The Jerk Store

I’ve never been very good at cataloging advice people have shared with me. Some people are really good at recalling wise words from a favorite teacher or a former boss. Not me.

It’s not that I haven’t received and benefited from a lot of advice over the years—I most certainly have. Pulling sage offerings from my memory banks, however, is not a trait I’m blessed with.

There are, of course, a few exceptions. And thankfully, two of the following three pieces of advice came from my parents. (See? Something did stick.)

First, from my dad: “Always have a firm handshake.”

I’m guessing he’d be a little disappointed that this pretty common directive is the thing I seem to remember most. In reality, though, it’s a pretty good one for him because, even now, I think of him every time I shake someone’s hand and tell myself, “Don’t mess this up!”

I’ve shared this same advice with my boys and hope to haunt them as well as they progress through lifetimes of greetings.

My mom weighed in with some wonderful advice about maintaining a strong marriage: “Don’t speak negatively about your spouse in public.” She shared this with me at a time I don’t recall but with words I’ll never forget.

I’ve tried my very best to follow this advice, and I’m lucky to be married to a woman who makes that pretty easy. More importantly, though, I’m especially grateful to my mother for sharing this so that I could be sure to pass it on to my wife as well.

So now for the third piece of memorable advice I’ve received, which, for the purpose of this column/blog/post/whatever this is, will serve as the point.

Maybe the advice should be: “Don’t write about politics in 2025.” While that’s not my point, I may drowsily coast near that lane. No one cares about my opinions on politics. No one cares about your opinions on politics. We should all just keep our opinions on politics to ourselves. There’s some advice!

A short story.

In college, I was in a fraternity. And it was all that those who both love and hate fraternities can imagine it to be.

In the nearly condemned, century-and-a-half-year-old house where we lived, there was a landing at the top of the main stairs. On that landing lived a disgusting old couch, and on that couch countless conversations were shared over the years—conversations that were at times surprisingly deep, at other times unsurprisingly knuckle-headed, and almost always alcohol- fueled.

One night, while sitting with friends, enjoying the finest beers and debating the headiest of topics, a fraternity brother of mine—one of the “elder statesmen” of the group—looked at me and said, “Matt, you really shouldn’t curse. It’s not you, and you just don’t do it well.”

Never mind the many other reasons it’s probably best not to curse on the regular—this reason turned out to be one of my first and best lessons in both life and public relations: understand who you are and don’t try to be something you aren’t.

I think about this advice from my fraternity brother a lot as I watch people in our public square today. Increasingly and strangely, the advice about cursing becomes more applicable every day.

Just this last weekend, after an apparently frustrating day at the office, a sitting member of the United States Senate tweeted:

I get it. Passing budgets is hard, and politics is frustrating. But really?

Of course, our own Michigan governor was a founding member of the Cursing is Cool Club when pledging to “fix the damn roads.” If only she had a damn dollar for every time she said she was going to fix the damn roads, we’d have a lot fewer potholes.

But I didn’t mean this to be about cursing. I think the trend is stupid and crude, but I sound like I’m clutching my pearls. For the time being, politicians of both parties are pushing to be first in line at the beer pong tables, all desperately kissing up to the latest elusive voter block – the “bro vote.”

"Curse at them. That’ll show them we get it. We feel their frustration. We’re just like them. #$&@, yeah!"

No, this is about more than cursing. The cursing is just a bit part of a larger play: being a jerk.

The list of ways that Donald Trump has influenced our politics is long and winding, but one specific bar he has lowered is the popular belief that everyone has to be an ass.

For Trump, it comes naturally. It’s who he is. And he found a Love Connection with his VP, JD.

They do their jerk things, and those who both love and loathe them take from that example that they need to be jerks, too.

The thing is, I don’t think most people are jerks. People are lots of things, but generally, I think most of us go through life trying to be at least okay to others. The Golden Rule, and all.

This is why something feels so off when I watch people crank the volume on their jerk dials.

My closest political observations come from those who work in Michigan politics. I’ve worked in this arena for nearly three decades. I’ve known some of these people for a long time. Maybe not at a “best friend” level, but closely enough to know that when they take to X, pontificate at a press conference podium, bully a witness at a legislative hearing or spout off to a reporter with a stupid, personal, and completely predictable attack, I think: “You really shouldn’t be a jerk. It’s not you, and you just don’t do it well.”

There is a prerequisite to the practice of sound public relations that requires an individual or an organization to fundamentally understand and be able to confidently articulate who they are. It’s your core message. Your home base. Your narrative statement. When you don’t know what this is, or lack confidence in its truth, your message gets off track. You’re subject to the latest trend. You’re tempted to be something or someone you’re not. And you come off as fake, inauthentic, and sad.

Like Trump and Vance, there are some—a small number—for whom the Jerk Store calls every day. It seems to have a few Michigan political figures on speed dial. For most others, though, the Jerk Store is dialing the wrong number. And if I were still sitting on that old, smelly couch and in the business of offering up free advice, I would suggest they’d do well to block the number going forward.

P.S. Welcome, Sean Fitzgerald. Our newest Resch Strategies team member and most assuredly someone who has never set foot in a Jerk Store of any kind.

Sean comes to us from a hugely successful and well-respected marketing and advertising firm in SE Michigan. He knew Anna and Laura from when he interned with Governor Rick Snyder. He’s a new father, already putting the Resch Strategies paternity leave policy through its paces, and he’s fitting in very well. I’m excited to have our clients, both current and future, get to know him.

And P.P.S. For Cold Oatmeal fans – and we know there are dozens – your long wait for content is hopefully coming to an end. For the first time in our 8 seasons, we were bit by the bug of “Technical Difficulties.” Our equipment is on the mend, and we hope to be back behind the mics very soon.