On a chilly December morning, the corner of the parking lot at the Élysée Palace buzzed with subdued chatter. Journalists from every corner of the globe huddled around steaming cups of coffee, their breaths visible in the crisp Parisian air. The press waiting room loomed nearby, its sterile interior equipped with hidden cameras and recording devices—a fact no one dared to openly acknowledge but everyone avoided.
“I still can’t believe Macron invited Trump back here,” muttered a reporter from a major American outlet. “He was practically begging to meet Kamala Harris a few months ago.”
“You’re not the only one disappointed,” a cameraman chimed in, adjusting the strap of his equipment bag. “I wanted a chance to photograph Harris. She’s got charisma. And let’s be honest—she’s cute.”
The small group chuckled in agreement, their breaths mingling like the smoke from the coffee cups. A reporter from a European network spoke up next. “Our crew said the same. If someone like Marine Ruben—imagine that—became the leader here, we’d sell a fortune’s worth of cosmetics and clothes. Fashion shoots galore.”
“Exactly,” the cameraman said, his voice tinged with regret. “But now? We’re stuck with these three old men: Macron, Trump, and Zelensky. No flair, no sparkle. Just the same old political posturing.”
“I can’t argue with that,” another journalist said, brushing crumbs from her coat. “Trump, in particular, looks worse every time he steps into the spotlight. Haggard, pale, and just…ugly.”
“Do you know what my editor said?” the American reporter interjected. “Magazine sales only spike if we have a woman on the cover. It’s not just about charisma—it’s about aspiration. Put Macron, Trump, or Zelensky on there, and we barely move the needle.”
The group nodded knowingly. It was an open secret in their industry. Glamor sold. Ideals sold. And these men were neither.
The European reporter sighed, looking up at the gray Parisian sky. “It’s frustrating to think about what could’ve been. If Harris had won, Macron and Zelensky would’ve been ecstatic. Imagine the photo ops. The collaborations. A global stage with elegance and energy. And think about the ripple effects—cosmetics, clothes, accessories—they’d all see a boom.”
“But not shoes,” the cameraman countered with a smirk. “She wears sneakers. Hardly marketable.”
A ripple of laughter broke through the group, briefly dispelling the weight of their cynicism. The scene at the Élysée Palace might be about high-stakes diplomacy, but here in the parking lot, the world’s troubles felt as distant as they were absurd.
As the group returned to their coffees and gossip, the grand red carpet inside awaited the three leaders, who would soon discuss the “crazy” state of the world. Outside, the journalists lingered, knowing their own world had its unique brand of madness.
All names of people and organizations appearing in this story are pseudonyms.
Trump meets with France’s Macron and Ukraine’s Zelenskyy during visit to Paris
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