Everywhere I go in life, there always seems to be another person named Andrew — from little league baseball to high school, to even within my hacker house in San Francisco (there were three of us!). Andrew doesn't feel like that generic of a name, such as a John, Matthew, or Christopher, and yet, we seem to be everywhere. As it turns out, Andrew was the 7th most common male name in the 90s, and there are almost 300,000 of us born in just that decade.
What's more preposterous is how I joined a three-person campaign for president of the United States, and two of those three people were named Andrew.
I always lament this fact to Muhan. "I mean, seriously, can you believe it? I finally become the founder of something, and I can't even have the email address with my first name."
I've been badgering Muhan to change my email to Andrew2@Yang2020.com instead of Frawley@Yang2020.com, but he won't entertain the request. Does no one else find this sort of trolling one of the few things we have to enjoy in life?
The strangest part of all of this is that Yang calls me Andrew. I'd understand his choice as a matter of respect (he's not one to monopolize a name!) if I went by Andrew, but I don't. The staff calls me Frawley. It's a blessing that 'Frawley' rolls off the tongue. Imagine living in a world of Andrew's but stuck with the last name like Lynch (this was my mother's last name).
Whenever Yang and I meet new people, it's always a scene out of a sitcom.
Yang leads the way, "Hi, I'm Andrew. Great to meet you."
I follow one step behind him, "Hi, I'm also Andrew."
Without fail, our hosts guffaw out loud and look at the two of us, "Both Andrew??"
Yang and I laugh as our hosts are the first to notice. "We sure are," I say, joining our guests in disbelief.
"That's so funny! Two Andrews!"
***
Zach warned us there would be a slight lull in fundraising events, but I didn't expect it to be so scary. We don't have any fundraisers planned for April, and as a result, we're on pace to raise about $8,000. Money is not the bottom line, but $8,000 will cover our rent and maybe Katie's three days a week. Muhan tells me we're spending around $40,000 a month, which means we are running an 80% budget deficit. I'm no accountant, but that's not good news.
The good news is that we've been busy with interviews. The bad news is that most of them seem to be doing nothing. But the good news of that bad news is that Yang is getting lots of practice to hone his message, which is for the better.
You see, Yang and I have been wandering around bringing the word of robots and abundance to all sorts of people, and while sometimes he blows people away, most of the time he sounds like Ben Stein in Ferris Bueller's day off. Anyone? Anyone?... robots and automation, ... Anyone? Anyone? Money for all? Abundance for all?
This may be hard to believe, dearest Yang, not lively and fun? But it's true, at least in the Spring of 2018.
Yang's droning is the worst during speeches. Like most analytical people, he will begin his speech in what makes logical sense. In other words, linearly. "Hello, I'm some guy you've never heard of, but let me present to you a brief family background, then follow time chronologically to how I ended up running for president." No flashbacks, no exciting opener. When Yang reaches the present moment, he will get lost in the spider web of numbers he's built in his head. He will then enter a furious data storm, blasting everyone into oblivion with a racing pitch of "the-robots-took-the-jobs-they're-gonna-take-more-people-will-get-violent-lets-give-out-money."
There are a few jokes, but when you're otherwise using phrases like "in perpetuity" to speak to a crowd of artists, they tend not to land. Yang usually finishes his speech with a 30-second vision of hope. The audience is usually too numbed to even notice the optimism.
To be fair, he's better in interviews and meetings. Still, even in these settings, we mostly beat people to shit with data then wave goodbye.
Now to be clear, and why this obviously matters, is that the candidate, his message, and his identity are the product when it comes to politics or movements. Everyone seems to know this, but I did not. I find it helpful framing for my mostly startup brain. As a marketing guy, I know that my job's success rests solely upon how good my product is, especially if I am trying to disrupt a massive corporate industry like politics. As it goes in startups, no one disrupted an industry with a product anything short of world-class. In other words, the most incredible marketing campaign in history will fail if your product sucks.
Some quotes that support my point:
"Remarkable marketing is the art of building things worth noticing right into your product or service" — Seth Godin.
"Marketing is too important to be left to the marketing department" — David Packard.
So here I am, our supposed marketing Guru, 'Also Andrew', traveling with Yang and fearing for our future at the moment. The last journal I wrote to myself was titled, "we're not going to win." In this, I wrote, "if I had a fucking dollar for every single person who has told us to simplify the message and use emotion, we'd have already funded a national campaign."
In many ways, getting the suck out was the whole point of announcing early — give Yang the time to be less of a CEO, adjust the message, and listen to Americans' stories — but self-development is often much more painful to go through than we expect.
The hardest part of the situation is that I've read The War on Normal People, and the message is world-class. And, I hang out with the guy every day, and he is absolutely world-class.
Sometimes when I'm out traveling with Yang, I'll give him a nudge of affirmation based on what I'm observing, like, hey, that time you took a breath at minute twelve? Phenomenal job, sir. I've shared my thoughts with Zach, who has a natural orator's appeal, and he said, "I'm on it." Our team all knows Yang's advantage is that he's a real person since that's what the industry lacks, and that's what voters are craving, but when do you draw the line and say, "it's time to change." I'm often too scared to speak up firmly when it's just Yang and me. In psychology, they say that getting what you want will trigger old wounds, and boy am I living that. This job felt like being drafted to the New York Yankees out of elementary school. However, with the 'new gig sparkle' wearing off, my wounded child is fighting me worse than ever.
Don't speak up you're dumb and probably wrong.
Who are you to correct someone so smart?
Your shitty work managing the schedule is evidence you're a big-dreaming charlatan.
Zach agrees with me, though, so I think my diagnosis bears some truth. If our campaign will be the society reshaping movement we hope it to be, we'll need to begin putting this time in the market we bought ourselves to good use.
***
Our wish is granted when I receive an email from the New Hampshire Democratic Party (NHDP) confirming they'd be happy to host us for "a day of events."
A whole day? In New Hampshire?
Now I'm sure you're thinking exactly what I am thinking. New Hampshire, like, the state that votes second in the democratic primary and basically picks our presidents? Yes! That New Hampshire! It's hard to believe we scored such a big get, but credit to Mr. Yang, he networked his way to the Chairman of the Democratic party in the state, schmoozed him on a call.
Yes, Mr. Ray Buckley, we are seriously trying to win.
When the team heard the news, we went flying around our office in our desk chairs. Our chairs have wheels, and our floor is wood, so we went zooming like lightning around the room. Muhan, Zach, and I were moving at the highest knot, and even Yang joined. A few crashes were made. Muhan even ended up on the floor at one point.
We're in Concord, New Hampshire, and we've already finished a vitamin factory tour and a radio interview. I'm racing to pay the parking meter so I can run and rejoin Yang and Zach. They have gone ahead to our next event, a coffee shop meet and greet, and it's our first ever public event in an early state. I went "balls to the walls" on marketing and promotion, so we're expecting at least 20 people.
Concord's main strip is perfectly small-town America. The storefronts have blistering white victorian finishes that meet deep red brick sidewalks. The town is brandished with street lamps that have two moon-like orbs glowing orange. Walking down the street, you can't help but feel like you're in a place that could only be America.
As I arrive at the coffee shop, gargantuan Nikon telephoto lens in tow, I stop in my tracks. The cafe is on the verge of empty. Yang is talking to two Asian college students by the counter. Zach is seated next to a lady in her late seventies, wearing a sweater and nibbling on a tortilla wrap. The wrap-nibbling lady is making small talk to Zach (at Zach, really) while he gazes emptily at nothing in particular. I take a lap around the oversized coffee dojo filled with couches and victorian armchairs, and I see five other patrons in the coffee shop.
"Geez," I whisper to Zach. "At least the Asians are showing up for us."
Zach turns to look at me, his face elongating with sadness, "They don't even know who Yang is. They're just some kids who happened to be here."
"Oh my god," I say in disgust as if I've just stepped in gum.
Wrap nibbling lady, who is still talking at Zach, is the only guest who came to meet Yang. Oh, and a reporter from New Hampshire Public Radio to document the roaring occasion.
After a painful hour, we pack our bags and head to our next event, a New Hampshire Democratic Party (NHDP) sponsored meet and greet for Yang. When we arrive, I feel like we are actually running for president for the first time in five months.
The NHDP headquarters oozes politics. The building has a colonial style, and once you enter it, you are immediately engulfed by patriotism. Red, white, and blue is the answer to every question you're asking. There are American flags and big signs that say, "USA," and nothing else. Take your first left after entry, and the end of the hallway is crowned with a massive portrait of Barack Obama. The NHDP even graciously provides a vegetable tray for our guests to snack on. If that isn't American hospitality, I don't know what is.
I document every little corner of the NHDP HQ on our social media. We're finally doing something overtly political, so you better believe our 1,300 Instagram followers are going to hear about it.
Twenty or so Granite Staters show up and meet Andrew Yang at the NHDP HQ, including a handful of state legislators. Yang's speech is the best we've seen, and the event runs long while Yang is asked for autographs. As guests leave the venue, they're "impressed by the guy," as one lady says to me. We don't have big crowds, but as long as we can please who we do have, we'll be there in no time. That's the idea, at least.
After our meet and greet, Ray Buckley sticks around to schmooze us with stories in the headquarters before we head to dinner. It only takes me a few moments to recognize that while in New Hampshire, you're in Ray's house.
"Oh, yeah," he says, nonchalantly. "This picture was back in '76 when Jimmy Carter came by."
Ray has been the Chairman of the party here for thirty years, he says. I struggle to process the number. Given that I am 24-years old, and we only really become conscious of the lives we are leading in our late teens, that number seems like forever to me. What's even more unbelievable is that Ray looks phenomenal for his age which is not something you'd expect for a guy who's lived his life in politics.
Ray is 6'1", by my 6'4" assessment. He has platinum gray hair, bright white teeth, modern glasses, a face flush with color, and a smile that runs ear to ear. He's heavyset, but his phenomenally upbeat attitude is what gives him a larger-than-life presence. Ray strikes me as one of those people who were already smooth-talking shopkeepers at the age of nine. Ay', Scotty, pop me one uh' them double bubbles, would ya? Thanks. Here's a nickel for ya' troubles.
"Where we headin' for dinner, Ray?" Zach asks.
"We're going to the Puritan Backroom," he says. "Puritan Backroom is the best restaurant in all of New Hampshire. You won't believe the chicken tenders — they're the best you'll have in your life."
Ray definitely catches my ear with the mention of chicken tenders. I grew up on tenders as a young gamer and am notorious for ordering them at 2:00 a.m. as drunk food. I know a good tender when I see it.
"Don't forget about the Mudsliders," his deputy adds.
Ray laughs a bellowing laugh. "Oh my, the Mudsliders. You need to watch out for those. Two of them, and you'll be so drunk you're walking home."
Zach, Yang, and I are laughing. We're hanging with the King of New Hampshire, and he seems to have a genuine interest in hosting us, so I mean, yeah, we're having a good time.
As we caravan over to Puritan Backroom, Ray warns us that he knows everyone in New Hampshire.
"I'll introduce you to everyone if you want," he says to Yang.
Uhm. Yes.
Puritan Backroom, a massive single room dining hall stretching 50 yards, is filled to the brim with guests when we arrive. And truth be told, we spend 15 minutes trying to reach our table as Ray introduces Yang to every other person. The entire scenario feels like a High School fantasy where, for some unknown reason, the popular kid takes you under their wing and introduces you to everyone.
Once seated, Ray throws us a real celebration ordering a mountain of chicken tenders and Mudslingers. At this point, we're putty in his hands. Then come the stories.
"Oh my god! Let me tell you this one about when Obama was pissed at me for demanding Get Out the Vote support!"
"Oh, Al Gore? Al is an incredible guy!"
"Bill Clinton? Don't get me started on Bill!"
Throughout the whole dinner, Yang is a question asking machine as he gobbles up Ray's wisdom. I am mostly in disbelief that I'm hanging out with a guy who personally knows presidents. While I eat the same dish that inflated me to 300 pounds 10 years before, I have to pinch myself.
"Ray," Yang says, as we near the end of dinner. "What's the one piece of advice you'd give me in running for president?"
Ray stops to think for a moment, then makes up his mind quickly.
"You have to look like you're having fun. Way too many candidates run for president, and they're not having a good time. You can just smell it on them. It repels voters away. That's one of the things Obama had going for him. That guy was having a blast campaigning for president, and it made you want to associate with him."
Yang, Zach, and I nod slowly, lips pursed, thinking on Ray's words. Interesting.
After deciding to make a late-night drive home to New York City, (yes, sober!), the gang is back in Mama Yang's Subaru. Our estimated arrival time is 3:00 a.m. I'm driving, Zach is asleep in the back after hitting the Puritan Backroom arcade too hard, and Yang has promised to stay awake.
"You know, Andrew," Yang says, looking at me. "We're such revolutionaries." He laughs out loud. Then I laugh. "What do you mean?" I ask.
"Look at us! We're riding around the country, speaking to the movers and shakers of society, demanding they wake up to the changing trends of the 21st century. We are bringing UBI to life, brother. Our work will improve the lives of millions and maybe even set a precedent for humanity."
I laugh out loud again. It's hard to process the comment. If we achieve our mission, it's hard to argue with what Yang has said. A UBI in America would mean UBI all around the world — and that's a revolutionary domino effect.
But at the same time, I can't unsee our origins and who we are. We're totally normal people. I mean, we're not normal (as I learned), but we're totally human. Yang anxious eats cookies. Muhan eats salads with chopsticks. Katie wears sweaters with sleeves longer than her arms. Matt wears cheap generic brand shoes for years. Zach is addicted to Tostitos.
And me? I patently feel like an imposter. That entire dinner with Ray Buckley felt like a metaphysical trip for me. The question of how I ended up "at the table" was my main course (though the tenders did deliver). Ray Buckley has a hand in selecting presidents, and three years ago, I was forecasting my fraternity's liquor consumption for the semester while sporting a 2.6 GPA at a school known for cigarettes and basketball.
Yang and I ride in silence until I eventually respond.
"Yeah, man … I guess we are."
***
We are at 1211 Avenue of Americas, NY, NY, otherwise known as the Fox News Headquarters. Yang was invited onto a Fox Business Show hosted by the British news Anchor Stuart Varney. According to Katie, a Fox News interview is a contentious choice. You know that whole 'what kind of message does that send' thing. I looked at her dumbfounded, "Fox big. Lots people. Need people. Need do interview."
Yang agreed, saying we should do it. "As long as someone is looking to have an honest conversation, I'll talk to them. That sort of attitude would be productive for the nation and us."
"Plus," I said, putting on my rarely worn marketing hat, "nothing is better for viral content than arguments or big smackdowns proving your point against a perceived foe."
With his TV time make-up done, I hand Yang some water — a task I've found that makes me feel useful while at these things and one he seems to appreciate.
"Two minutes until we walk to the studio, Mr. Yang!" shouts a voice from the doorway.
"OK," he says coldly. The two-minute mark is Yang's self-imposed cue to engage in his most impressive superpower: hyper-focus. He begins pacing back and forth — leg shake, leg shake, crack neck, adjust the jaw, shake out arms — then his face moves from flat to utterly steeled.
Arriving in the studio, Stuart Varney greets Yang cheerfully, "Ello' Mista Yang!"
"Pleasure to be here," Yang says with a stoic look.
As the ten-second countdown begins before the interview, Varney too enters a new persona.
The moment the segment opens, Varney opens with a jab at Yang. Their four-minute interview can be paraphrased below as:
You kahn't pay for this!
Yes, we can! Responds Yang.
You kahn't tax me more!
We can!
You think Ahmahzon is taking jobs!? Varney pauses, probably realizing they are and pivots.
But where's the morahlity in hahndouts!
It's the same as a corporate dividend. We are owed this!
Varney, out of options, pulls out the S-Word. This is … is … TOETAL soecialism!
Yang, fired up, wrestles Varney to the ground citing the textbook definition of socialism disproving Varney's claim. In a historic WWE smackdown, Yang is a champion on Varney's home turf. I'm fist-pumping behind the cameraman like Kris Jenner.
"How'd I do?" Yang asks as we elevator out of the building.
"Dude. Home. Fucking. Run." I say, smiling ear to ear, throwing up a hand for a high five.
"Yeahhhhh," Yang says, smirking, completing the high five, "that felt good. That felt really good."
Yang's Varney clip goes up online and spreads like fire across the internet. Fox News supporters rage in the comments and fill my inbox with hate mail. Democratic activists such as David Pakman and even the Bernie Sanders subreddit pick up the clip to over one million views.
As our marketer, I'm charged up an extra amount. While this boosts our fundraising by a couple hundred dollars and provides a few hundred social media followers, I know what this really provides for us is a proof of concept. Put more plainly, it's proof our product sells. The left and the right have opinions, and that's attention. Opinions on what you're doing are gold. The specific metrics I'm looking at are social media shares and comments. I'm comparing Yang's video to the other videos posted recently by Fox News. It's back of the envelope math, but Yang's video is producing 500% more comments and shares than the other content.
That's a lot of people with something to say.
That's a lot of attention for Fox News.
That's a lot of motivation to talk about Yang some more.
I go to bed with the affirmation I've been looking for: Yang sells. All we need are eyes, and we will win.
***
I don't have much time to do marketing stuff, but it is about half my job. I spend most of my evenings working until 10:00 p.m. to get ahead on media and marketing stuff. I've been pushing for us to adopt a lot of non-traditional marketing tactics. My marketing background is one of the no-budget, dumpster diving marketer armed with a shank. I'll admit I hold contempt for the corporate stuff I learned in school. So I've spent most of my last few years studying the more speculative tactics used on Silicon Valley's front lines.
Some of the ideas I've been badgering Yang and Zach about adopting are LinkedIn "prose," Quora, and going on podcasts. My evidence for these marketing channels are as follows:
Linkedin: bro, my friend, invented the long-story posts. The virality is crazy!
Quora: dude, I wrote on Quora and had millions of viewers. I know the secrets.
Podcasts: our audience lives on podcasts. The media is shafting us.
The gang has generally been apathetic with my ideas, but I have permission to tear it up on LinkedIn, and Matt is setting us up on Quora. As far as podcasts, I've been compiling a contact list of 100 podcasts to reach out to. Yang said he'd go on any of them, so now all I need to do is land my pitches, and my case will begin to be made.
***
If there were ever a Joe Biden quality of mine, it's that I love Amtrak. Or any train, for that matter. Yang and I share this character trait passionately. I mean, who could not love the train? The Amtrak's seats are wide and comfy; we have power outlets, Wi-fi, and big huge windows. The ride is quiet and meditative. In the air, you can feel that every passenger knows one thing: I'm goin' somewhere.
Yang and I are riding down to Washington D.C. today for what might be the most political thing we've done since New Hampshire. We have a meet and greet at the DNC HQ, and we've tacked on all sorts of things around the event. We are meeting with some D.C. insiders. Yang is attending an Asian fundraiser, and then we will go to a congressman's brunch in the morning. To be honest, we don't really expect much out of the trip except a bunch of directionless hobnobbin' with the world's top hobnobbers, but that's what everyone says you're supposed to do. As Yang says upon arrival to D.C., "You can smell the bureaucracy."
Our day begins with our D.C. insiders meeting. Yang and I meet the primarily white men in a well-to-do office near the Capitol. I introduce myself as Also Andrew and then immediately forget their names. Our hosts are high-ranking people who do all sorts of things, but after six months of meeting people with Yang, unless you're famous, one of my secret idols, or secretly wielding power behind society, I don't care that much.
The meeting is boring and especially so for me. I've heard Yang explain the campaign's vision at least 180 times in the last six months. During this meeting, I fall into a daydream. I'm dreaming of an era of my life where I wasn't working 70 hours a week — an era where I didn't feel cracked out and exhausted all of the time. I dream of friends, and family, and turquoise water in the Caribbean. At some point, I look at the clock and realize we are running over. Ugh. Our next meeting is at the DNC HQ, but I hesitate to pull Yang out of this meeting. What if he's having fun? I look at his face — definitely not having fun. I've never been the interrupting type. As a child, I was scared to order pizza on the phone. And as a teen, I always had things to say but never the courage to say it. At this moment, I lose to my child self. I let the pressures of a fancy room and impressive titles squash the courage I've worked on for years. I say nothing and justify the decision that we'll still make it on time by Taxi easily.
In the final minutes of the meeting, which is now way over, one of the last remaining white men squeezes in his piece. He catches Yang and me off-guard immediately, though, when he breaks away from the generic nonsense that we all had been petrified with for the last 90 minutes.
His monologue can be summarized in the quote that no one in the room will forget. "I'm going to be real with you, Yang. I don't know what you're doing here in Washington, D.C. This is not a town of leaders. This is a town of followers. The only way we will do something about this problem is if you create a wave in other parts of the country and bring that wave crashing down on our heads."
The comment wakes up the entire room.
"Wow, man," Yang says. "That's really something for you to say. I'll take that challenge."
As the meeting ends, Yang is reenergized, as am I. The comment is more than a quip. It's freedom and overt approval for us to never spend another day hobnobbing with the establishment in D.C. In many ways, I find this moment representative of life — sometimes, all we need is someone in a place of authority to tell us what we're doing is okay.
Unfortunately for me, I forgot about rush hour. We are going to be exceptionally late for the DNC Meet and Greet, and Yang is pissed. I am sweating bullets as we ride to the DNC HQ, praying I've not botched the main event.
In the end, fate was on my side. Almost no one showed up to the Meet and Greet, so being late wasn't an issue. By staying late in the bureaucratic meeting, we received one of the most essential strategic insights of the entire campaign — focus on the people. Also, while we didn't know it, Yang had found himself a new story to rally the country behind.
***
I've come to understand why people say you should evaluate your business co-founders as closely as you do a spouse. I'm pretty sure I am spending far more hours with Andrew Yang than Evelyn Yang spends with him. With all of this time together, there are a handful of mannerisms I've begun taking a log of in my journals. I mean, what else am I supposed to do in all of these planes, trains, and cars?
To begin with, there is the strange cell phone positioning he does. Yang, for some reason, holds his phone a few inches from his ear while on phone calls. He will do this when the other person talks, but he will bring the phone close again when he talks. I used to think there were a bunch of loud-talkers on the other end, but he's done this for so long that I can now confirm this is standard practice. Yang will also adjust his jaw — dropping it down, moving it side to side — as the phone hovers back and forth. Sometimes, he will even turn and look at the phone while the other person talks — but he'll only do this for a brief second! And not in reaction to what they said — just a quick take to make sure the phone is still there, I guess.
There is also how quickly he reads. Yang is one of the fastest readers I have ever met. On this merit alone, he should be an elected official. There is no worse agony than being seated next to him on a flight. Yang will finish four pages to my one. I'm usually not that slow, but I always fear that he's watching how slow I read and judging me. Of course, he's not. I mean, imagine being able to read 600 words a minute and judge your surroundings? Insecurity is not rational.
Yang is also extraordinarily shameless in asking strangers for selfies. You read that right. Yang asks them for selfies. Zach has been hounding Yang to take lots of selfies, arguing that it is grassroots content to spread the word. Zach's not wrong, but he's created a monster. How it usually works is that Yang will start chatting with his seatmate on a plane. They'll hit it off, and he'll eventually drop the bomb that he's running for president. 90% of the people respond with, "What?" or, "Oh, isn't that nice!" but the subtle slights do not phase him.
The small talk comes to an end when we are in the terminal after deboarding the flight. These sorts of goodbyes are always awkward. It's like, we shared a moment, but … that's it so … see ya.
However, instead of saying goodbye, Yang often says, "So … uh … you want a selfie?"
His new friend usually gives him a long look. Did he just ... ask me for a selfie ... with him?
Meanwhile, I am standing by Yang's side with my nostrils flared in anxiety.
Yang looks on fervently.
"Uh-okay — sure," they'll say.
I snap the photo, and that's that. Yang moves on with his day, never thinking about the moment twice. I always find these moments emblematic of his entrepreneurial spirit rather than any sort of awkwardness. He's simply that hungry for the tiniest edge.
***
NBC Boston interviewed Yang the other day, and in the clip, Yang mentioned to the reporter something he thought that was just the bee's knees. In the interview, Yang is seen in one of those casual "walk and talk" interviews. While walking, he says, "One of my friends said the opposite of Donald Trump is a smart Asian guy who actually cares about facts and information." Yang can then be seen making a cheeky grin, knowing he's said something saucy.
In the days since, Yang has come to paraphrase this quote, "the opposite of Donald Trump is an Asian guy who likes math," and he now says it everywhere we go. I have to admit, I hate it, but as I told Muhan, "I am just happy he's playing around with the message to be more simple and fun. This is how we get a world-class product that will break out."
The team is pretty split on this slogan of Yang's. Katie hates it, of course. I personally don't think it makes sense. If I were to adhere to 'Yangian' philosophy, which is to only say things that make logical sense, then we shouldn't be saying it. Wouldn't the opposite of Donald Trump really be a black woman who likes math and has empathy? It really depends on what trait of Trump we are being the opposite of. In many ways, the opposite could be a genderless lizard. Or maybe a cup of primordial ooze. Or a hovering void absent of matter if went to the farthest extreme.
It really doesn't matter at the end of the day, though, because politics is about saying things that sound good rather than what makes sense. It's Yang's choice, and he loves it.
What really has me rattled is that Yang's adoption of this new quote made me realize that Yang is the embodiment of my marketing philosophy from college, the Opposite Effect. As I see it, Yang is the opposite of establishment politics, but so is Trump. This means Yang and Trump are in a dualism of positive and negative versions (a Yin / Yang, you could say) of opposite manifestations of the establishment, while also being opposites of each other.
When I figured all of this out, I couldn't believe it.
"I can't even process this right now," I say to Mario, my old friend from college, on the phone. "I come up with this theory in college when I hate politics, and for some reason use Trump as an example. A long spiritual journey then leads me into politics working side by side with the guy who is the opposite of Trump and traditional politics? Preposterous! Not to mention this is the same guy that I idolized for a year and was rejected from his non-profit fellowship, and now I'm traveling the country with him? I don't want to sound like a conspiracy theorist right now, but this all feels scripted, like ... it's all meant to be."
"Dude. And do you know how this kind of script ends? Yang is going to win."
***
I am sitting in my red wheelie chair fighting off a tidal wave of emails. It's late, maybe 8:00 p.m., and it's only Yang and me in the office. I see an email from Yang titled, "Hey Sam." I open the email, and before I read the message, my eyes catch a glimpse of — what was that did I see? Sam? Sam Harris? My eyes become frantic around the page.
SAM. HARRIS? YANG JUST EMAILED SAM HARRIS?
Yang's message is as follows, "Hope you are enjoying the book. Would love to hop on the podcast. Frawley can arrange at your convenience. Look forward to connecting."
"OH. MY. GOD." I yell as I jump out of my chair. I whip my head around to look at Yang.
"YOU — YOU — YOU EMAILED SAM HARRIS? HE WANTS YOU ON HIS PODCAST?"
Yang looks at me with a subtle expression of intrigue. "I don't know, he followed me on Twitter, and he has like a million followers. Is he a big deal?"
I nearly keel over out of breath. BIG? DEAL? IS HE EVER.
"THIS IS HUGE."
The following day when I explode with the good news to everyone on the team, no one really joins me in my excitement. Almost none of them even know who he is. I am totally distraught.
"Seriously! None of you are excited? It's Sam Harris!"
I first discovered Sam Harris through his podcast while living in San Francisco and became an obsessive listener. Sam Harris immediately rose to be one of my favorite thinkers and role models. Sam has a Ph.D. in cognitive science and has spent years traveling through Asia with the Dalai Lama pushing the limits of spirituality. Now he writes and meditates on life for a living while oozing an aura of wisdom and contentment as if he were the Buddha himself. Sam is, in my eyes, the perfect merging of science, mysticism, exploration, activism, and benevolence that one can hope for in a modern life. That's pretty aspirational.
My love for Sam Harris reached its peak actualization only a few months ago when I paid $300 (two months of NYC savings!) for a ticket to see him speak live in New York City. After the event, there was a book signing, and I met him. In my split-moment interaction with Sam, I asked him one question, "What do you think of Universal Basic Income?"
Without missing a beat, Sam said, "it's inevitable."
I smiled. "Well, you should be hearing more about it soon."
And now here the fuck he is hearing about it!
As the days and weeks pass since we scheduled Yang's interview with Sam Harris, I have continued to erupt at every mention of Sam. "GUYS. THIS IS GOING TO BE HUGE. HUGE. SAM HAS A HUGE FOLLOWING. THIS IS OUR TRIBE. THIS IS OUR EARLY NICHE. GUYS. HUGE."
As I explained to the team, "Sam's audience is the deepest community of altruistic and deep thinking do-gooders I can imagine in podcasting. Imagine millions of me in one place, except older, wiser, and with more money. They're going to drool over Yang."
All of my arm flapping got the team to take the interview somewhat seriously. They looked at me with skepticism but figured it was worth heeding my warning. Yang prepared for the interview by refining his pitch and studying other Sam Harris podcast episodes. Then when the day came, Yang hit an absolute home run. The interview was recorded remotely, and I sat in the room as it happened. I could only hear Yang's half of the conversation, but I knew what Yang needed to say, and when he said it, I was fighting myself to not jump up and scream expletives of joy.
The Sam Harris podcast was the perfect way to showcase my argument for podcasting. Yang's message was complex but hypnotic if he had the space to lay it out, which the even more nerdy Sam Harris was happy to facilitate. Yang needed the long-form conversation-style format to bring the message and himself (our product) to life. And that's what he did.
When the Sam Harris podcast came out, listeners couldn't believe there was a guy like Yang actually running for president. In the Sam Harris community, Yang's popularity exploded. He immediately became a cult-like figure. Sam Harris followers became full-blown true believers. That's what happens when you deliver a perfect product to a perfect niche audience.
Every single marketing metric exploded through the roof. Our website traffic boosted 400%, our email signups 800%, our donation quantity 1200%, and our dollars raised 400%. For the first month ever, we didn't lose money. More importantly, to refer back to the house party analogy in Chapter 8, we finally had people at our party. We finally had a little gram of credibility and influence to throw around.
Game time.