So Trump was Trump, then as now, but with a few jarring differences. A Trump Organization executive, Barbara Res, once told me of how she watched in mounting despair as he got more and more famous and lost his sense of self-awareness. Brenner captures Trump at a time when he is still tethered
near, if not quite
to, the common human experience. “Real estate has to be show business,” he told her. “Only the rich can afford to buy. I’ve had to make my deals with a certain amount of flash. I want materials that glitter, that sparkle, the best of everything, you understand. That’s part of the sell. I always go to these meetings, and I’m always the one who gets all the attention. It’s always, ‘Mr. Trump, Mr. Trump, Mr. Trump’; maybe you shouldn’t write that out of my mouth — it’s a little embarrassing.”
Ten years later, in 1990, Brenner profiled Trump again for a different magazine, drawing on her decade of insights to paint a full portrait of his psychology in a period of failure and isolation, his businesses collapsed, creditors hounding him, and his marriage on the rocks. In the account of this moment,
After the Gold Rush (
Vanity Fair), he is a victim of his appetites, bleeding from his wounds but still insatiable.