Special to USAfrica magazine (Houston) and USAfricaonline.com, the first Africa-owned, US-based newspaper published on the Internet.
Amarike Akpoke is a Contributing Analyst to USAfricaonline.com
In a stunning moment of ecclesiastical cosplay, U.S. President Donald J. Trump has anointed himself the Vicar of Mar-a-Lago, sharing an AI-generated image of himself dressed as the pope. It’s unclear whether this was an audition tape for the College of Cardinals or simply Trump’s latest exercise in self-beatification. Either way, the image, featuring the president in full pontifical glory with flowing white robes, a bedazzled mitre, and a crucifix more garish than sacred, has triggered a global reaction ranging from laughter to liturgical distress.
The digital papal portrait, which quickly ascended to the cyber-heavens of Truth Social before being resurrected on the White House’s official X account, portrays Trump as a spiritual shepherd. Unfortunately, it’s the kind of shepherd more likely to lead flocks off a cliff than toward salvation. One finger points heavenward, a gesture traditionally symbolizing divine guidance but, in Trump’s case, more likely signaling a request for the Wi-Fi password.
“I’d like to be pope, that would be my number one choice,” Trump quipped days earlier when asked about the next head of the Catholic Church. Humility, that foundational papal virtue, remains missing in action. It’s almost as if Trump imagines the conclave of cardinals meeting at Mar-a-Lago, casting ballots on golf carts, with Fox News as the official broadcaster of white smoke.
To be fair, Trump has long confused performance with piety. Here is a man who once mispronounced “Second Corinthians” as “Two Corinthians” and held a Bible upside down like a prop from a Broadway rehearsal. In donning papal vestments, digitally or otherwise, he has merely completed the holy trinity of Trumpism: self-deification, memeification, and monetization. One wouldn’t be surprised if Trump-branded holy water is next, sold in Trump Tower gift shops, blessed with “the best blessings, believe me.”
But perhaps this AI-enhanced joke carries a deeper satire: a caricature of how sacred institutions have become stage sets for populist performance. Trump’s pope cosplay is a sacrilegious selfie in an era where spiritual depth is often sacrificed on the altar of social media likes. It also plays to a base that doesn’t necessarily want a pope, but a prophet in a MAGA mitre, someone who walks on the waters of grievance and turns democracy into spectacle.
For the Vatican, already grappling with credibility challenges, Trump’s unsolicited candidacy for pontiff might feel like adding insult to incense. Imagine the papal conclave turned reality show: “Habemus Tweet!” The white smoke replaced by the orange glow of a fake tan. The papal balcony announcement delivered in all-caps: “THE BEST POPE, MAYBE EVER!”
Of course, the Catholic Church has survived worse. Indulgence scandals, Borgias, and even popes who died mid-mass. But nothing quite prepares one for Pope Donald the First, patron saint of golf handicaps and NDAs.
In the end, Trump’s AI-inspired papacy may be nothing more than a footnote in the Book of Bizarre. But it does pose a troubling question: when reality becomes a reality show, who gets to wear the robes, and who ends up worshipping the costume?
As Trump blesses his followers with virtual benedictions from the altar of Truth Social, one thing is certain: the road from Caesar to pontiff has never been shorter, or stranger.
