President Trump says we’re living in a "Golden Age" for America. His critics counter that it’s actually just another Gilded Age, like the late-19th century, in which a thin patina of gold is covering up a lot of rot underneath.

Both of these things are, in their own way, true. Twenty-first century America is richer, freer and safer than any large nation or empire at any time in human history. We’re bursting with innovation and growth. But it's also true that a great deal is falling to pieces.

Our culture is frayed, our institutions are weak and civic virtue is hard to find. Decency has often been replaced with cruelty, abetted by the indispensable tools of the cruel: cynicism and irony.

California Gov. Gavin Newsom is winning both cheers and jeers for his embrace of Trumpian trolling as his state prepares its counterstrike against Texas Republicans’ audacious mid-decade gerrymandering. And what is trolling but cynical irony?

This is my political theory of the Pumpkin Spice Latte. When Starbucks rolls out its autumn drink, the company won’t care if you post about it ironically because you’re making fun of the ‘basic” or if you are a sincere, Stanley-toting, athleisure enthusiast who can’t wait to tell her besties how much you heart-hands-emoji LOVE a PSL. You may not even know whether you’re being ironic or not when you post your first sip, but could always tell yourself you were actually trolling and not being cringe if it starts to feel icky. You can choose after the fact whether you’re being on trend or if other people just didn’t get the joke.

And that’s all cool with Starbucks. Your money and engagement are worth exactly the same, whatever your intention.

Is Newsom being patriotic in this post, or is he making fun of Trump-style jingoism? It’s got the screaming eagle sound that ‘Murica lovers on the right use to connote their own maybe ironic expressions of patriotism juxtaposed with gangster rap, but it also highlights the amber waves and purple mountains majesty in his state. Based? Cringe? Who knows, but if you don’t like the sincere patriotism, just call it a joke.

Trump is, of course, the master of Pumpkin Spice Latte politics. At any moment, Trump may be serious or just owning the libs. He can decide after the fact. It starts as a joke, then it's the old “seriously but not literally” rope-a-dope, and then “promises made, promises kept.” From irony to strategy to reality. A third term? Annexing Canada? Deploying troops in other cities? We’ll see what happens.

When Trump supporters say he “tells it like it is,” they’re only talking about the stuff they like and agree with. The rest can just be trolling or joking: post-facto situational sincerity.

There are some obvious problems with memefied public discourse, particularly as it relates to accountability. If cynicism has become not only condoned but essential, how are we supposed to know when to roll our eyes and when to actually become concerned? Newsom’s critics certainly don’t get the joke, but can his supporters be sure going forward which part is sincere and which part is just kayfabe?

We can blame the perils of online discourse for some of this dumber, meaner version of politics. In a river of decontextualized content, doing it for the lolz is a safer bet then trying to marshal a sincere argument. But it wasn’t technology that made us this way. The things we don’t like about social media are typically the parts of the platforms that best reflect the worst parts of our nature.

In the 1990s, American politics were consumed by a profound seriousness, what then-first lady Hillary Clinton called the "politics of meaning." The politically correct fun police of the American left of that era were a backlash against the wild era of hippies and yippies in which Baby Boomers like the Clintons had come of age. How can you joke about things when there’s a hole in the ozone?

While Rush Limbaugh and others on the right presented themselves as the new merry pranksters taking on the dour, earth-toned liberal order, deadly seriousness was hardly the sole province of the political left.

James Dobson died this week at age 89, but his political moment died long before him. Dobson’s Focus on the Family didn’t have the same sizzle as Limbaugh’s radio show, but it drew similarly large audiences, and still boasts more than 6 million listeners daily.

The Colorado-based evangelist became a lightning rod at the beginning of this century in the debate over gay marriage, but for the first two decades of his project, his was a quiet kind of outreach: wholesome, mild in tone and always, always earnest. He certainly encouraged his followers to be civically and politically engaged, but he was no Pat Robertson or Jerry Falwell.

Now, even those two seem mild in comparison to much of what........

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