From Progressive to Red-Pilled: A Personal Journey Through Bari Weiss's Influence
I first encountered Bari Weiss's distinctive voice in November 2024, just one week after the tumultuous U.S. presidential election. A close friend had forwarded me an episode of Weiss's popular podcast Honestly, and with considerable skepticism, I inserted my AirPods while completing household chores. "She explains exactly why Trump won," my friend had texted. "It might actually make you feel better." As someone who had identified as a progressive throughout my entire life, I approached this recommendation with deep wariness. Yet, I desperately wanted to feel better because I felt absolutely terrible. The conditions were perfectly ripe for an escape. Perhaps, I wondered, this could be my pill?
The Allure of Political Disengagement
How does one become red-pilled? I now believe this is not the correct question. Nobody is forcibly administered red pills. We choose to take them. The real inquiry is why we make that choice. Being red-pilled represents a profound awakening that pulls individuals away from liberal values toward conservatism, far-right ideologies, or even conspiracy theories. I never anticipated this happening to me.
My liberal roots run deep. I vividly remember my parents lamenting George W. Bush's election over drinks on a neighbor's patio in 2000 when I was just seven years old, their words etching themselves permanently into my consciousness. In high school, I naturally embraced feminism at a prestigious Chicago private school where I was a faculty kid. We girls anxiously monitored our appearances in American Apparel bodycon dresses, while boys rated us numerically. I recognized these behaviors weren't innate—they emerged from societal and cultural structures, what we called the patriarchy.
As one of only three girls in my AP U.S. history class, I delighted in challenging my male classmates, those golden boys destined for Princeton and Goldman Sachs. I envied their apparent certainty about bright futures. An independent study in feminist theory armed me with Simone de Beauvoir quotations that felt like arrows darkening the sky. The boys mockingly called me a "bra burner" while secretly respecting my audacity; the girls offered sympathetic glances. My fiery passion sometimes felt embarrassing, but I discovered that being young, attractive, and articulate offered protection from liberalism's perceived uncoolness.
Boulder's Political Ambivalence and Personal Searching
I relocated to Boulder, Colorado in 2018, where I still reside today. Here, political ambivalence seems to flow through the drinking water. Voting is frequently dismissed as participation in a corrupt system where both major parties appear equally flawed. Initially skeptical of this politically disengaged crowd, I found myself intrigued by their "it's-all-one" breeziness. I wondered what it might feel like to be happier and less agitated, like so many Boulder residents seemed. "I'll have what they're having," I thought during my first ecstatic dance class as fellow participants unleashed primal screams.
I embraced various healing modalities—therapy, meditation, prayer—that have provided tremendous support throughout my life. All these experiences connected directly to Bari Weiss. As the 2024 election approached, the progressive platform began feeling like an endless march toward doom: fascism, climate collapse, the erosion of hard-won civil rights. Everything felt horrifying, yet nobody around me seemed to care; caring too deeply about politics was decidedly uncool.
I argued passionately that Kamala Harris represented the best candidate, but my cheeks burned with self-consciousness. One friend told me I was "just a person who causes friction," and her words echoed through my mind like caution tape whenever I grew heated about MAGA politics. When Trump won, I felt utterly distraught. I began questioning everything: What purpose had all that anxiety and energy served? Where had it gotten any of us? I started wondering if my friend had been correct. How would it feel to be frictionless? The world had always suggested this was the superior approach, and I was beginning to believe—and crave—that perspective.
Discovering Bari Weiss's Podcast Universe
This was my emotional state when I pressed play on Weiss's episode titled "Why Trump Won." Her voice filled my ears: "If you were only watching cable news, you'd be shocked by this election's outcome," she asserted. "But if you were reading the Free Press, you probably weren't surprised." Her tone balanced coolness with urgency, professionalism with intimacy. Who was this woman? I wondered, feeling immediately charmed by her notorious charisma.
By the episode's conclusion, I felt as if a hundred-pound weight had lifted from my shoulders: "If this episode comforted you, maybe a little, if you woke up broken-hearted, then share it with your friends..." Swallowing a pill takes mere seconds, but reaching the point where I wanted it had taken years. I was Weiss's broken-hearted target audience, and I fell for her almost instantly. She seemed like me: skeptical of mainstream politicians, critical of ineffective Democrats, essentially seeking a third way for disaffected liberals.
Weiss wasn't some blustery commentator like Alex Jones or Joe Rogan. She was a former Wall Street Journal and New York Times editor—and a gay woman. She told me the left bore responsibility for our country's problems, and perhaps Trump's victory was actually beneficial. I followed her advice, sharing her podcast with everyone I knew. "Great listen," I texted my family group chat, feeling naughtily rebellious sending it to my NPR-loyal parents. They offered polite responses initially, but my subsequent evangelism met with silence.
My husband wasn't spared either. When I tried playing an episode during a car ride, he paused it after five minutes. "Pretty... Zionist, huh?" he remarked with raised eyebrows. I dismissed his concerns, riding a wave of good feelings and granting Weiss endless grace. I primarily engaged with her podcast rather than her Free Press newsletter, and I rarely felt embarrassed sharing her work. I actually believed myself enlightened—finally seeing through liberal nonsense and nobly engaging with opposing viewpoints.
The Exhaustion of Progressive Engagement
It's well-documented that progressive women experience profound exhaustion. We consume a daily deluge of horrors, and we care intensely. We're the demographic most likely to attend protests. We've been called the MAGA movement's punching bag. By the time I discovered Honestly, I was genuinely tired. I'd spent years canvassing, phone banking, brandishing megaphones at marches—activities that had started feeling like bailing out the Titanic with a teaspoon. I wanted relief, and Weiss provided it.
Her show became my preferred podcast, leaving both lightness and sedation in its wake, much like a glass of wine. This medium likely swayed me more rapidly toward her perspective. Research shows trust and intimacy develop quickly through podcasts, a phenomenon that meaningfully influenced the 2024 election. On a steady diet of Honestly, I noticed many life interactions becoming easier.
Discussing the election at a networking event, I remarked, "At least Trump stood for something. Kamala has no real platform," receiving approving nods from older men—as though Harris's impossible position justified electing a 79-year-old accused of being a serial sexual predator. For every issue tugging at my heart, Honestly offered tidy rebuttals that smoothed rough edges.
- The Gaza war represents a horrific humanitarian crisis? Actually, Weiss presented the famine as overhyped, featuring a sympathetic interview with a Mossad agent.
- Trump appears authoritarian? That's just Trump Derangement Syndrome, you silly New York Times-reading girl.
- Weiss argued that aspirations toward Harvard and Yale poison young minds, suggesting we should instead inculcate "love of family and country."
In a Free Press op-ed, she contended that DEI initiatives undermine higher education's central mission, writing "It's time to end DEI for good." Could my rigorous college education, despite intellectually diverse faculty and curricula, have brainwashed me with wokeism rather than teaching critical thinking? In "Why Trump Won," Weiss framed the 2024 election as the "NYT-MSNBC industrial complex" versus "the Tulsi Gabbard, Elon Musk, Joe Rogan renegade types," praising the latter as "dissidents from within the elite class." Perhaps these influential figures I viewed as dangerous were actually courageous mavericks?
The Gradual Unraveling and Return
I abandoned Pod Save America and Democracy Now. The more distaste I developed for my former progressive fervor, the less fiery I felt. I began drifting gently into that good night. I didn't immediately accept all Weiss's positions—some triggered faint alarm bells. But part of Honestly's appeal was its logical coherence. Progressive rhetoric can sound self-righteous. Democrats have appeared spineless and disorganized. With Weiss as my ally, I could condemn the entire mess as hopeless, and part of me desperately wanted her narrative to be true. Wouldn't reality be easier to stomach that way?
Conservative activist Christopher Rufo described the Free Press as "a beautiful off-ramp" for center-left Democrats, and that's precisely what it became for me. While many white women participate in progressive causes, we're also susceptible to what feminist theory terms vicarious power: gaining privilege through proximity to powerful men. White women have practiced this for centuries. Meanwhile, other marginalized groups, particularly Black women, consistently support progressive causes with politics rooted in intersectional understanding of oppression. So while white progressive women might feel exhausted, we possess the luxury of retreating into white privilege—and relationships with white men—whenever we choose.
I now recognize Weiss's maneuvers as straight from Phyllis Schlafly's playbook: disseminating conservative ideology to audiences, then accumulating power and money from wealthy men who benefit from her creations. Weiss once joked at a Federalist Society speech that it's acceptable if attendees don't believe her marriage should be legal "because we're all Americans who want lower taxes." Still, I initially missed these red flags. As journalist David Klion noted, "Trump could never operate in the kinds of spaces where Weiss has been able to flourish... Liberal institutions produced Bari Weiss." Liberal institutions produced me too, so it seemed we shared a common language—or at least she wanted me to believe we did.
Rediscovering Progressive Convictions
I'm uncertain whether it was her seemingly unconditional support for Israel, her deep dive on Los Angeles fires that never mentioned climate change, or her pandering CBS town hall with Erika Kirk, but eventually cracks appeared in Weiss's facade. Then I watched John Oliver's Last Week Tonight critique of Weiss and laughed cathartically. This is REAL! my intuition shouted. Like my early turn toward feminism, this realization felt less intellectual and more physical—my body orienting toward truth like a compass needle.
I asked myself: Where is North? Which direction points toward dignity, integrity, wholeness? What natural features surround me that match the map in my hands? Previously, I easily dismissed those I perceived as red-pilled, but my Bari Weiss experience taught me most people don't take the red pill because they're foolish. We're overstimulated, persuadable, illogical creatures. We reach for what appears to cure our ailments, and soon our brains become rewired.
When I swallowed Weiss's red pill, I was actually self-medicating my intolerance for current U.S. politics and my mind's desperate attempts to fix them. The competing thoughts of We're fucked and I'm not doing enough can wear anyone down. I've realized these patterns grow loudest when I spend excessive time on left-leaning social media, where dystopian clips leave me pessimistic and paralyzed. This represents another kind of pill—one that stimulates the nervous system with panic and outrage, rendering me just as ineffective as the red pill.
We possess numerous choices for staying informed about our country, from compulsive doomscrolling (which might only create the illusion of being informed) to intentionally selecting how and when we engage with news. Since distancing myself from Weiss, I've become more conscious about media consumption. I read and listen to NPR, BBC, and Pod Save America, but I strive to balance these with real-world action, connection, and value-checking.
- Another hot, dry January day in Colorado reminds me climate action matters.
- Seeing U.S. citizens gunned down in streets tells me justice matters.
- My heart breaks at photos of detained children, reminding me compassion matters.
Reflecting on the exhaustion that led me to Weiss's red pill, I now roll my eyes at the "pity party" (as my mother calls it) I threw for myself. You feel the modern feminist movement is bailing out the Titanic with a teaspoon? The suffrage movement required hundreds of years. So did Emancipation, Civil Rights, and queer rights. Indigenous people finally received legal protection for traditional ceremonies less than fifty years ago. Movements demand time, and their uncertainties or losses don't diminish their worthiness.
Furthermore, despite gains these groups have achieved, systemic oppression persists and, I believe, will only grow stronger and more dangerous for marginalized people—and consequently all of us—if the current administration has its way. The struggle for equality and equity continues unabated. These fights persist, and no matter how admittedly messy or disappointing the progressive movement's approach can sometimes appear, I want to participate. This requires maintaining faith, using my voice, and committing to action when possible—practices that prove far more stabilizing than any pill.
Moving Forward with Clearer Vision
I feel embarrassed and disappointed that Weiss deceived me. I now view her crusade as decidedly insidious and harmful, particularly given her increased power and visibility as CBS's editor-in-chief. At best, she's dedicated to driving wedges between centrists and progressives; at worst, she's spreading outright propaganda. While I occasionally enjoy reading Weiss critiques, I now want to focus energy on fortifying the movement she claims is broken. When I inevitably grow frustrated with progressive ideology, language, or strategies, I hope to voice concerns while keeping sight of the bigger picture.
When I want to throw up my hands and declare "We're screwed," I hope to remember who actually benefits from my apathy and despair—and what's at stake if we abandon the fight. The journey through Bari Weiss's influence taught me that political awakening works both ways, and that returning to one's core values often requires more courage than escaping them.
