Trump, who critics claim is a narcissist, feeds off adulation, but he receives little of that in Manhattan. The city’s super-rich club has long regarded him as a vulgar self-publicist with questionable business acumen and, by their standards, a small bank balance.
Trump has never mustered the requisite wealth or displayed the requisite level of civic-minded altruism to join an elite whose surnames are found on hospitals, academic institutes and art galleries, rather than residential apartment buildings.
After spending much of the past year or so watching and travelling with Donald Trump, I’ve been struck by how his physical demeanour changes when he appears in public in New York City. Not in the atrium of Trump Tower, his personal fiefdom, where his incendiary rhetoric ricochets off the marble walls, but rather when he steps outside that self-congratulatory echo chamber.