A Trump Card of a Signature

Let Romeo and Juliet philosophize about the meaning of names and roses. Let the Montagues and Capulets wage their own Wars of the Roses, while their respective houses collapse into homicide and suicide, because in the real world—in a world in which the White House is triumphant—the president’s signature is more important than any other name. It is a seismogram of a signature: a series of oversized peaks and valleys, wrought by a Cross Century II Black Lacquer and Gold Rollerball Pen; wielded by a president who is as brash as the boldest signatory to the Declaration of Independence, whose signature emulates the spirit of John Hancock’s style.

By merging stagecraft with statecraft, President Trump plays to his audience. He holds a bill like a commandment and handles an executive order with care, inspiring his supporters and infuriating his opponents. He makes his signature visible, as the words above his name are so small they may as well be invisible. They are invisible, unless you pinch or magnify the screen on your smartphone or tablet, so you may read what the Government Printing Office commits to recycled paper with vegetable oil-based ink, while the president engraves his name with more panache than the most gifted scrivener at the Bureau of Engraving and Printing.

Let his enemies quake at the sight of his signature, as they succumb to the very madness they claim Trump’s signature reveals. What it shows, as the best designers of logos for lawyers and lawmakers know, is that style is substance.

That the president’s signature elicits the hatred of his enemies, that they compare his penmanship with the autograph of history’s most evil autocrat, that they confuse Trump’s pen for a blood-stained sword—all of these things prove the point, that a distinctive signature defines success.

This president succeeds by signing his name.

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