The Mid-Guy Making Breadcrumbing Great Again

I, like America, accepted breadcrumbs from a mid-guy who wasn’t even a politician.

He was a lawyer, you know, the DJs of the college educated. Mid-height, mid-looks, mid-thirties. I was so into the crumbs that I let him breadcrumb me from another country, thinking it wasn’t fair to hold anyone to higher standards when you’re texting across borders.

We had mid-sex and never spoke again. So not worth the months of checking my phone, my laser hair removal appointment, or the look on my cousins’ faces when I told them I had, in fact, texted him.

I really wanted the guy. Don’t ask me why. He seemed into me and had a book full of excuses anytime it seemed like he wasn’t.

It’s easy to get wrapped up in what someone promises you. We do it all the time with politicians—only that form of delusion has a different name: populism. And historically, it’s had a pretty good run. World leaders, however, usually know how to cash that delusion in. The Romans famously coined “Bread and Circus”, the original breadcrumbing. The Nazis? Well…they offered something, too.

Modern populism isn’t that different. You don’t need to deliver—you just need to keep people engaged, slightly off-balance, and checking their phones for the next headline, the next text, the next hit of validation. Mid-Lawyer operated on the same platform.

During both Trump’s terms, he’s managed to confuse voters across the spectrum. “Confuse and conquer” works on potential voters and hopeless romantics alike.

Mid-Lawyer was all talk. When it came down to it, he was bad in bed and didn’t even text me the following day. That’s the thing about delusions—there has to be something in it for you if you’re going to keep buying into them. In my case, there wasn’t even a decent orgasm. At least populism usually throws in a rally.

I felt like such a fool on the plane back from Panamá. At 30,000 feet in the air, I couldn’t help but wonder—had I fallen for a man, or a campaign promise?

There has to be something in it for people. Back in the 1940s, there was something in it for the Germans: the redistribution of Jewish wealth and resources. I’m not exactly sure how to compare that to my dating life, but Mid-Lawyer did forget his wallet on the second date and let me pay for drinks. Which, honestly, should have been my January 6th. Instead, I called it a misunderstanding.

Entire populations—and thirty-two-year-old women—are capable of selective blindness. When things feel uncertain, when you want something badly enough, you fill in the gaps. Most people don’t care about people they don’t know. They care about what’s in front of them. Be it food for their kids or the pair of biceps across the table.

When it came to me and Mid-Lawyer, I would have done anything, or let anything pass, for the promise of an international love story. I’m a sucker for those, and sadly an easy target that fell much more quickly than Europe did.

I probably shouldn’t give him too much credit, or too much blame. That’s what’s hardest to admit. I was eager to fill in the space he left, to meet him way more than half-way. I did very little self-regulating and reflecting, and all those things I paid my therapist to teach me. Like most stories, our short-lived love affair is not black and white, though it would be much easier to believe it was. That’s what makes Holocaust and WWII comparisons so appealing, but we never seem to get the full picture. I, a Holocaust educator and serial dater, am equipped to do so.

If I had been seeing my therapist while I was wrapped up in Mid-Lawyer, she would have probably asked me what lessons I could take away from the experience. Sure, I could call him “Mid” for the rest of my life and leave it at that, or I could do the mature thing and figure out how I allowed myself to be seduced by a guy who told me he forgot his wallet when the check came—especially in this economy.

The economy is exactly what’s coming for Trump. No, it wasn’t enough to dissuade me from going home with Mid-Lawyer. It can be what dissuades voters when elections roll around if we get smarter about understanding why people voted for him in the first place.

Because here’s the thing: there’s nothing in it for voters. Trump promised to make life easier and more affordable. That’s what most politicians should promise. It’s impossible to ignore lack of follow-through. There is no filling in the gaps when your counting pennies to fill up your tank.

When there was nothing in it for me, I kept filling in the gaps. I needed to see it through. I needed to be certain, I suppose, that I had lost my investment. Anyone who’s tried to stop a friend from calling her toxic ex knows—there’s no lesson like rock bottom.

I think our rock bottom, our Oscar-winning epiphany moment, has finally come. Should it have been January 6^th, dozens of ICE raids, absurd tariffs, sexual assault allegations, or making high-risk decisions over a Signal group chat? Probably—but all we can do is be thankful for the moment and help our girl as she gets out of her toxic relationship.

My rock bottom happened somewhere over the Pacific as I realized I was still waiting for Mid-Lawyer to text me with my phone on airplane mode. I ordered a glass of bad airplane wine and vowed never to give my vote to such a loser again.