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There might be a straightforward reason behind Donald Trump’s chilly stance towards Europe: he’s swayed by praise, and Europe offers him scarcely any. European leaders occasionally attempt to smooth things over with the notoriously thin-skinned Trump, yet their constituents don’t hide their disdain. In countries like France, Germany, and Spain, two-thirds of voters feel Trump’s presidency has made the world more dangerous. Europe, as a whole, isn’t one for excessive flattery.
Trump certainly picks up on this—just as he noticed the giant orange baby balloon during his London visit in 2019. His strategies seem tailor-made for retribution: imposing tariffs, eyeing Greenland, tearing up climate accords, and backpedaling on commitments in Gaza and Ukraine.
Europeans might be tempted to direct their frustration not just at Trump, but at the broader American landscape. It’s easy to leap from criticizing the president’s behavior to questioning the electorate that put him in office. This February, Canadian hockey spectators jeered at the US national anthem. The slogan “Make America Go Away” has even found its way onto baseball caps. Surprisingly, widespread anti-American sentiment has been relatively muted.
Reflect on the George W. Bush era, characterized by widespread American stereotypes. Back then, Americans were often typecast as overweight, ignorant, and arrogant. New Yorkers on international trips were held accountable for their administration’s actions. On the brink of the Iraq War, Europeans would joke about yogurt developing culture faster than Americans.
French President Jacques Chirac had a memorable foreign policy quip: “See what the Americans do and do the opposite. That way, I’m sure to be right.” The line was a crowd-pleaser, rolling in laughter. This period marked not just heightened anti-American terrorism, but also a surge in anti-imperialist movements across Latin America led by figures like Hugo Chávez and Evo Morales.
But in 2025, the landscape of anti-Americanism has shifted. Nationality-based jokes have lost their bite. Blaming citizens for their government’s failings has become passé, especially when many Americans abroad are likely disillusioned Democrats.
Today, platforms like Netflix and social media have tangled us all in a web of shared cultures. It’s hard to snub American culture when engaging with it daily. Paris residents converse freely in English; London boasts a surprising fan base for NFL teams. Observers like JD Vance and Pete Hegseth hint that Trump’s circle harbors more anti-European sentiment than Europeans do towards Americans.
Dissatisfied with Elon Musk’s X platform? Some have migrated to Bluesky, another California-based social network. While some Europeans shun Tesla, they’re open to other American-made cars. The sharpest documentaries scrutinizing Bush were American-made, just as critiques of Trump and Musk are likely to be.
From a diplomatic angle, the current climate doesn’t suit anti-Americanism. Trump has mended ties with staunchly anti-American administrations, notably Putin’s Russia, and occasionally extends olive branches to Venezuela. Europe craves American defense support, not its retreat.
Looking back at the Bush years teaches us that bad presidencies are fleeting. Five years after the Iraq invasion, Barack Obama’s election marked a new chapter. Equating America with Trump is like amputating a broken limb rather than allowing it to mend.
However, while it’s unfair to equate Americans solely with their leader, it’s equally faulty to entirely separate them. Trump represents a part of America that accepts certain harsh realities, like frequent mass shootings and a skewed political framework. The American cultural backdrop is so pervasive that it sometimes feels like our own—yet it isn’t, regardless of who holds the presidency.
As recently as last spring, under Joe Biden, half the populace in nations like Greece, Singapore, and Australia viewed the US unfavorably—with similar skepticism across Britain and Canada. Future polls will likely continue to reveal western disenchantment.
Many Europeans, Canadians, and others recognize the importance of defending our own values. Boycotting American products like Philadelphia cream cheese might offer a momentary catharsis, but most see that the contemporary climate demands far more than reflexive anti-Americanism.
Henry Mance serves as the FT’s chief features writer.
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