The 5 Types of People Who Still Think Kamala Harris Is Competent (And Why Darwin Deserves an Apology)
By any cosmic measure, it takes a fascinating cocktail of denial, delusion, and head trauma to look at Kamala Harris’s track record and conclude, “Yes, this is leadership.” In a world where she’s known for coconut metaphors, word salads, and speeches that sound like AI having a panic attack, a small but determined slice of humanity continues to treat her like the Oracle of Oakland. So let’s honor these hopeless optimists—the last five species of political masochists still pretending Kamala Harris inspires anything but secondhand embarrassment.
kaMALA stands for Make America Lose Again
1. The LinkedIn Visionary
This is the person who reposts Kamala’s speeches with captions like “Powerful!” or “She really said it all!”—even though no one knows what “it” is.
These are the same people who refer to “synergy” as a verb and clap during Zoom calls. For them, Kamala isn’t incoherent; she’s “process-oriented in her communication style.” When she says, “What can be unburdened by what has been?” they nod solemnly, the way cult members nod when they mistake chem trails for a spaceship.
They see her not as a public official but as a “personal brand in motion”—proof that mediocrity, if amplified loudly enough, can one day become Vice President.
2. The Twitter Therapist
These types don’t like Kamala so much as they need her. They build fragile emotional ecosystems around her speeches, no matter how baffling or wine-scented they may be.
When she rambled through her 2025 “innovation speech”—during which she introduced Doritos as a metaphor for scientific progress—her social media defenders insisted she was “reclaiming snacks as a feminist motif.” One user said, “She’s tipsy, not drunk—tipsy is relatable.”
These are the same people who think journaling fixes fascism and believe the path to equality is paved with affirmations and oat milk. To them, every Kamala flop is “a trauma-informed journey toward authenticity.”
3. The Historic Collector
You know this one—they speak as if every criticism of Kamala Harris is a personal affront to the concept of progress itself.
They don’t care that she flubbed the Pledge of Allegiance on the Senate floor (“I pledge allegiance to the United States…”—awkward pause—“…of America”) or that she barked “Do not come” at potential migrants before presiding over seven million illegal border crossings. They will forgive it all because she is “historic.”
Her track record doesn’t matter because she represents something. Like a commemorative stamp—beautiful, symbolic, and mostly useless.
4. The Brat Summer Survivor
This subset mostly discovered Kamala through the meme economy. They’re Gen Z activists who think irony itself counts as civic duty.
When Harris began her “brat summer” rebrand—embracing Charli XCX aesthetics while quoting her mom about not falling out of coconut trees—Gen Z called it “iconic.” To them, weird is the new profound. Never mind that the coconut speech turned into a meme so viral it needed its own vaccine; they genuinely thought it was camp.
These are the folks who’ll say things like, “Kamala is the moment,” then return to crying in a 7-Eleven over $9 iced coffee. They don’t like her politics; they like her vibe. The coconut tree is their flag.
5. The Party Nun
This is the most tragic species of all—the hardcore partisan who would rather drink bleach than admit buyer’s remorse.
They cheered when she awkwardly certified her own election defeat to Donald Trump, smiling like a substitute teacher mid–nervous breakdown. They excused the buses allegedly hauling crowds to her rallies as “motorized grassroots mobilization.” They even pretended not to notice when she seemed… let’s say, “liquored with enthusiasm” while addressing dejected Democrats last November.
For the Party Nun, Kamala could set the Capitol on fire with a blowtorch and they’d swoon over her bravery for “engaging with the element of transformation.” They live by one creed: If it blue, it true.
The Postscript: Humanity’s Shrug
Kamala Harris is the physical embodiment of an autocorrect error that somehow became President of the Debate Club. Every time she speaks—whether it’s her “coconut existentialism,” her “Doritos-fueled policy reframes,” or her glassy-eyed pep talks to “dear voters who are not defined by what you are”—the rational world collectively winces.
She doesn’t break ceilings; she confuses ceilings for floors. Yet there remains a small circle of loyal believers who would rather swallow a dictionary of her speeches than admit she’s the political equivalent of jazz hands in human form.
But take heart: these people serve a higher purpose. They remind the rest of us why democracy matters—because without universal suffrage, we’d never truly grasp how spectacularly creative people can be when choosing their delusions.
Somewhere, Darwin just opened a bottle of wine and updated his notes: “Survival of the least embarrassed.”
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