CLICHÉ as it may sound, we often hear that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and nowhere is that more obvious than during election season. Picture yourself having coffee with a reasonable adult. After a few sips, they suddenly defend their chosen candidate, like it’s a blood oath. Everyone’s taste becomes sacred, and political preference starts to sound a lot like romantic obsession.
One person’s brilliant leader is another’s walking red flag. One sees strength; another sees swagger and zero substance. Watching that unfold feels like seeing a teenager gush over a celebrity — “You just don’t get them!” — as if having a different opinion is a personal insult. Chill. If you don’t see the same spark they do, you’re suddenly misinformed, brainwashed, or plain bitter.
Now that the noise has settled and the posters are slowly peeling off, you’d think things would quiet down. But no — what lingers isn’t just the echo of campaign jingles, but the smug righteousness of those who are convinced theirs was the right — and only — choice.
Let’s be clear: preference is not the problem. Everyone’s allowed to be drawn to a particular leadership style. Some admire the polished speaker, others like the unfiltered bulldozer. Some are attracted to legacy names; others prefer fresh faces. And that’s fine. Democracy thrives on difference — at least, in theory.
But there’s a difference between conviction and condescension. And during the last election, many crossed that line like it was a national sport.
At some point, defending one’s choice became a performance. It was no longer about policy, platform, or track record — it became about winning the argument. And in that moment, righteousness turned into arrogance. The attitude wasn’t “This is who I believe in,” but “If you don’t believe in them, there must be something wrong with you.”
We saw it in debates that went from spirited to spiteful. In comments that sounded more like sermons. In friendships that quietly fizzled out because someone couldn’t stop posting 20-slide infographics and accusing others of moral failure for liking someone else. When political loyalty starts sounding like a cult pitch, it’s time to take a breath — and a break.
And here’s the thing: being too convinced that only your candidate is worthy can be just as blinding as being too smitten with someone attractive. It dulls critical thinking. It shuts down discussion. It builds a pedestal so tall that when the person eventually disappoints (and they will), it’s a long, hard fall.
Worse, it opens the door to justifying the unjustifiable. “So, what if they’re convicted?” or “So what if they pocketed millions?” some say. “There are infrastructures!” Never mind if the roads have collapsed. Others brush off corruption, violence, or manipulation like it’s a bad haircut — “They’re still better than the rest!” At that point, we’re no longer making choices based on values; we’re making excuses based on fantasy.
Yes, political preference, like beauty, is subjective. We’re all entitled to see something admirable where others see a mess. But the danger lies in believing your view is the only truth and treating everyone else like they’re blind. That’s not conviction — that’s conceit.
Choosing a leader is like choosing someone beautiful. It’s personal. It’s emotional. You can’t force your type on others. And the moment you act like yours is the only valid choice, you stop being attractive yourself.
Because in both love and leadership, one thing stays true: beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but arrogance? That’s never a good look.
