The desperate life of Carlos Danger

Here is where I call shenanigans. We all know that if Anthony Weiner was not a prominent national political personality, and was instead, say, an accountant from French Lick, Ms. Leathers would be running for the exits, hiding in the bathroom, or maybe even calling the police. She was attracted to power, pure and simple. (Well, that, and, it has been reported, the brilliant idea of a Chicago “sex den” condo to call her own.)

Weiner, in the back of his mind, almost certainly knew this—and like Bruce Banner, the poor, meek physicist who transforms into the Incredible Hulk during emotional duress, he created his Internet Self: lady-killer, rascal, suave sexual maestro. Predictably, many have accused Weiner of being abusive (Lisa Bloom at CNN), “disrespectful of women” (Nancy Pelosi), or attempting to “subjugate women” (Lena Dunham). But if anything, he’s an icon of not-so-quiet desperation. The women in his life are just going along for the ride…

But somebody like Weiner, craving constant adulation, could never accept being a nobody. Neither could his wife, Huma Abedin, who reportedly pushed for him to run for mayor after his embarrassing congressional resignation, posed for a gushy family profile in People magazine while her husband was still sexting, and is set to publish a “vote for Anthony” personal profile in September’s Harper’s Bazaar. And neither, it should be noted, could Sydney Leathers.

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