Why Kamala Harris lost: Endorsements from celebrities like Beyoncé and Taylor Swift do not make a candidate seem more real, it turns out.

One of my favorite pieces of memorabilia from the 2004 election (yes, the one two decades ago, not last week) is a compilation CD put out by Barsuk Records, an indie label based in Seattle. It was called Future Soundtrack for America, and it contained a hodgepodge of covers, alt versions, and unreleased tracks from an array of artists. There was Jimmy Eat World (covering "Game of Pricks" by Guided by Voices), Blink-182 (a remix of "I Miss You"), and Laura Cantrell (covering John Prine's "Sam Stone"). Death Cab for Cutie put the unreleased track "This Temporary Life" on there. The whole thing was a benefit for Music for America, an erstwhile and earnest nonprofit that raised money to support progressive causes, and MoveOn.org , of petitioning fame. It was a good album. I still listen to it.

Here is one thing I didn't like that same election cycle, though: the "Vote for Change" tour. This was a multicity blast in October of that year, featuring everyone from Bruce Springsteen to Babyface, Pearl Jam to Bonnie Raitt. The goal was to get the people who attended to vote for John Kerry over George W. Bush. They hit a bunch of swing states—some of which went for Bush, some of which went for Kerry—but ended at the Meadowlands, just outside New York City.

I did not attend. As much as I loved my little compilation CD, and my Death Cab T-shirt ("We have the facts and we're voting," a reference to the band's second studio album), I found the entire premise of the tour to be cringe, even if we didn't use that word 20 years ago. (Maybe we said it was cringeworthy?) The idea that celebrities could somehow use their cultural power to get fans to vote for certain candidates struck me as ridiculous at best, and snobby and condescending at worst.

That's how I felt throughout September, as folks waited for Taylor Swift to Instagram her endorsement; as we waited to see if Beyoncé was "in" and possibly performing at the Democratic National Convention; as Bruce Springsteen, our icon of American essence, showed up for Kamala Harris too. As these insanely famous people—one of them literally referred to as a queen—appeared during elaborate (and expensive) Harris events, I kept wondering: why?

What is the value of a celebrity endorsement? The concept is overall already dated. We have Ryan Reynolds still hawking his cellphone company on every podcast, and George Clooney still pushing his tequila (which I actually like!) from the windows of our liquor stores, but the days of a celebrity face equaling trust in a brand—let alone a person—are long in the past. Parasocial relationships are the way we relate to the famous now; their social feeds mingle with our friends and family until they all seem sorta like the same thing. Sure, you might have a passing curiosity about the candidate some celeb is voting for. But chances are you already know whom they're voting for—and even more, as our culture is polarized alongside our politics, you probably approve.

But to make matters worse, presidential endorsements generally don't work. This cycle, we've all had to acknowledge that newspaper endorsements seem to be ineffective at persuading people to vote for a specific presidential candidate anyway (despite the fact that they should not be nixed by billionaire owners). We have to accept the same about celebrity endorsements too. Maybe we can even start to throw out the idea that any "cool" factor is an illusion. In fact, before this race even ended up in the dreadful place it did, I was finding the celebrity alliances off-putting. However much fun the Harris faithful were having inside the arenas, the view from the outside was dark. At a moment when Americans—even well-off ones—are struggling to pay rents and mortgages, Harris was appearing with artists so famous most fans can no longer afford to buy a ticket to see them perform. The downside to these events seemed much clearer to me than the potential upside, the distance between the Democratic candidate for president and everyday Americans wider than ever.

You might think I hate joy. I do not hate joy. In 2004 I went to an election night party at Crobar, a terrible nightclub on the west side of Manhattan, because it seemed like a fun way to while away time as we waited for the polls to close. (It was not, and I stayed only an hour, but I tried.) In 2008 I joined a parade down my street in Brooklyn to celebrate Obama's election. (Let's be real: He was the celebrity of his campaign.) Over the past few years, I've become more joy-averse when it comes to politics (haven't we all!). But this isn't really about joy or fun—it's about the fact that we are all sick to death of being influenced toward every single purchase and belief in our lives, and politics is no exception. I want to vote for someone because I like them and their ideas, not because my favorite artist does.

As the celebrities showed up more and more, I got a sinking feeling: This is sending the wrong message, if it's sending any message at all. So, as the postmortems are rolling out about how much producing these celebrity-studded events cost, I must beg the future Democratic candidate for president in 2028: Please do not have a "celebrity" pillar of your campaign strategy. It's expensive, ineffective, and hollow. Sure, do SNL, the podcasts, the interviews—show us who you are. But leave Taylor Swift—or Sabrina Carpenter or Chappell Roan or whatever next star has taken over our Spotify feeds—out of it. Their star power will only cast a shadow over your campaign.