You walk into The Ned, the Washington members club across the street from the White House, and take the elevator to the 10th floor. You walk through the dining room, which is called “the library,” though no one is reading more than a cocktail menu, and down a hallway until you hit an unmarked door. Through that is a private room, accessible only to so-called founding members who have paid $150,000 for the privilege. You sit down at one of a few dozen tables where a golden plaque has been placed with your name on it.

You can almost see into the White House from the room’s south-facing windows. There’s a martini bar and steaks shipped in from Taylor Sheridan’s Four Sixes Ranch in Texas. You might spot Jeff Miller, the veteran Republican fundraiser, or Heather Podesta, the powerhouse lobbyist, or Howard Lutnick, Trump’s Commerce Secretary. Here you’re closed off from the plebeians, but that might not save you from well-heeled climbers. One diner recalled a recent horror show wherein Senator Chris Coons was repeatedly approached by Ajay Banga, the head of the World Bank, who wanted to bend his ear in the middle of dinner. “There’s a lot of access in that room,” the diner said, their tone lowering in disapproval. “But you really aren’t supposed to table-hop.”

Further up the food chain, no venue provides better access than Executive Branch. The Georgetown members club launched by Donald Trump Jr. and his business partner Omeed Malik, the financier and founder of 1789 Capital, costs up to $500,000 to join. It boasts a moneyed crowd: David Sacks and the Winklevoss twins are founding members and are often seen there mingling with Trump administration officials. The regular membership runs $250,000, while a special offer for government officials is a relative pittance at $15,000. The draw of Executive Branch is not just proximity to the MAGA powerful but a steep barrier to entry that ensures far more privacy than the alternatives. Wiles, Trump’s discreet chief of staff, recently celebrated her 69th birthday in the club’s subterranean rooms.

Executive Branch members scoff at those strivers relegated to The Ned, which they dismiss as little more than a tarted-up Soho House. “I can’t go to the fucking Ned. I would get mobbed,” says one famed Trumpworld figure. The club doesn’t allow journalists to join and counts just two lobbyists as members: Jeff Miller, of course, and Ches McDowell, the swaggering lobbyist who’s close with Don Jr. (Miller and McDowell declined to comment.) One member of both clubs pointed out a crucial distinction between them: the caliber of government officials throwing hands at each. “At Executive Branch, fights happen between Scott Bessent and Bill Pulte,” the member said, referring to the famous bust-up between the two Trump officials last year. “It’s top-tier people. And then at Ned’s Club, it’s like Kari Lake fighting a fucking clerk for Ketanji Brown Jackson,” he joked.

Unlike the staid and sober Republicans of yore, the MAGA set likes to party, and a number of big-name artists—50 Cent, Timbaland, and Akon—have performed at Executive Branch. These bashes are attended by the most important members of the administration. “The parties are wild,” says a club member who’s never missed a show. “You have Nelly and Ja Rule and 50 Cent performing, and Dr. Oz and his wife ripping it up on the dance floor. Imagine being 50 Cent and looking out into the crowd and you see the attorney general, Todd Blanche, dancing?”

The Watches

It’s not just custom Rolexes. The wealth that pervades Trump’s Washington has generally made for flashier wrists. The tone is typically set at the top, and past presidents have sought discreet timepieces to assure voters of their Everyman bona fides. George W. Bush famously wore a $50 Timex, and Barack Obama alternated between a humble Jorg Gray gifted to him by his Secret Service detail and a TAG Heuer available for the price of dinner at The Ned.

The ice on display in Trump’s Washington makes Obama’s TAG look like a poverty signifier. For those unable to score a White House special, Audemars Piguets and Patek Philippes are respected alternatives. Over a drink at The Ned, I recently marveled at the Royal Oak glinting from beneath the cuff of a 20-something operative.

Witkoff, the billionaire real estate magnate now serving as Trump’s special envoy, boasts the flashiest collection in town. He’s been known to wear a rose gold Patek Nautilus, a Rolex Daytona with a Tiffany dial, and an Audemars Piguet Tourbillon. Each can fetch north of $100,000, but other collections aren’t too shabby either: Wiles typically sports a diamond-encrusted Rolex Datejust, while White House communications director Steven Cheung, in a nod to his West Wing nickname, wears a Rolex Daytona Panda.

The Transport

In Wolfe’s reporting on Kennedy’s Washington, he found the Lincoln Town Car had replaced the Cadillac as the vehicle for heavy hitters. Today, Uber has democratized the limousine. When low-level West Wing staffers can hail a Suburban for $30, the black car loses its luster. Now, the private jet is the chariot of choice for the Washington elite. “You’ve got to have a G450 or Challenger 300,” says one lobbyist. “Lower than that and you’re kind of a loser.”

But even more coveted is the port of arrival. Dulles, the Virginia airport 45 minutes from Washington, is one of the busiest in the country for private jet travel. Reagan, less than five miles from the capital, is far more convenient, but since 9/11 the flow of private traffic there has been restricted. It requires a waiver and the presence of an armed security officer on every flight, which means arriving there is a perk only the most powerful in Washington enjoy. Some civilian jet-setters who don’t travel with security as a matter of routine opt to go through Manassas, a small regional airport an hour outside Washington. Both options offer a more pampered experience than Dulles, with the not insignificant benefit of ensuring you never encounter the grime and clutter of the American masses.

The Trinkets

Louis XIV, the imperial French leader who called himself “The Sun King,” was known to hand out miniature portraits of himself, framed by diamonds, as marks of royal favor. Similarly, small tokens of Trump’s fleeting affection are highly coveted.

Thankfully, the White House doles out all manner of trinkets to excited visitors. The Oval Office study has even been converted into a miniature gift shop, replete with MAGA hats promising “Trump 2028” and boxes of M&M’s bearing the presidential seal. (Trump refers to this as “the Monica Lewinsky room,” given rumors it once hosted an infamous tryst.) The president himself hands out White House “challenge coins,” which are small medallions made for each government agency, though Trump’s are distinct in one way. “They typically fit in the palm of your hand,” explains a Republican strategist. “His is enormous. It’s like a small frisbee.”

Perhaps the most prized gift of all could be spotted peeking out from beneath the suit worn by Eric Trump at Lindsey Graham’s funeral: red cuff links with the presidential seal in gold, embossed with Trump’s signature on the back. “Those are fucking status symbols,” says the strategist. “Because they come straight from the president himself.” The cuff links are handed out to a select few, because the red pair denotes true admiration. Sir Keir Starmer, then prime minister of the United Kingdom, was shafted with a comparatively pedestrian silver pair.

These tokens marketing one’s proximity to the president blanket the offices of MAGA lobbyists on K Street. Walls are covered in signed pictures with Trump and other assorted MAGA-phernalia. “Twenty years ago, people had ‘Me walls,’ which are walls of photos of ‘Me with this president,’ ‘Me with the Speaker,’ ‘Me with the Secretary of State,’” explains one longtime Washingtonian. “Now they have Trump walls”—full-on MAGA frescoes honoring the president and establishing whatever tenuous connection they have to him. This kind of political decorating can get silly: A close friend of the Trump family joked about how many offices are now filled with signed hats and pictures with the president from fundraisers, “even though Trump couldn’t pick you out of a police lineup.”

The Fashion

Gone are the Men’s Wearhouse suits and J.Crew dresses that once defined style in the capital. The MAGA set is all flash. Men and women alike wear Gucci horsebit loafers. You trip over them at the White House. Women have been “upping their game” in this second term, says publicist Vanessa Santos, a trend she credits to first lady Melania Trump and Margo Martin, the Trump adviser who posts glamorous shots of her power suits and Chanel shoes on Instagram. The new Republican dames are partial to red-bottom Louboutins and Farm Rio dresses, channeling the glammed-up styles of Fox News.

The makeup artist of choice is Adrienne Gray. A self-styled “right-wing glam girl,” she’s a regular presence at the White House, slathering the faces of the West Wing in thick coats of makeup. “I know the clean girl look is in, kitten heels are in,” she tells Vanity Fair, referring to the demure style currently popular in Los Angeles and New York, “but here girls want stilettos and full glam.” Gray befriended Karoline Leavitt after meeting her at Trump National, and after posting pictures of makeup she’d done for friends on Instagram, she says Leavitt called to ask her to come and do her makeup for the White House Correspondents’ Dinner. Two days later, she got a call from Lara Trump, the president’s daughter-in-law, seeking her services for a state dinner.

And of course it’s boom times for plastic surgery in the capital—both men and women included—though most fly down to Florida for their procedures. They’ve been emboldened in their hunt for nipped, tucked, and blown-up beauty by the DC gold rush. The longtime Washingtonian recalls a recent encounter with a top lobbyist who had a facelift some years ago. When she arrived, she was shocked to discover the lobbyist’s deputy now also has a facelift, marveling, “Business must be good!”