Nothing prepared me for Trump being called ‘daddy’ in public

Listen, I’ve lived through home perms, Peter Andre, my own children’s teenage years and the entire Twilight saga. But nothing prepared me for a grown man with access to civilisation-ending weaponry being called “daddy” in public.

I’m sorry – what?

President Donald Trump during the NATO summit.Credit: AP

Is this it, people? Have we reached peak ick when world leaders sound like they’re ordering drinks at a dive bar or typing in the Pornhub comments section: “Hey daddy, can you pass the nuclear codes?”

In case you missed it (lucky for you if you did), earlier this week NATO chief Mark Rutte called US President Donald Trump “daddy”. It had Trump looking positively luminous, as if someone had finally spoken his love language, but it gave me that feeling of shivery disgust like when you accidentally touch wet food in the sink drain.

Repellent? Yes, said Greens senator Sarah Hanson-Young: “He is certainly not Australia’s daddy.”

Joe Biden as Dark Brandon was bad enough, and there was a hot minute when Kim Jong-un was called a “Tumblr daddy”, which my mind has almost blocked out. Because the daddy thing isn’t just politically bizarre. It should come with a trigger warning.

Is it sexual? Is it some weird power play? A working through of childhood issues on the world stage? There are therapists for that, and they’re cheaper than international summits.

I have a high ick threshold (Dr Pimple Popper is my Insta go-to for a quick serotonin boost) but even so, the president of the United States as some powerful dude’s daddy is pretty full on.

Worse even than Meghan Markle’s earnestness, where every time she speaks it’s like being emotionally waterboarded by a TED talk.

Way, way worse than the Drakkar Noir “Feel the power” ads. Or reality TV shows where people share their “truth” in a safe space hot tub. Or blokes saying “nom nom nom” when eating and the word “goo”. Make it stop.

Worse even – this took some beating – than the Happy Days episode half a century ago where the guys went on a “panty raid”. Even as a kid, watching Potsie and Ralph Malph nicking undies was creepy. Technically harmless, but spiritually damaging. Now it plays like a sex crime brought to you by Coca-Cola.

Yet somehow, world leaders calling each other daddy smashes all of it combined.

Maybe it’s because we expect better from people who theoretically went to good schools and have actual responsibilities. Probably it’s because this special brand of ick comes with nuclear weapons attached.

There’s something uniquely revolting about it. It’s not about being a prude. I’ve watched Bridgerton. I’ve enjoyed Bridgerton. I’m not saying we should bring back powdered wigs and stilted declarations of love. I’m not against nicknames or even power kinks in the right context (say, dimly lit rooms or counselling sessions).

But the minute geopolitics intersects with “daddy” as a term of endearment, we have officially entered end times.

Calling the commander in chief “daddy” doesn’t just eroticise him – how will it go down in the gay community, where daddy culture is a thing? – it puts the rest of us in metaphorical pigtails, colouring in while the Big Strong Man handles the scary stuff.

I didn’t come this far in life and feminism to be metaphorically tucked in by Donald Trump. Although, sure, if he wanted to polish my school shoes with Scuff Stuff and drive me to tennis on Saturday, I wouldn’t stop him.

What I wonder is whether the people most likely to call a leader “daddy” are the same ones who’d wince at their actual father’s takes on climate change, gender identity or immigration, and still wonder why he only hugged them in photos.

What we need isn’t daddy energy. We need grown-ups. Give us leaders who own a lint roller. Who can handle tangled Christmas lights or a plastics drawer without losing it or needing to be flattered into action.

The only daddy I want running the show right now is wearing KT26s and manning the Bunnings sausage sizzle.

Because when the apocalypse comes, it would be the greatest thing ever if we were led through it by someone whose biggest power trip is getting the bread-to-sausage ratio just right.

Kate Halfpenny is the founder of Bad Mother Media. Her new book, Boogie Wonderland, is published by Affirm Press. Subscribers can buy a copy from Booktopia for the discounted price of $24.26 plus postage with the code WONDERLAND10. This offer is available until August 31.

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