Dwain Northey (Gen X)

I’m sure I’m not the only one who noticed that suddenly the narrative around Donald Trump has shifted from “the healthiest human organism ever assembled in a lab” to “well, of course he falls asleep randomly during the day, do you know how stressful the presidency is?”

Ah yes. Daytime somnolence. Which sounds far more sophisticated than “grandpa keeps nodding off during important moments.” It’s the medical equivalent of calling a bald spot “follicular minimalism.”

For years we’ve been told that Donald Trump is basically the peak of masculine vitality. According to his own orbit, he’s six-foot-three, two hundred and something pounds of pure alpha energy, powered entirely by Diet Coke, Filet-O-Fish, rage posting, and whatever chemical compound McDonald’s fries become after forty consecutive years.

This is a man who reportedly sleeps four hours a night, never exercises because apparently the human body is a battery with finite charges, and somehow still possesses the stamina of a Marvel superhero. At least according to right-wing media, which discusses his health with the same objective medical rigor medieval peasants used when claiming their king could cure diseases by touching people.

But now suddenly we’re hearing whispers about fatigue. Drowsiness. Falling asleep during the day.

And immediately the excuses begin.

“It’s stress.”

“It’s because he works so hard.”

“Anyone would be tired under that pressure.”

Which is fascinating because when former President Joe Biden looked tired, needed a pause, misspoke, or blinked too slowly, the same people acted like he was one nap away from being preserved in amber at the Smithsonian.

Apparently exhaustion is patriotic now. Falling asleep is actually leadership. If Donald nods off during a meeting, it’s not aging. It’s sacrifice. It’s dedication. It’s the burden of carrying America on his shoulders while simultaneously carrying seventy-eight years of cholesterol in his arteries.

And look, to be fair, the presidency probably is brutally stressful. I wouldn’t want the job. Every decision gets analyzed by millions of people, every mistake becomes international news, and every sentence lives forever online. That kind of pressure would age anybody.

But the issue isn’t whether stress can make someone tired. Of course it can.

The issue is that for nearly a decade we’ve been sold the image of Trump as some sort of genetically superior titan while every other aging politician was mocked as frail, senile, weak, sleepy, confused, or unfit. The rules only seem to apply until they apply to him.

Because suddenly daytime somnolence isn’t cognitive decline. It’s “proof he’s working harder than anyone else.”

Amazing how that works.

And honestly, maybe this is the most relatable thing about him. Not the gold toilets. Not the endless rallies. Not the spray tan that somehow exists in a shade between “traffic cone” and “sunset warning advisory.” But simply being an older man who gets tired during the day.

Welcome to humanity. Population: everybody.

The problem is that his supporters spent years insisting he wasn’t human at all. They marketed him like a late-night infomercial version of masculinity. Strongest. Healthiest. Sharpest. Most energetic president ever. A man who could apparently bench-press democracy while surviving entirely on fast food and vengeance.

So when reality peeks through the curtain and we discover he may, in fact, be an elderly man experiencing elderly-man things, it creates this bizarre political gymnastics routine where the same symptoms are either catastrophic decline or heroic endurance depending entirely on whose red tie is hanging over the podium.

Which is exhausting enough to make anybody need a nap.