Some men buy a ridiculous truck. Some buy a boat. Some apparently reach the point where the landscaping around their country club includes surface-to-air missiles.

Mar-a-Lago: come for the luxury, stay for the air-defense umbrella.

As an image of American masculinity, this is fucking perfect. Gold-plated wealth, military hardware, and an entire political personality built around making sure nobody mistakes the man in the middle for an ordinary mortal.

It looks like overcompensation with a federal support package.

Reporting identifies Avenger short-range air-defense systems near Mar-a-Lago and the nearby airport. NORAD and U.S. Northern Command confirmed deploying ground-based air defenses at the Secret Service’s request. The Secret Service cited a heightened threat environment. Officials have not publicly provided the specific threat assessment behind the deployment. [1]

That matters. There is no evidence here that Trump personally ordered a missile display to flatter his ego. Protecting a president is a real job, and wanting him alive is a fairly low bar for a functioning democracy. Political violence is bullshit, regardless of the target.

The security professionals can have a legitimate job to do while the surrounding political spectacle remains completely ridiculous.

You cannot subcontract courage.

The people operating the equipment have training, responsibilities, and consequences. Their competence belongs to them. It does not travel up the driveway and become another personal achievement for the man at the club.

Standing near a missile launcher does not make you formidable. Neither does standing near a Marine, posing beside a fighter jet, or finding a camera angle that makes everybody else look like your supporting cast.

Those of us who served should be particularly resistant to this crap. We know the difference between doing the work and getting your picture taken near the people doing it.

Respect the Soldiers. Respect the professionals responsible for keeping people alive. Giving their boss credit for their courage is where I get off the bus.

The strongman fantasy has a staffing requirement.

What irritates me is the version of masculinity that needs an endless supply of scenery: bigger weapons, louder threats, more expensive surroundings, more people demonstrating how important you are.

Apparently being secure in yourself now requires securing the entire fucking perimeter.

And before the professional grievance department warms up: needing protection does not make a man weak. Accepting help does not make him weak. Fear is human. Pretending you are above all three while other people handle the dangerous parts is what deserves the ridicule.

A secure man can say, “These people know what they’re doing. I rely on them.” He can give credit without feeling that somebody has stolen a piece of his dick.

That should be basic adulthood. Somehow we keep having to explain it to the crowd selling master classes in being an alpha.

Keep the hardware. Lose the bullshit.

I like guns. I like trucks. I like a cold beer. None of those things needs to become a psychiatric support system for a political identity.

You can appreciate military equipment without confusing firepower with character. You can support presidential protection without buying the strongman mythology. You can recognize a real threat and still laugh at a luxury club that now looks like the final level of a dictator’s retirement simulator.

For liberals, veterans, and anybody else tired of this performance, the standard ought to be simple: judge the man by his conduct. His honesty. His restraint. His willingness to take responsibility when there is nobody convenient to blame.

Those qualities are harder to acquire than a dramatic backdrop. They also work when the cameras leave.