Never mind that the new accord is neither complete nor certain, given that 25 percent tariffs on steel still remain in place and it’s yet to be ratified by Congress. And ignore the fact that the new trade relationship established by the deal is still markedly worse than the relationship the U.K. enjoyed barely three months ago. But unlike his continental counterparts, Starmer recognizes that Trump is a man of superlatives for whom nuance is anathema to negotiation, as the accidental reveal of the two leaders’ almost entirely blank negotiation papers exposed, Trump is much more preoccupied with the form of a deal than its actual content. EU leaders might look to mimic that approach and simply send Trump a bouquet of Big Macs with the word DEAL superimposed, and declare that a mutually prosperous trade relationship has already been agreed. He’ll be hard pressed to reject the flattery. Which brings us on to…
2: Be unfathomably sycophantic
Much has been made in U.K. media circles about the stiff, socially awkward Starmer’s surprising chemistry with the brash tycoon in the White House. In abstract, the U.K.’s preeminent centrist defender of establishment politics and the populist disruptor-in-chief would seem to be a terrible fit. And yet, the two have really hit it off, with Trump saying outright: “The U.K. is very well protected. You know why? Because I like them. That’s their ultimate protection.” But it’s hard to imagine Trump sincerely took to the British leader’s gruel-grey aesthetic and penchant for budget responsibility. Instead, it all comes down to Starmer’s extraordinary talent for, uh, compliments.
Despite their divergent politics, Starmer has uttered nary a word of criticism of his U.S. counterpart, even as Trump threatened economic warfare on the U.K. Instead, he has adopted the anxious, sweatily appeasing deportment of a husband suspected of a string of infidelities, lavishing Trump with royal gifts, stooping to pick up documents on the president’s behalf, and slapping him matily on the back as if the two were old pals from Boy Scouts. EU leaders ought to do likewise and meld sycophancy with crass appeals to their respective national stereotypes. Friedrich Merz could present Trump with a super-sized bratwurst with his name engraved in gold leaf; Macron should ditch the excruciating hyper-masculine handshakes and instead swoon melodramatically at the strength of The Donald’s grip, with an exaggerated “sacre bleu!” to boot.
3: Be British
As an American, the U.S president evinces a natural deference toward Britain’s institutions and political class. Likely it’s a combination of the countries’ shared history, the silky public school accents, the lucrative Trump-branded golf resorts in Scotland, and a general sympathy for the U.K.’s long, post-imperial plight (and utter lack of bargaining power). Doubtless, it also helps that the Brits speak English, a language Trump himself has nearly mastered.
The concept of continental “Europe,” on the other hand, can be confusing to Americans. Is it a country? A political union? A mythological landmass, like Numenor? A vast offshore military base into which the U.S. Army intermittently sends young privates to play-fight the Germans? Even to Brits, just across the channel, the idea that Europe is anything more than a labor force serving a vast constellation of beachside Premier Inns is hard to grasp. But sadly, this one might not be so easily fixed — the Europeans have yet to figure any of this out themselves.
