An Uncomfortable Question

In Andy Warhol Was A Hoarder, author Claudia Kalb examines the lives of various historical figures and consults with psychologists and mental health experts to search for an understanding of how those figures were fueled by ailments that medical science did not yet fully understand (and, in some cases, still doesn't). From Warhol's hoarding, to Marilyn Monroe's borderline personality disorder, to Howard Hughes' OCD, Kalb provides compelling cases for what they might be diagnosed with according to the DSM-5. The book probably falls short of perfect analysis, but it's also a lot higher than typical pop psychology, treating its subjects with sensitivity and sympathy.

One of the sections I found most striking was the chapter on architect Frank Lloyd Wright, about whom I knew nothing going in. But reading Kalb's analysis of the man, an examination of narcissistic personality disorder, I found myself drawing comparisons that I had no business drawing, not least because those comparisons immediately seemed too... facile? Too obvious? One of those, probably. Kalb writes: "Impertinent, pioneering, and dramatic, Wright embraced his ego throughout his life, used it to get ahead and promoted it to the world without an ounce of modesty."

A bit further on, discussing Wright's less-than-reliable autobiography, she says: "Rewriting one's past is characteristic of narcissistic people, who become adept at embellishing life stories to enhance their self-image. What matters is that Wright's account is the truth that he fashioned and wished others to believe."

Later, she lays out the checklist for NPD: "a grandiose sense of self-importance; a preoccupation with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love... ; a need for excessive admiration; a sense of entitlement; exploitative behavior in relationships; a lack of empathy..." To name just a few.

Where could I possibly be going with this?

The comparison between Wright and Donald Trump, a thatch-roofed bologna loaf, is not a perfect one-to-one. Kalb cites Wright's son, John, in noting that "money didn't have value, other than getting [Wright] what he wanted." For Trump, however, money is everything--both the means and the end to anything a person might pursue. Also, Wright could be cold, even cruel, toward his children; John reported that, while working for his father, Wright Senior would deduct from John's salary everything that his son had cost him throughout his life, "including obstetrics." Trump, on the other hand, adores his children. Although that adoration does sometimes express itself in inappropriate and horrifying ways.

And yet. Both Wright and Trump are builders. They both revel in self-promotion. They've even both set up, ahem, schools to spread their wisdom to future generations. At Wright's Taliesin, "apprentices took part in running the day-to-day operations of the 200-acre estate... They hoed the fields, tended the manure pit, cooked meals, did laundry, hauled stones, cut trees, and built their own lodging. There was no formal instruction; instead, apprentices were awarded the opportunity to work alongside Wright in his studio. The annual price tag for this privilege was steep. Initially set at $650--more than Ivy League tuition--it quickly grew to $1,100." At Trump University... well, maybe I should reserve judgment until the lawsuit is finished.

Now, the Goldwater Rule exists for a reason. And I am not a trained psychologist. And I have not spoken with professional mental health experts, as Kalb did. And truth be told, I can only spell "psychiatry" with the help of spellcheck. So for me to try to analyze a man I have never met is not so much 'irresponsible and unethical' as it is 'dumb and pointless.' But as someone who thinks about these subjects far more than is healthy, I can say that I've reached a very uncomfortable conundrum.

In his delightful book, How To Fight Presidents, Dan O'Brien puts forward that "Only a person with an unfathomably huge ego and an off-the-charts level of blind self-confidence and an insatiable hunger for control could look at America, in all of her enormity, with all of her complexity, with all of her beauty and flaws and strength and power, and say, 'Yeah. I should be put in charge of that.'" And in my review of that book, I wrote, "Presidents are insane. We need them to be or we'd have no one else willing to do the job." I bought O'Brien's assertion. I still kinda do. So where does that leave me vis-a-vis Trump, who so energetically embodies that assertion?

Feeling a sudden need to take a very long shower, it seems to me that the best way to analyze Trump by O'Brien's standard would be to call him overqualified for the presidency. I know, I know: gross. But it's a pill that might be worth swallowing. Because that's a diagnosis that I feel comfortable applying. And if we believe that all he really wants is the attention, maybe in this case we should give the baby his bottle.