The braid of Amazon and Donald Trump grows tighter. Prime Video announced last week that it would stream the first seven seasons of The Apprentice, the boardroom reality show that resurrected Trump’s cultural relevance when it premiered in 2004. (This deal is likely to directly line the pockets of Trump, who not only starred in the show but also served as an executive producer, even retaining that credit during his first year in the White House, when The New Celebrity Apprentice aired with Arnold Schwarzenegger as host.) Meanwhile, Amazon founder Jeff Bezos, whose company contributed $1 million to Trump’s inaugural fund, is earning praise from the president for his recent moves at The Washington Post, such as neutering the editorial staff. Amazon has also entered into a $40 million licensing agreement for a documentary about first lady Melania’s life, which will reportedly see her earn at least $28 million. Democracy dies in backroom deals at the hands of dark billionaires.
It’s a bad trip revisiting The Apprentice today—watching Trump hawk his show from the base of the Statue of Liberty. A Gallup poll measuring Trump’s reputation before the show revealed that 98% of people surveyed knew his name, but 58% viewed him unfavorably. We the people gave the dog back his teeth. As an audience, we were seduced by his mean-spirited catchphrase and illusion of authority. Yet he seemed harmless enough as a TV star, like the charismatic uncle at family dinner who would pick up the check if the table let him tell the same old stories. His hair has forever been his business card. He loved showing contestants his hairline so that they could marvel that it was real.
There’s always been an undertone of menace around Trump. But on The Apprentice, his shifting moods and leering once-overs of female contestants were softened by the fun he was clearly having. His only role on the show was to preen and slice people off at the knees. Firing people gave Trump such pleasure. He loved pitting members of the losing team against one another in final deliberations, goading them to go after one another. His side of the boardroom table was like the emperor’s balcony; the other, the gladiator ring. “She’s killing you,” Trump would say. “You’re getting destroyed.” “Everybody’s killing you, you’re done.”
Occasionally, someone would impress Trump with a bit of clever spin. Rewatching the show, I could see him flipping positions in real time, like how a toddler can change their mood if they’re served dinner with the wrong spoon. Being impressed by people seemed to annoy him; he would sucks in his cheeks and give a begrudging nod. Any expression of vulnerability or ambivalence or pushback incurred his wrath. “How stupid can you be?” he’d ask in what seemed like nearly every episode. Adulation of self and disdain for others were his two home bases.
During my nauseating rewatch, it was interesting to note how morally offended Trump got in season six after a contestant self-deprecatingly referred to himself as “white trash.” Derek Arteta, an entertainment lawyer, was on the chopping block after his team lost a challenge due to a misguided use of go-karts. As he defended his misunderstanding of the challenge’s target audience, he joked, “I’m white trash. I only eat at restaurants with deep-fried appetizers…”
