s fault or proof that Trump is still secretly in charge.

Yet somehow, this is not derangement. No, no—this is “patriotism.”

Meanwhile, when someone like Rob Reiner—whose résumé includes decades of cultural contribution and zero gold-plated toilets—criticizes Trump, that’s when the alarm bells go off. “TDS!” they cry, as if concern about authoritarian rhetoric is a psychological disorder and not, say, basic pattern recognition.

Let’s consider the third-term conversation. A normal political movement, when told the Constitution limits presidents to two terms, might say, “Yes, that seems wise, given the whole King George thing.” The Trump movement, however, reacts like a toddler being told bedtime is non-negotiable. Suddenly, the 22nd Amendment is “debatable,” “unfair,” or “just a suggestion.” Trump himself “jokes” about staying forever, and his followers laugh nervously while quietly Googling how amendments work—and whether vibes can override them.

But sure, it’s the critics who are deranged.

There’s a certain elegance to the projection. The people who insist Trump lives rent-free in Democrats’ heads are the same people who cannot imagine politics, identity, or reality without him at the center. Remove Trump, and the movement doesn’t have a platform—it has a grievance support group. No policy agenda, no governing philosophy, just a shared belief that their guy is persecuted, perfect, and perpetually owed more power.

That’s not political loyalty. That’s fixation.

Trump Derangement Syndrome, it turns out, is real—but not in the way it’s marketed. It’s not the refusal to normalize chaos. It’s not the discomfort with a man who praises dictators while flirting with kingship. It’s not the belief that presidents should follow laws and leave when their terms end.

The real syndrome is believing one man is so essential, so infallible, so irreplaceable, that democracy itself should bend around his ego.

And if you’re still wearing the hat, flying the flag, defending the tantrums, rationalizing the lies, and fantasizing about a third term—while accusing everyone else of obsession—it might be time to accept the diagnosis.

Because the call is coming from inside the red cap.