Am I Wrong About Chris Murphy— Or Does He Need To Be More Like David Byrne And Volodymyr Zelenskyy?

How About Beyoncé, Jacinda Ardern Or Winston Churchill?

I made my career in the music business where I learned what charisma was. When I was in college I was freshman class president and then chairman the Student Activities Board where I met a lot of musicians, many before they had released albums, like Jimi Hendrix, The Doors, Jackson Browne, and later Patti Smith, The Ramones, Blondie, Prince, Dolly Parton… And once I was working in the music industry for real, I was meeting artists with different levels of charisma everyday. When I retired and started spending my time in politics, it wasn’t that different. Some political figures had charisma galore and… some don’t.

In fact, charisma might be one of the last truly undemocratic requirements for a candidate. At its core, charisma is that magnetic, intangible quality that makes people pay attention. It’s not just charm or confidence—it’s the ability to draw people in, make them feel something, and leave a lasting impression. But what’s fascinating is how it plays out differently depending on the arena. In politics charisma often looks like vision + presence. Think of someone like Obama: his charisma wasn’t just his eloquence— it was his ability to make people feel seen, hopeful, and part of something larger. Even Trump, in a completely different way, commands a kind of dangerous charisma— rooted in transgression, dominance, and the illusion of authenticity. Charisma in politics is often tied to the projection of power, conviction, and connection. It makes voters believe: This person gets it. This person gets me.

In music it’s far more emotional and often more physical. A musician can hold a crowd with just a glance, a pause, or a phrase. Think Bowie or Prince, both of whom I met before they were famous but both of whom projected tremendous charisma even when they were just kids. Even if someone’s not conventionally attractive or “likable,” they can still be magnetic because of how they inhabit the stage, the room or the song.

Charisma— in both the entertainment and political arenas— often combines authenticity, a sense that someone is being real or vulnerable; confidenece (not arrogance, but certainty); emotional resonance which can make an audience feel something; an ability to shape narrative, whether it’s a campaign or a song; command— when they speak (or sing), people listen.

When people tell me Chris Murphy isn’t a natural candidate for president, most invariably bring up his charisma deficit. No one— at least in Democratic circles— can deny he’s substantive and serious and that he comes across as a decent person— and that should be enough. But in a culture addicted to personality and spectacle, it often isn’t.

I’ve noticed over the decades that sometimes a lack of charisma can be overcome with shtik (humor, catchphrases, quirks, gimmicks, even costumes) which can, at least partiaally, function as a substitute for charisma, or at least as a distraction from its absence. Think of someone like Bernie— he doesn’t have traditional charisma in the JFK or Obama sense, but his curmudgeonly consistency became a kind of endearing shtik that people connected with emotionally... and deeply.

Same with politicians like Hitler, Mussolini and Trump. Señor Trumpanzyy’s shtik is the persona: the bluster, the nicknames, the “I alone can fix it” bravado. People mistake that performance art for charisma, and in his case, it functions that way. Shtik works best when it feels authentic— when it’s an extension of the person, not a mask. But it’s also risky: if it feels forced, it can underscore the lack of charisma. Good looks can play a part, creating an initial attraction— especially in media-driven politics and entertainment— but charisma is deeper than aesthetics. It hasn’t, for example, helped Nikki Haley much, even though she’s photogenic and polished. I’ve never heard of her electrifying a crowd, not the way AOC can. That’s because what really matters is how someone carries themselves— posture, eye contact, vocal cadence, how present they feel. That’s where the real charisma lives.

At least in theory, Murphy can “learn” some degree of charisma— if he recognizes he needs to. Aside from top photographers and video makers, we used to hire someone at Warner Bros to help with that— media training we called it. Think of charisma like stage presence— it can be coached, practiced, improved. People can learn to control their voice (tone, pacing, pausing), use their body language more effectively, tell stories that resonate, tap into emotional authenticity. But the magic part— the instinctive emotional connection, the ability to light up a room without trying— that’s harder to teach. That’s where it starts feeling like some unfair blend of personality, wiring, and timing.

Some people— Clinton, Obama, even Reagan— just have it. Others can develop a functional version of it, enough to be effective. But very few can learn to be truly charismatic if it doesn't come naturally. 

Back to AOC for a minute— she’s a masterclass in modern charisma. She represents one of the clearest examples of how charisma has evolved in the social media age, blending authenticity, aesthetic savvy, and moral clarity into something that resonates far beyond traditional political structures. Her charisma starts with how real she feels. Whether she’s on Instagram Live cooking dinner while discussing policy, or passionately questioning Wall Street execs in Congress, she projects herself— not a manufactured persona. She makes people feel like they’re getting unfiltered access to someone who not only gets it but lives it. That authenticity is radically disarming, especially in a political world saturated with consultants, scripts, and safe answers.

Her messaging is emotionally precise, overflowing with that  moral clarity and emotional resonance we mentioned. She’s not just ideologically strong— she’s able to convey urgency, pain, empathy and righteous anger in ways that feel deeply personal and simultaneously universal. That emotional resonance is a major charisma amplifier, regardless of how much Fox News tries using her as a punching bag.

Let’s be real: the visual matters. AOC understands how to be seen. Whether it’s her red lipstick and hoops on the House floor, or her Met Gala statement dress (“Tax the Rich”), she leans into visual storytelling in a way that enhances her message— not distracts from it. This is controlled visibility, and it’s very powerful.

Charisma today isn't just about the room you're in— it's about the audience you're streaming to. AOC instinctively understands digital performance. She engages, she claps back, she educates— and she does it with fluency, humor, and savvy. Her platform isn’t just a mouthpiece; it’s a relationship engine. Think of her youthful idealism and generational connection. She embodies a generational shift. To many younger voters and activists, she feels like us, not them. Her charisma is tied to that generational bridge— she speaks a language (both literally and culturally) that makes her feel like the future, not the past. Murphy has been picking up on that this year. He needs to go deeper and further. He’s deeply deeply competent and morally serious, but his emotional transmission is muted. AOC makes conviction feel electric.

That’s why the smartest move Chris Murphy could make—should she’d agree to consider it—would be to ask her to join him on the ticket. She brings exactly what he lacks: cultural fluency, generational reach, and a natural, magnetic charisma that commands attention. Together, they’d be more than the sum of their parts— a pairing of brains and fire, policy depth and emotional resonance. He speaks to the head; she speaks to the heart (and the head if you’re paying attention). And in a political moment this volatile, Democrats can’t afford to leave either behind.