Exactly one week before Election Day, Kari Lake, the Republican gubernatorial nominee in Arizona, held a boisterous rally with Steve Bannon, the indicted former Donald Trump aide whom Lake dubbed a “modern-day George Washington.” Local and national media outlets covered the event. On the same day, the Democratic gubernatorial nominee, Katie Hobbs, hosted a housing policy roundtable to draw attention to her affordable housing plan. Eleven people participated, including Hobbs. The event did not receive media coverage.

The contrasting campaign appearances capture the campaign dynamic. Lake wanted the spotlight. Hobbs wanted Lake to have the spotlight.

Hobbs was widely counted out after she refused to debate, saying, “It’s clear that Kari Lake is much more interested in creating a spectacle and having the spotlight than actually having a substantive discussion about the issues.”

Hobbs’s debate decision was based on a clear-eyed assessment of her own strengths and weaknesses. A high-profile media event benefits the candidate with superior media skills.

Such a gambit would not work if the public viewed a successful debate performance as equivalent to a job interview, a necessary bar to clear. But in my exploration of the debate over debates in (the Washington Monthly*) last month, I observed that modern debates are a far cry from Lincoln-Douglas. They are reality TV shows marked with soporific talking points and cheap insults. It’s not just that voters don’t care about debates. Voters have good reason not to care about debates. They are not especially useful at helping voters decide who is best suited to govern.

So instead of playing a game on her opponent’s turf, Hobbs changed the game.

“[Elon Musk] posted a misinformation tweet about the attack on Paul Pelosi. Twitter came after him, all of y’all came after him, the media came after him, and he backed down.”

You fucked up real good, kiddo.

Twitter is a disaster clown car company that is successful despite itself, and there is no possible way to grow users and revenue without making a series of enormous compromises that will ultimately destroy your reputation and possibly cause grievous damage to your other companies.

I say this with utter confidence because the problems with Twitter are not engineering problems. They are political problems. Twitter, the company, makes very little interesting technology; the tech stack is not the valuable asset. The asset is the user base: hopelessly addicted politicians, reporters, celebrities, and other people who should know better but keep posting anyway. You! You, Elon Musk, are addicted to Twitter. You’re the asset. You just bought yourself for $44 billion dollars.

The problem when the asset is people is that people are intensely complicated, and trying to regulate how people behave is historically a miserable experience, especially when that authority is vested in a single powerful individual.

What I mean is that you are now the King of Twitter, and people think that you, personally, are responsible for everything that happens on Twitter now. It also turns out that absolute monarchs usually get murdered when shit goes sideways.