I don’t wear red or blue. I don’t have a yard sign. I don’t chant slogans. I’m what you might call a political atheist—watching the U.S. political machine churn with a growing mix of fascination, fatigue, and detachment.

It’s not that I don’t care. Quite the opposite. I care enough to be disillusioned.

From where I sit, politics in America has become a nonstop performance—equal parts rage, theater, and brand loyalty. We’re living in the age of curated outrage and performative allegiance. You’re not just a voter anymore. You’re a member of a team, expected to rep the merch, speak the lingo, and publicly shame the other side with meme-level precision.

And nowhere is that machinery more visible than Washington, D.C.—the only town in America where you can arrive fresh out of college and leave a multimillionaire without ever having built a thing. No intellectual property. No startup. Never had to make payroll. Never had your name on a P&L. Just a well-polished resume, some committee seats, and a Rolodex fat enough to cash in.

I’ve seen the other side of it too—deep in the bureaucratic jungle of government contracts. And let me tell you, the “Department of Government Efficiency” might as well be live-action roleplay. I’ve watched millions evaporate on bloated projects, vaporware solutions, and enough meetings to give Kafka a migraine. The waste isn’t an accident—it’s the feature, not the bug.

And then there’s DOGE. In principle? Sure, I was for it. Streamlining government sounds great on a podcast. But in reality, it’s cosplay—budget edition. Imagine handing the keys to government reform to a crew barely out of their dorm rooms, armed with zero real-world experience and a whole lot of Slack channels. The place is stacked with twenty-somethings playing government like it’s an internship-themed escape room. Efficiency? More like vibes-based governance with a press release budget.

The contradictions don’t stop there. We’ve now got politicians railing against oligarchy while sipping champagne at 35,000 feet in a $15,000-an-hour private jet. Fighting for the working class, apparently, just hits different when you’re flying private. It’s all theater. Every “us vs. them” speech gets a standing ovation from donors who are the them.

And the wildest part? Politicians are the only ones who lose if everyone actually gets along. The system doesn’t reward collaboration—it punishes it. Unity threatens the business model. Conflict keeps the cash flowing, the donors dialing, and the media cycle spinning.

Meanwhile, the issues that actually matter—healthcare, wages, privacy, basic trust in institutions—get buried under a pile of performance art and partisan cosplay. It’s like trying to hear a symphony during a fireworks show. The noise always wins.

And then there was our last presidential election—the political version of the Kobayashi Maru. No good choices. No way to win. Just a rigged, no-win scenario dressed up as democracy. Watching the country tear itself apart trying to defend two deeply flawed options was maybe the most disheartening thing of all. Not because I expected better—but because it confirmed how far the rot has spread.

As someone without a political jersey, I’ve learned to spot the patterns. The recycled narratives. The manufactured outrage. The way both sides exploit our attention and fatigue to keep the same dysfunctional loop running.

And I’ve also noticed how lonely it can be in the middle. Both sides accuse you of “not caring” if you don’t toe the line. But skepticism isn’t apathy. Sometimes, it’s self-preservation. A refusal to get played by either side.

So what do I believe in?

I believe in transparency. Accountability. Civil discourse that doesn’t involve shouting matches or gotcha moments. I believe we need fewer influencers in politics and more people who’ve actually built things, led teams, solved real problems. People with skin in the game outside of an election cycle.

Maybe that makes me idealistic. Or cynical. Or just tired.

But from where I stand—outside the scrum, still paying attention—I know I’m not alone.