We Got a Hot Mayor

Zohran Mamdani won. We seized the hot future that we deserve. And the uggos better be afraid.

Angelina Katsanis/AFP via Getty Images

Well hotties, we did it.

We, the hot people of New York City, listened to the call put out by this blog way back in May and officially elected a Hot Mayor: Zohran Mamdani. Not only that, our sexy socialist statesman whupped the ever living shit out of disgraced ex-governor and local grotesquerie Andrew Cuomo. It is so nice when ghouls get what they deserve.

We’ve all just learned an important lesson: hotness can triumph over being clapped. Because last night, hotness conquered all. By “all,” I mean the bizarre fixation on Israel in a U.S. mayoral race; the transparently desperate threats from the president of the country; a seemingly endless spigot of money from our most chicken-shit of moneyed interests; a torrent of outright racism; tedious nitpicking of familial nomenclature; and so much more. That is to say, hotness, in the form of Zohran Mamdani and the hot masses who just sent him to City Hall, vanquished the slow drip of dishonesty, hypocrisy, and sheer stupidity that has personally filled me with great spiritual pain these last several months.

That’s what’s great about electing a Hot Mayor. Instead of dwelling on all that ugliness, you can just think about the mayor-elect’s big liquid brown eyes, a triumphant conviction lighting them from within. Oh, and also dignity for all New Yorkers. Which is also very hot.

I have stated my politics of hotness before—that hotness attracts and animates, nurturing life; ugliness forecloses and diminishes, repelling life. And what we saw last night was hot as hell. In electing Zohran as mayor, we agreed to affirm our lives and the lives of others, to assert that we, all of us, are worthy of decency and respect—and of hotness. We, in our abiding babeliness, have taken our lives into our own hands, demanding what we have been taught to think is out of reach, or more insidiously, unrealistic. Well, do you know what else I didn’t consider realistic until a couple months ago? A real live Hot Mayor. A real live Hot Mayor who uncontestably won.

Because let’s not be coy here: This wasn’t a narrow victory. This was a runaway, comprehensive, nuclear-grade ass kicking. Voters turned out in numbers not seen since the 1960s to reject Andrew Cuomo’s version of the future—one of opportunism, bullying, dirty-dealing, and—as his puzzling, half-assed attempt at a campaign revealed—lazy entitlement. Cuomo was too scared of the people he claimed to want to work for that he didn’t even try to understand them—or the fact that they actually did not feel the way he did about being owed a mayorship. Well, now he knows beyond all doubt. Rather than give in to his slimy, sleazy, bigoted tactics, they were instead angry and insulted by his presumption and his indecency. And it is with great pleasure that I can say the generative power of that very reasonable anger has brought us this result: melting gargoyle and certified non-hottie Andrew Cuomo is not going to be New York City’s next mayor.

I will be honest with you, fellow hottie. I am not a ride-or-die New Yorker. I cannot tap those great deposits of blind love and loyalty for the city that are so richly present in you true believers, you my fellow city dwellers—I just live here and, someday, I will probably live somewhere else. But I felt it last night: a fugitive tickle in my stomach, a flutter in my heart that makes the shining copper of my block’s brick buildings at sunset more vivid and the rat screams less loud. And it wasn’t even just a natural reaction to the little stray hair that sometimes charmingly falls across our new mayor’s forehead. It’s a very fragile, very precious feeling. I felt lucky to be able to witness something rare and good take place.

I do not believe in New York supremacy; the world is much bigger and more interesting than that. But I am not insensitive to the fact that this could not happen quite the same way in any other American city. And more importantly, it did happen here. Together, over a million people beat back cynical swindling, habitual immiseration, and guileless gouging of the lives of regular working people. Instead, they endorsed a collective pursuit of hope, a common will for something better for our families and neighbors. Those of us who voted to elect Zohran Mamdani mayor agreed that a better world, driven by the needs of hotties everywhere.

That, my friends, my fellow bodacious ones, is textbook dreamy.

Last night, we seized the hot future that we deserve. It should scare the shit out of all those uggos who have gained power through cruelty and, in their complacency, have fooled themselves into thinking they’re not sinus-clearing levels of ass. Just think of the countless hotties across the country who, after this win, have no excuses about embracing not only their personal hotness but the astonishing hotness of others. And that actually, it is not silly or fantastical to think that uniting in our hotness is powerful—it is very, very powerful indeed.. Maybe appreciating the bright smile and dashing good looks of New York’s Hot Mayor will help lead us down that path.

As we wake up to a new and more hopeful day, I am struck by an urgent need to bang my fist on the table until the cutlery rattles and howl like a wolf. As my eyes telescope out of their sockets and I repeatedly bonk my head with a huge mallet, I would like to extend a respectful wowie zowie train whistle sound to the Hot Mayor—our Hot Mayor—Zohran Mamdani. I feel unprecedented hope with your win, and your wife is hot too.