GOP Coalition: Normie ‘Minivan People’ Still Provide Electoral Muscle

The bookshelves were lined with classic conservative tomes but interlaced with European right-wing thought: Carl Schmitt, Julius Evola. That sort of thing. The crowd was made up of techno-futurist libertarians, some Wall Street guys, New York conservatives who were so tired of their deep-blue city that they’d grown brash. There was a hot fashion designer. There were Catholic priests in cassocks. There were a lot of young, attractive women who had similar stories of being refugees from left-wing Brooklyn and the drug-addled predations of male feminists. This downtown space, near the bridge, was supposedly paid for by a Silicon Valley billionaire. It had hosted Steve Sailer recently for the launch of a collection of his writing. And sometimes it hosted us, from National Review. That was the “Dimes Square” scene, such as I saw it — gathered around a small old-school salon of thought, Sovereign House. It was a safe space for a MAGA hat.

And visiting just for one night was a jolt of energy for me. It took me back to a time maybe 20 years earlier, in the thick of the War on Terror era, when a similar but far more pro-war crowd seemed to be developing in the city, meeting regularly for drinks, passing around issues of the New Criterion or City Journal, talking about the emerging blogosphere. The authoress of Sexless in the City was there. So was the funny, energetic New York Post headline writer Dawn Goldstein.

About the Author

Michael Brendan Dougherty

Michael Brendan Dougherty is a senior writer at National Review Online.

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The bookshelves were lined with classic conservative tomes but interlaced with European right-wing thought: Carl Schmitt, Julius Evola. That sort of thing. The crowd was made up of techno-futurist libertarians, some Wall Street guys, New York conservatives who were so tired of their deep-blue city that they’d grown brash. There was a hot fashion designer. There were Catholic priests in cassocks. There were a lot of young, attractive women who had similar stories of being refugees from left-wing Brooklyn and the drug-addled predations of male feminists. This downtown space, near the bridge, was supposedly paid for by a Silicon Valley billionaire. It had hosted Steve Sailer recently for the launch of a collection of his writing. And sometimes it hosted us, from National Review. That was the “Dimes Square” scene, such as I saw it — gathered around a small old-school salon of thought, Sovereign House. It was a safe space for a MAGA hat.

And visiting just for one night was a jolt of energy for me. It took me back to a time maybe 20 years earlier, in the thick of the War on Terror era, when a similar but far more pro-war crowd seemed to be developing in the city, meeting regularly for drinks, passing around issues of the New Criterion or City Journal, talking about the emerging blogosphere. The authoress of Sexless in the City was there. So was the funny, energetic New York Post headline writer Dawn Goldstein.