I lived like Donald Trump for a week

I loved it, it was yuuge


The Donald.  Some hate him, a few (apparently) love him.  A lot of us just can’t believe he’s made it this far in a presidential race.  This week, I chose to imitate his lifestyle as closely as possible, to get inside the head of a man who hits on his daughter and defies gravity with his hair.  I made one change per day until, by the end, I was full-blown Trump.

Monday

Above all else, Trump loves to hear people sing his praises.  So I commissioned my fourteen-year-old brother to greet me every morning by standing over my bed and screaming “You’re gonna be YUGE!”  It really helped me get into the mindset that I was invincible and everyone who disagrees with me is a dummy.
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Tuesday

The next step, naturally, was posing with a taco bowl.  I love Chipotle, I love all things Tex-Mex—that’s the same thing as having reasonable immigration policies, right?

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Wednesday

To understand the curious blend of con man, huckster and hillbilly carnival barker that is Donald Trump, I had to get into the real estate game.  As I unfortunately couldn’t rebrand my own line of luxury Manhattan condos in the short time I had to write this article, I settled for labeling everything in my parents’ apartment with my name.

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Thursday

But to really turn my life into Trump’s, I had to look the part.  So I employed a bottom-shelf drugstore self-tanner, some choice kitchen ingredients, and an indecent amount of hairspray so I could properly resemble The Donald (as much as any half-Asian woman can.) Looking like an inflated Cheeto isn’t easy–my Trump treatment ended up leaving my skin orange for at least two days.  The things we do for journalism…

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Friday

Trump is known for posing as his own fake PR agent to find out what people really think of him.  Not to be outdone, I ended the workweek by inventing an imaginary secretary, Octarina Smellhorn, and having her take care of all my social obligations (and bolster my public image.)
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The more I strove to emulate Trump, the more uncomfortable I felt in my own skin.  Telling everyone I encountered they were “fired” produced some confusing results, especially when I was at work; and the constant insults I was forced to levy at everyone around me began to take their toll.  Was everyone really “sad” and “a big dummy?”  Or was that just me?  Also, why did I keep building walls around my immediate vicinity?  It was getting hard to move.  Ultimately, I abandoned the experiment.  Looks like I’ll never be the GOP frontrunner–but too bad, I’d rather be me than be Trump.