There is something uniquely disappointing about watching Anthony Albanese try to be cool.
Not cool in the sense of being relaxed or having a sense of humour. Of course, executed well, there is nothing wrong with a political leader dropping the formalities, doing a podcast or having a laugh. Barack Obama is the master of it.
But it’s the particular brand of “blokey cool” he keeps reaching for that’s putting smart female voters off en masse. The fact is that Anthony Albanese has never really been one of those boys, and that was part of what made him appealing in the first place.
When Albanese first won office, there was something reassuring about his ordinariness. He wasn’t trying to be a macho alpha like Tony Abbott, or even the smartest bloke in the room like Kevin Rudd. He certainly wasn’t Scott Morrison with a strapped-on bible.
He was, more or less, a loveable, slightly awkward stalwart, with strong ideologies and convictions for social justice. The son of a single mum, raised in housing commission, he was relatable to more of the population than arguably any politician before him.
So it is strange to watch him increasingly perform precisely the kind of masculinity he once seemed so comfortable not performing.
The latest controversy, involving Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi and two melons, is a good example, although it is important to distinguish between what Albanese actually said and what the podcast host said.
I don’t think Albanese’s initial reference to the melons was necessarily intended as a sexual joke. He was talking about a genuinely unusual gift, two Japanese Crown melons presented to him by Takaichi.
When the host, comedian Nikki Osborne, then made a joke about how Takaichi had got them into the country, Albanese responded that he had received “a couple of melons”.
Fine.
But when Osborne took the joke further and brought Pamela Anderson into it, Albanese should have been quicker to shut it down lightly rather than play along.
The problem isn’t that Albanese himself made the Pamela Anderson comparison, but that once the conversation turned towards sexualising a female political leader, he seemed more interested in maintaining the banter than recognising the moment had crossed a line.
And it comes after another appearance on the same podcast in which he was asked to play “shag, marry, date” with Kylie Minogue, Nicole Kidman and Rhonda Burchmore. After initially pointing out that he had only recently married, Albanese chose Kylie and, when asked whether he would marry and “shag” her, replied: “All of the above. She’s terrific.” He later apologised “unequivocally” for the comments.
Then there was the question about whether he and his wife, Jodie Haydon, were still “bonking like rabbits”. “After the footy,” Albanese replied, adding that a South Sydney win was “always a good aphrodisiac”.
This one icked me out the most, because it was largely unprompted. And the implication that his wife (who he clearly loves and adulates often) may be secondary to the rugby league was so obviously aimed at a demographic of voters who genuinely do disregard their wives.
Politicians have a strange habit of losing themselves once they acquire power. Malcolm Turnbull is perhaps one of the clearest examples. He was a politician who arrived in the Liberal leadership with a strongly held identity on issues including climate change and marriage equality, only to find himself constrained by the politics of his own party and increasingly defending positions that sat awkwardly alongside the person Australians thought they knew.
Julia Gillard experienced a different version of the same problem, becoming so consumed by the mechanics and performance of political survival that she eventually spoke about Australians getting to “see the real her”, as though authenticity itself had become something that needed to be unveiled.
With Albanese, there is an increasingly uncomfortable gap between the man voters thought they knew and the man he seems to think he needs to become.
You can see it beyond the podcasts, too, in the growing questions around what his government is willing to stand for and bend on, including Gaza. There is a sense he is increasingly losing his footing, not necessarily because he has no convictions, but because the demands of power appear to be pulling him further away from the straightforward political identity that helped him win office.
That must be a lonely place to be.
You are surrounded by people whose job is to tell you what is politically sensible, what will poll, what will land and what might appeal to a particular group of voters. Eventually, perhaps, you lose sight of the difference between being relatable and performing relatability.
Albanese doesn’t need to be cool. He doesn’t need to prove that he understands locker-room humour or demonstrate that he can talk about sex, celebrity women and breasts like one of the blokes.
He needs to be Anthony Albanese and remember that’s what got him where he is in the first place.
But if he continues down the same well-worn road? There are plenty of good women in the Labor ranks who understand that authenticity isn’t about saying whatever comes into your head but knowing who you are, what you stand for and when jokes are categorically unfunny.