Nancy Mace Knows What Matters: Attention

For years, a famous Washington joke had it that the most dangerous place to find yourself on Capitol Hill was between Chuck Schumer and a camera. Even in a town professionally and politically driven largely by media coverage, Schumer was legendarily hungry for the spotlight — and it’s hard to argue that such an approach didn’t work out for him. It was early last spring when I heard that same joke applied for the first time to an obscure House Republican backbencher named Nancy Mace. It would not be the last time.

And in fact, it wasn’t too long after I heard that joke that Nancy Mace proved the premise by awkwardly shoehorning herself into the headlines. Last October, during the Kevin McCarthy speakership crisis, she staged a hilariously desperate bid for public relevance whose comedy came from how pathetically obvious her desire was to be “part of the story.” It was the political equivalent of a photobomb, someone poking her head into the frame to make sure she’s memorialized in a historic picture of other, more important people.

JB

About the Author

Jeffrey Blehar

Jeffrey Blehar is a National Review staff writer living in Chicago. He is also the co-host of National Review’s Political Beats podcast, which explores the great music of the modern era with guests from the political world happy to find something non-political to talk about.

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For years, a famous Washington joke had it that the most dangerous place to find yourself on Capitol Hill was between Chuck Schumer and a camera. Even in a town professionally and politically driven largely by media coverage, Schumer was legendarily hungry for the spotlight — and it’s hard to argue that such an approach didn’t work out for him. It was early last spring when I heard that same joke applied for the first time to an obscure House Republican backbencher named Nancy Mace. It would not be the last time.

And in fact, it wasn’t too long after I heard that joke that Nancy Mace proved the premise by awkwardly shoehorning herself into the headlines. Last October, during the Kevin McCarthy speakership crisis, she staged a hilariously desperate bid for public relevance whose comedy came from how pathetically obvious her desire was to be “part of the story.” It was the political equivalent of a photobomb, someone poking her head into the frame to make sure she’s memorialized in a historic picture of other, more important people.

JB

About the Author

Jeffrey Blehar

Jeffrey Blehar is a National Review staff writer living in Chicago. He is also the co-host of National Review’s Political Beats podcast, which explores the great music of the modern era with guests from the political world happy to find something non-political to talk about.