“The best is yet to come!” Kimberly Guilfoyle, a Trump adviser and then fiancée of Donald Trump Jr, blasted out at the 2020 Republican National Convention. The president looked bemused. I distinctly remember how the sheer tone of her delivery almost drowned out the message itself.
In retrospect, perhaps that was just as well. Two years into Donald Trump’s second presidency, the promise looks increasingly detached from reality.
Things have not turned out so well for Guilfoyle either. After her engagement to Trump Jr ended, she was appointed US ambassador to Greece. Speculation was rife that the appointment, made shortly after her former fiancé was photographed holding hands with another woman, was a consolation prize.
Now, following allegations that she sought money in exchange for political favours, her diplomatic career has come to an abrupt end. Trump was quick to distance himself from her and ask her to resign. Asked about her departure, he dismissed their connection: she was merely someone who had dated his son for a while.
He could not distance himself so easily from his latest choice as White House press secretary, Katie Zacharia, whose tenure lasted just five days.
Zacharia proved ill-equipped for the demands of the job. Perhaps her resemblance to Ivanka Trump and her adulation of the president counted for more than competence. Like Guilfoyle, she appears to have bought into the promise that the best was yet to come. She is now left picking up the pieces.
Both women professed their devotion to Trump. Even as their careers unravelled, their parting words remained remarkably complimentary towards the man who had elevated them and then cast them aside.
But there are signs that the American public may finally be awakening from that loyalty spell. The promised golden age has failed to materialise. Trump’s overriding campaign pledge – to make Americans richer than ever before – has run up against the reality of persistently high prices and the erosion of purchasing power.
Unlike his predecessor, Joe Biden, Trump cannot plausibly attribute much of the inflation on his watch to the Covid pandemic. His own policies have played a key role in the affordability crisis in the US: tariffs, immigration restrictions, war and the fiscal consequences of his much-vaunted “Big Beautiful Bill”.
The wars in Iran, Ukraine and Gaza, the dismantling of the international economic order and the retreat from climate action all carry grave consequences. Yet few issues have touched ordinary Americans more directly than the cost of living. For many, their standard of living has become the defining test of whether Trump is delivering on his promises.
Jamie Dimon, the highly regarded chairman and chief executive of JPMorgan Chase, has been reported to say that Trump was “about right” on a number of issues. Iran should not acquire nuclear weapons; the war between Russia and Ukraine should end; workers who lost out from globalisation deserve compensation; and some climate policies may have gone too far. These are concerns that many people, well beyond Trump’s core supporters, can understand.
But being ‘about right’ on some of the problems is not the same as being right about how to solve them.
Trump has shown himself to be not merely deficient in character, but frequently deficient in judgement and competence. His instinct for personal loyalty, spectacle and confrontation has repeatedly taken precedence over the hard work of governing.
The US congressional elections on November 3 could thus prove pivotal. They will test whether American voters are prepared to impose limits on a presidency whose decisions have consequences far beyond the United States. A change in the balance of power would not suddenly put the world right. But it might offer some respite from the daily trauma.
And yet, for all the political noise, the phrase that gives this article its title has another, more personal meaning.
On Saturday, October 17, I happened to be in Amsterdam. It was the birthday of a dear friend who sadly passed away earlier this year. I found myself thinking back to my first visit to the city, in 1982 or 1983, during our university days.
There is a photograph from that university organised trip. My friend is standing on the steps of the pier, about to board a boat for a tour of the canals, looking straight at the camera with a broad, infectious smile.
I could imagine the words “the best is yet to come” as the caption for that photograph.
We were young then, idealists looking ahead to lives full of promise. But do not mistake this for a melancholy reflection on growing older.
I feel just as blessed today as I did back in the eighties. There may be a few more aches and pains, but perhaps that is part of the price of acquiring a little wisdom, of sorts. And while I feel the sadness of my friend’s absence, I do not see life as a story of inevitable decline.
Her life, like most lives, had its ups and downs. On balance, she lived a happy and fulfilling life, even if she left us far too soon. She was a pioneer among us, and her life remains an example of what it means to make the most of the time we are given.
Our own time will come, in due course. Until then, there is no reason to stop looking forward.
Tomorrow is another day, with all its possibilities. The best may indeed be yet to come.
Just not the Guilfoyle kind.