From Boris Johnson to Bernie Sanders: why politicians seem most weird when they’re trying to be normal

It’s weird when politicians pretend they are normal people. Boris Johnson’s deranged, seemingly free-associated answer to the question “What do you do to relax?” – making and painting model buses out of wooden wine boxes, of course! – is obviously a case in point. But he is by no means the only offender.

These questions are a minefield. All that politicians want is to maximise their potential voter base by appearing relatable. That’s why Gordon Brown inexplicably declared his love for Arctic Monkeys in 2006. It’s why Theresa May decided trespassing in wheat was the most unconscionable thing she had ever done. It’s why Hillary Clinton invoked Pokémon Go in talking about jobs creation.

And it’s why Bill de Blasio just shared screenshots of a WhatsApp conversation with his teenage son, Dante, ostensibly about how to prepare for a debate, that reads as if it was focus-grouped by androids.

“Dante,” De Blasio wrote, “the debate’s coming up. I’m preparing intensely, but I must admit I’m a little nervous. What advice do you have for me?” Five minutes later, his son replied: “Thanks Dad, I’m glad you asked”, before hitting a number of perfunctory millennial reference beats. He mentioned Tinder. He mentioned dogs. He used the word “adorbs”. The exchange aimed for “I am relatable”, but ended up hitting “I fathered an Amazon Alexa”.

But what is the alternative? Honesty? Hardly. Last week, the New York Times asked every Democratic presidential candidate about their favourite campaign-trail comfort food, and the results were fascinating. Until recently, you could answer “hamburger” and bask in the glow of your down-home all-American credentials – but the sitting president used to advertise McDonald’s, so that’s thrown a spanner in the works. Instead, Marianne Williamson fritzed out and told the truth, declaring: “I have no comfort food,” and now she’ll never be president. At least Bernie Sanders couched his response in basic relatability: “There’s too much comfort food,” he said, explaining that he does not know when to stop and ends up putting on weight.

Telling the truth can be disastrous. If Johnson had answered honestly and said: “I have no interests because my entire life consists of the hollow pursuit of nakedly carnivorous power”, his leadership campaign would be over. Instead, he described the nation’s favourite hobby: painting happy passengers, on wonderful buses, made from wooden crates – and he’ll be prime minister.