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Democrats embrace ‘weird’ label, turning tables on conservative rhetoric often used against queer people

J.D. Vance
Win McNamee/Getty Images

Republicans want to believe they're 'normal,' but their freakouts over LGBTQ+ issues prove they're anything but.

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Alright, folks, let's talk about the strangest new trend in politics: calling your opponents "weird." Yes, you read that right. In the past week, the Democratic camp has decided that the best way to take on Trump and the GOP is to break out their middle school vocabulary.

It all started when Minnesota Governor Tim Walz (a potential VP pick, by the way) described GOP nominee Donald Trump and "cat lady"-obsessed running mate JD Vance as "just weird." From there, it's like the entire Democratic Party collectively went, "You know what? He's onto something," and ran with it.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "Parker, are you seriously telling me that seasoned politicians are resorting to playground insults?" And the answer is... kind of, yeah. But here's the kicker: it's working. Or at least, it's getting one hell of a reaction.

The evolution of political language

Remember when political debates were all about tax rates and foreign policy? Yeah, me neither. Welcome to the era of political discourse where calling your opponent "weird" passes for a campaign strategy. But before we judge too harshly, let's take a step back and look at how we got here.

Over the past few decades, we've seen a gradual shift from policy-focused debates to character-driven campaigns. It's no longer just about what a candidate plans to do, but who they are (or who they claim to be). This isn't entirely new; politicians have always tried to sell their personalities alongside their policies. But social media has cranked this up to eleven.

In a world of tweets and TikToks, nuanced policy discussions don't exactly thrive. Instead, we get catchy slogans, memorable insults, and yes, apparently, the word "weird." It's like politics has merged with reality TV, and we're all just waiting for someone to say, "I'm not here to make friends."

But here's the thing: as much as we might roll our eyes at this trend, it's not just about dumbing down the discourse. These simple, punchy messages often cut through the noise in a way that lengthy policy papers never could. They stick in people's minds, spark conversations (or Twitter wars), and sometimes reveal more about a candidate's values than any carefully crafted speech ever could.

Unpacking the appeal of 'normal'

Let's talk about "normal" for a second. It's a concept that's been at the heart of conservative messaging for decades. The idea is simple: we're the normal ones, the real Americans, the default setting. Everyone else? Well, they're the outliers, the deviants, the ones trying to change everything.

As writer A.R. Moxon puts it in a recent Twitter thread:

"What recent discourse is exposing is something I've been trying to say for years now, which is that there is little conservatives care more about than being considered the only normal ones by everyone else, and they'll use bullying and the threat of punishment to get it."

This obsession with being seen as "normal" isn't just about feeling good. It's a powerful political tool. If you can convince people that your way of life is the default, then anything else becomes a threat. It's why we see so much fear-mongering about the "radical left" or the "gay agenda" or whatever the boogeyman of the week is.

But here's where it gets interesting. By labeling the GOP as "weird," Democrats are flipping this script. They're challenging the very foundation of conservative identity politics. And boy, are conservatives not happy about it.

Julia Serano, in her recent blog post, nails why this is hitting such a nerve:

"I think it has to do with the MAGA worldview being centered on them being the supposed norm. They are heavily invested in the notion that their perspective and lifestyle is the one true and righteous way that all others must follow. Calling them 'weird' upends this worldview."

It's like watching someone's entire sense of self crumble because someone called them a silly name. Except that "silly name" is undermining years of carefully constructed political messaging.

When 'weird' backfires

For years, Republicans have been playing the "weird" card, particularly when it comes to LGBTQ issues. They've tried to paint transgender people, drag queens, and really anyone who doesn't fit their narrow definition of "normal" as some kind of threat to society. But here's the thing: their obsession with these issues is starting to look, well... weird.

Take the great Bud Light meltdown of 2023. A beer company did a bit of sponsored content with trans influencer Dylan Mulvaney. No big deal, right? Wrong. Conservatives lost their minds. They were destroying cases of beer, posting videos about it online, and acting like this was the fall of Western civilization. Over a can of beer.

Then there was the Target Pride collection freakout. Some rainbow-colored shirts and a few books about acceptance, and suddenly it was the end times. People were storming through stores, flipping displays, and harassing employees. Over T-shirts and swimsuits.

Now, let's take a step back and ask: who's really being weird here?

Is it the trans person living their life and doing a sponsored post? Or is it the grown adults having public tantrums over marketing campaigns?

Is it the store selling inclusive merchandise? Or is it the people treating a rainbow flag like it's radioactive?

This is where the Democrats' new "weird" strategy becomes particularly potent. By labeling the GOP's behavior as "weird," they're not just throwing out a schoolyard insult. They're shining a spotlight on the truly bizarre nature of the Republican fixation on these issues.

Olympic-sized weirdness

Just when you think you've seen it all, along comes the 2024 Paris Olympics Opening Ceremony to remind us that, yep, things can always get weirder.

Picture this: You're watching the Olympics, an event celebrating global unity and athletic achievement. The host country, France, puts on a show highlighting their culture and history. And what happens? A bunch of folks lose their minds over... a dinner party.

That's right. A scene depicting a bacchanal — you know, those wild parties the ancient Greeks threw for their god of wine and revelry — sent conservatives into a tailspin. They saw drag queens at a table and immediately cried, "Sacrilege! They're mocking the Last Supper!"

Except... they weren't. At all. It was about as related to the Last Supper as my morning coffee is to the Boston Tea Party.

We've got people seeing anything that doesn't fit their worldview and immediately assuming it's an attack on their beliefs. We've got folks seemingly forgetting that the Olympics originated in ancient Greece and had everything to do with those pagan gods they're so offended by. Then there's the cultural tone-deafness of getting outraged that France, a country famous for its secular values and, oh yeah, that whole revolution against religious oppression thing, didn't cater to their specific religious sensibilities.

And don't even get me started on the disproportionate response. Major political and religious figures, and even businesses, throwing fits over a few seconds in an hours-long ceremony? That's a level of weird that deserves its own medal.

The weird power play

So why is this "weird" label hitting such a nerve? It's not just about the word itself; it's about power, perception, and the battle for "normal."

Think about it. When you're the one defining what's normal, you have the power. You get to decide who belongs and who doesn't. Who's right and who's wrong. Who's in and who's out. It's a pretty sweet gig if you can get it.

But when someone flips the script and says, "Actually, you're the weird ones," suddenly that power starts to slip away. All those pearl-clutching moments over Pride flags or trans athletes or, heaven forbid, a beer can? They start to look less like righteous indignation and more like, well, a bizarre obsession.

It's like that moment in high school when the cool kids suddenly realize they're not as cool as they thought. It's jarring. It's unsettling. And yes, it's weird.

This is why the "weird" strategy is so effective. It's not just name-calling; it's a fundamental challenge to the power structure conservatives have relied on for years. It's saying, "Your version of normal is outdated, out of touch, and frankly, a little strange."

By pointing this out, Democrats aren't just scoring political points. They're shifting the entire conversation about what's normal in America. They're saying it's normal to be accepting, to be diverse, to live and let live. And that constant policing of other people's identities and expressions? That's what's really weird.

In the end, this isn't just about politics. It's about who gets to define American culture. And by embracing the "weird" label and turning it back on their opponents, Democrats are making a bold statement: the future belongs to those who celebrate diversity, not those who fear it.

And if that's weird, well, maybe that kind of weird is exactly what we need right now.

Parker Molloy writes The Present Age, a newsletter about the intersection of media, politics, and culture.

Voices is dedicated to featuring a wide range of inspiring personal stories and impactful opinions from the LGBTQ+ community and its allies. Views expressed in Voices stories are those of the guest writers, columnists, and editors, and do not directly represent the views of The Advocate or our parent company, equalpride.

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Parker Molloy

Parker Molloy writes The Present Age, a newsletter about the intersection of media, politics, and culture.
Parker Molloy writes The Present Age, a newsletter about the intersection of media, politics, and culture.