TR Harry
Submitted photo
By TR Harry | Scottsdale
A recap of “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” a widely known fable penned in 1837 by Hans Christian Andersen, goes something like this:
A vain emperor, obsessed with fashion, hires two swindlers who claim they can weave a magical fabric invisible to anyone unfit for their position or foolish. Intrigued by the idea, the emperor commissions a suit made from this fabric, hoping to identify incompetent officials.
The weavers pretend to work on empty looms, and everyone — afraid of being seen as unfit or stupid — pretends to see the nonexistent clothes. The emperor himself, not wanting to appear foolish, goes along with the charade and parades through the city in his “new clothes.” Finally, a child in the crowd blurts out the obvious: “But he isn’t wearing anything at all!” The crowd realizes the truth, yet the emperor, too proud to admit the deception, continues his procession undeterred.
This story, now almost 200 years old, seems to suggest itself as a plotline to highlight — if not to directly expose — current-day situations challenging the public reminiscent of the fable’s vainly obsessed emperor. So, here’s a modern retelling infused with a touch of satire, a nod to media ecosystems and a whisper of democratic reflection.
All emperors, and the many wannabes in our current world —oriented as it is toward (actually addicted to) multiple sources of mostly unfiltered or minimally fact-checked competing social media sources, and 24/7 availability of media influencing programing perennially seeking “news”— aim for one objective, a direct public link, which in turn, they believe, leads to increasing personal power and influence.
Some are more responsible than others in how and how much they take advantage of these open information outlets. Others believe whatever they feel like saying is their prerogative. Their vain obsession allows them to say and/or claim what they want, no matter that the facts, or history, might find easily challengeable. So what? The “likes” keep rolling in from followers, stroking their vanity.
Who might we highlight as “an obsessed emperor” for our updated fable?” One needn’t look far to find public figures whose digital wardrobes are stitched from self-congratulation and spin. I’m reminded of a national political personality who mirrors the above description of social media dependence and usage.
The Influencer’s New Fit
A modern fable inspired by Hans Christian Andersen
There was once a nation, proud and vast, where the garments of governance, more often than not, were being stitched not from policy or principle, but from optics. It was a nation ruled not by principals with principles, but by clicks (likes/dislikes) without conscience.
The emperor had no army, no laws, no land — but he had followers. Lots and lots of them. Legitimacy no longer came from wisdom or service, but from virality. His power lay in his political wardrobe, curated daily for the algorithm; he was a master of appearances. His robes were woven from polling data, his crown gilded with cable news segments and his scepter carved from trending hashtags.
One day, two consultants arrived, promising a new kind of political attire. They claimed to craft a revolutionary outfit — so exclusive, so enlightened — that only the truly woke could see it. “It’s not just political fashion,” they said. “It’s a statement. If you can’t see it, you’re part of the problem.” “This suit,” they said, “is invisible to the uninformed. Only the truly patriotic can see it.”
The emperor, always eager to appear enlightened and unassailable, commissioned the outfit immediately, livestreaming the process. The tailors sent empty garment bags and posted cryptic captions: “The fit is beyond form. #PerceptionIsPower.” The tailors spun nothing but jargon and spin. They held press conferences with no substance, drafted legislation with no teeth and called it “bold reform.” Advisers nodded solemnly. Commentators praised the emperor’s “vision.” The public, unsure whether they were missing something or being gaslit, remained silent.
His advisers, minions all, terrified of being labeled regressive or inept, praised the invisible political ensemble. Fashion critics called it “transcendent minimalism.” The media ran think pieces: “Is Clothing Overrated?”
Finally, the emperor unveiled his new look at the Global Summit on Truth and Transparency, where he declared victory over problems not solved, unity not achieved and truths not spoken. He strutted the stage in nothing but his confidence and a pair of Adidas celebrity Yeezys.
The crowd applauded — until a child watching the stream from her tablet said, “He’s not wearing anything. He’s just naked.”
The comment went viral.
The emperor paused. He could delete the video, block the child, spin the narrative. But instead, he smiled, struck a pose and said for all to hear, “This is vulnerability. This is leadership.” And the likes kept rolling in.
The crowd stirred. Some laughed nervously. Others turned away. But a few began to converse among themselves. It was a start.
So ends our update, with just a hint of uncertainty.
Despite its clearly individual focus, this reflection isn’t simply about one leader, nor any one party. It’s about an increasingly vulnerable and by-polar, money-driven political system that tends to reward illusion over integrity, performance over principle. It’s about the tailors we empower — consultants, media strategists, donors — who profit from the emperor’s nakedness.
And it’s about the crowd, who must decide whether to clap, to look away, or to speak up. The child’s voice reminds us: truth isn’t always popular, but it is always necessary.
What say you?
Editor’s note: TR Harry is the pen name of a Scottsdale-based author who writes primarily about politics and religion on his blog. Please submit comments at yourvalley.net/letters or email them to AzOpinions@inusua.org. We are committed to publishing a wide variety of reader opinions, as long as they meet our Civility Guidelines.