Ron DeSantis Made Smiling Look Hard

And just like that, Ron DeSantis’s quest for the presidency is kaput. In a short video on Sunday, the Florida governor looked natty in a blue suit and red tie, every hair perfectly in place as he papered over his deeply imperfect campaign. He touted his own leadership and, perhaps with an eye toward running again in 2028, endorsed the Republican kingmaker, Donald Trump. It wasn’t a terrible performance, especially under the circumstances. But watching DeSantis’s now-famous awkward smile and listening to his unnatural cadence, it was hard not to think: Yeah. I can see why this guy’s candidacy is deader than disco.

I am not being mean here. OK, I am being a little bit mean, but in the service of a serious point. Mr. DeSantis is a successful governor of a major state and a smart guy with a picture-perfect family. But he is also one of those unfortunate political creatures who do not wear well, whose early promise and poll numbers fade over time: The more people saw him, the less they seemed to like him. On the presidential campaign trail, he was robotic and awkward, rude and arrogant, with the interpersonal skills of poorly designed A.I. He struck people as an all-around odd duck, and not in a good way.

For a modern presidential contender, this is the kiss of death. Popular policies, a savvy campaign strategy, a message that speaks to the moment — these things matter. And DeSantis had much to offer a conservative Republican base: his angry populism, his vilification of all the right people (Dr. Anthony Fauci, George Soros, migrants, teachers’ unions), his record of achievement in Florida. Let us grant him all that, and more. But if the messenger has a likability problem, the rest tends to get overshadowed.

For all of DeSantis’s apparent G.O.P. pluses, he was constantly tripping over his personal minuses. His tone-deaf remarks, like when he told a kid in Iowa that his Icee probably had a lot of sugar in it. His inability to hide his discomfort when interacting with regular Americans. The creepy smile that popped up in pretty much every debate. That quickie lip lick, where the tip of his tongue would suddenly burst into view. His visible impatience. His trouble making eye contact. His fidgeting. His explosive, gaping laugh. The peculiar rhythm of his speech — sometimes too fast, sometimes stilted, and never quite right. It was … a lot. But also not enough, lacking a certain quality that says, “I am human.”

A big part of the presidency involves convincing people to believe in you, rallying support for your priorities, conveying competence, caring, strength, hope, determination, courage. You are, chiefly, a leader — not a manager, a policy wonk or a political strategist. And getting people to follow you is much harder if they find you personally off-putting.

This wasn’t Team DeSantis’s only problem, of course. His campaign’s failures, of strategy and of luck, were rich and multifaceted. But underneath them all ran this foundational flaw. To quote Mr. Trump, a viciously shrewd observer of human nature, “The problem with Ron DeSanctimonious is that he needs a personality transplant, and those are not yet available.”