Another memory that often occurs to me is of Mr. Trump delivering a toast to a room full of diners at Mar-a-Lago, who watched him as devotedly then as his red-capped followers do today. They laughed when he addressed them as the richest Jews in the world, complimented the array of luxury sports cars in the parking lot, and gleefully recounted the fight he was waging against the Waspy club across the street, which he dismissed as a dump. Beneath the taunting, it was obvious that Mr. Trump was insecure; back then, Palm Beach’s old-guard communities were among the few not seduced by his wealth.
But in private, rougher, more Trumpian edges still occasionally poked out. Ivanka would regularly relay stories of teachers or observers who had commented that she had the most innate talent they had ever seen for whatever new pursuit she was taking up. She never wore a Halloween costume that wasn’t flattering, which means she usually showed up at costume parties looking beautiful and boring. She always stopped at McDonald’s for cheeseburgers. She cursed. And of course, she had the Trump radar for status, money, and power, and her dad’s instinct to throw others under the bus to save herself.
But aligning herself with her dad’s banana republic-style administration made no sense to me, until my friend suggested that Ivanka took her kids to the rally to show them that they are American royalty. This explanation seemed most plausible. What is more royal than presiding over subjects that you disdain?Ivanka Trump Was My Best Friend. Now She’s MAGA Royalty | Vanity Fair