Channeling “Patio Man”
David Brooks, the New York Times’ resident armchair anthropologist, today revisited his American caricature, er, archetype, Patio Man:
For all the talk of plumbers and investment bankers, populists and elitists, Patio Man is still at the epicenter of national politics. He is the quintessential suburban American, the service economy worker, the guy who wears khakis to work each day, with the security badge on the belt clip around his waist.
He lives in northern Virginia, along the I-4 corridor near Orlando, Fla., in or near Columbus, Ohio, along the Front Range of Colorado, in the converging megalopolis between Albuquerque and Santa Fe and in many other places…
If you wanted to pick words to capture Patio Man’s political ideals, they would be responsibility, respectability and order. Patio Man moved to his home because he wanted an orderly place where he could raise his kids. His ideal neighborhood is Mayberry with BlackBerries.
David doesn’t give data, so I assume Patio Man is a composite of impressions gathered from extensive personal contacts in a broad range of places. Since I visit my native Northern Virginia often and have spent the year traveling to suburban areas of Ohio, Colorado, Missouri and Pennsylvania, I’ll grant myself the same license.
(Note: David doesn’t go into detail about Patio Woman, so I will leave her alone for now.)
Patio Land is megachurch country. Some of the nation’s highest-profile congregations and church networks are in Patio Man’s exurban habitat, where The Purpose Driven Life sells like hotcakes. Patio Man may or may not go to a large, contemporary “seeker-friendly” church, but some of his co-workers and neighbors do — and they probably invite him. In Patio Man’s world of new neighbors, new-ish subdivisions, and long commutes, megachurches are one of the few anchors of community. I can’t say Patio Man is an evangelical, but evangelicals are influential in his world. They’re in his neighborhood, his county government and school board, and all over his radio dial.
Patio Man is genuinely and justifiably anxious right now. HIs home and modest retirement portfolio have depreciated precipitiously, gas prices have made his commute as expensive as his utilities, and the interest rates on his credit cards have doubled. Patio Man’s budget is a lot tighter than it was 3 or 4 years ago, and he knows it’s not all his fault. Everyone’s talking about the strain: Patio Family, Patio Friend, Patio Pastor, Patio Politician, Patio Pundit. Meanwhile, other issues like the war, the environment and abortion have not disappeared, even if they’re out of the headlines.
It’s election time, and Patio Man is going to vote, but he won’t be taking marching orders on one or two issues, and he won’t be weighing discreet and competing categories like “moral values” versus “the economy” or “national security” versus “the role of government.” Like most everyone else, Patio Man is filling out a ballot, not a scorecard. Like most everyone else, he’ll votes his ideals and his anxieties, his issues and his values. Hopefully he won’t be spun as a “values voter” or a “checkbook voter” or some other clumsy category. On Nov 4 and after, it’ll be important to ask the right questions so we don’t end up with some distortive caricature like we did in 2004. “Patio Man” is stereotype enough; I don’t want to hear about the Patio Voter. So media folks, if you’re listening, take a hard look at your exit- and post-election poll questions before it’s too late.