Among all the important and serious headlines about the former US president Donald Trump this week, one minor curiosity caught my eye involving the mulleted older rocker Rod Stewart.
In a recent interview with the lifestyle magazine Scottish Field, Stewart described how his wife, Penny Lancaster, banned him from hanging out with Trump. At the time, the two men had known each other for a while as neighbours in Palm Beach, Florida: Stewart would regularly attend Trump’s parties, occasionally even performing at his casinos. Stewart’s friends, meanwhile, got to play golf at Trump’s courses for free. All of it was enough for Stewart to describe Trump as a “dear friend” in 2018, despite admitting in the same breath that “his moral compass is way off”.
But at some point, Lancaster put an end to their relationship, severing the bromance because comments Trump had made about women were “a disgrace” (it’s hard to identify exactly which comments tipped her over the edge, because there are just so many). I like to imagine Stewart and Lancaster in their mansion, a confused-looking Rod slumped in one of the 14 ornate chairs they have around their giant dining table, while Penny sits with a notepad. “Priorities” it reads at the top of the page, as he watches her cross out the words “hot legs” and replace them with “creating an inclusive environment for women”.
But here’s my totally unverified, based-on-nothing theory. I submit that Lancaster didn’t ban Stewart from hanging out with Trump at all. Rather, this is a classic case of what I call “spousal cover”: saying your partner is keeping you from something or someone, rather than admitting you don’t care for it or them either.
In fairness, spousal cover is effective. I say this as someone who got married recently, though I imagine the principle holds for any long-term relationship. The first time I used it was accidental. Some religious preachers had knocked on the door. They had a young child with them, and not having the heart to slam the door, I listened for a while. Inevitably, they asked me if I’d come to a meeting and the words just slipped out: “Oh, my husband would not be happy with that.”
It was true. In fact, I don’t think anyone in my life would be happy about it, given how out of character it would be – though I’m sure none would stop me. But before I could think what to say next, the preachers said: “OK, we totally understand” and went on their way, all awkwardness and discomfort avoided.
Perhaps that is not so surprising, given the sanctity of marriage in many religions. But I have since used spousal cover in a whole host of situations. If anyone tries to sell me anything I don’t want, I just say: “My husband already has it.” It doesn’t matter if it’s a car, a blender or a bra – no one ever presses any further. I’m fairly certain he has used me as an excuse, too, to worm out of whatever mandatory fun is being pushed. I don’t mind; I consider it a major perk of a committed relationship. True love and shared bills are great, but what about having the ultimate “politely-decline-the-offer” card in your back pocket that never expires?
But spousal cover is a dangerous drug, and not good in the long term. It is by its nature old-fashioned, entrenching unhelpful stereotypes about ball-and-chains, hen-pecked men and the idea that one person wears the trousers. And often it’s a sign of weakness. It’s one thing to tell a white lie to preserve the happiness of someone harmless; it’s another not to stand up to someone actively harmful, especially if you do have a bit of influence with them.
I suspect Stewart is probably grateful for Lancaster’s intervention now a jury has branded Trump as not just your common-or-garden sleazebag but an actual sexual predator (not to mention the 37 felony counts he currently faces). So, if there is a lesson in this inconsequential side plot in the lives of the rich and famous, it is surely for Stewart himself – and anyone who remains friends with someone they suspect to be a creep. He may have once sung “I don’t want to talk about it”, but hopefully he now knows what we all should: that when it comes to standing up to bullies and the unconscionable, talking about it is our job.
Coco Khan is commissioning editor for Guardian B2B and a writer. She is co-host of the politics podcast Pod Save the UK
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