From Flannel Shirts to Sideline Reporters: Celebrity, Pols, and the Ballot Box

In less than two weeks, this never-ending election campaign season will end. 

As someone who consumes political news like I drink cups of coffee in the morning, I decided long ago who would get my vote. Ads and flyers are wasted on me. But special interests invest so much money to buy space on the airwaves, the interwebs, and in mailers for one reason. Name Recognition. 

Campaign lawn signs, swag, and mailers reserve the largest, boldest font for the candidate's last name. For a serious candidate, especially when challenging an incumbent, name recognition is a candidate's single most critical asset. They don’t need to know diddly squat about how government works as long as their name is well known.

In local races—such as county commissioner, school board, city council, or state house representative—voters fill out the ballot having sparse information about the candidates.

When voters see a list of unfamiliar names on a non-partisan ballot or a lesser-known legislative race, they rely on mental shortcuts. A familiar name—whether from a lawn sign, a local business, years of community involvement, or a family legacy—instinctively creates more legitimacy than a stranger. Studies of voter behavior show that people are more likely to vote for a name they recognize, even if they cannot remember why they recognize it. Perhaps it was on a poster at the Post Office.

Party affiliation provides a baseline of votes, but name recognition captures swing voters, ticket-splitters, and independents. 

When I ran as the DFL-endorsed candidate in District 41A for the state legislature, I was idealistic and naive. My name recognition was about zero at the start. In addition, the DFL index, the district's historical score of affirmative votes for DFL candidates, was around 25%. With my lack of name recognition and a DFL endorsement in hand, the Republican candidate had a relatively easy path to victory, with expectations of up to three-quarters of the vote. Add that she was a long-time school board member, so her name recognition was relatively high, and my candidacy was doomed. I took some satisfaction in getting 34.1% of the vote in the general election, beating the index by almost 10%, and I learned a lot about not stepping on my own necktie when running for office.

In smaller communities like those along the North Shore, name recognition is built differently. In small towns, name recognition is about social networks. Being known as a trusted local small-business owner, a civic volunteer, a former coach, or part of a multi-generational family name carries far more weight than lawn signs and paid mailers. Local newspapers, radio stations, and civic groups are the main channels for building name recognition. 

Donors and local PACs prefer to back candidates who feel "viable." High early name recognition signals to supporters that the candidate won't have to spend half their budget just introducing themselves. Local groups and retiring elected officials are much more comfortable endorsing someone with a solid community reputation. It's also far easier to recruit volunteers to knock on doors, put up lawn signs, or make phone calls for a candidate whose name already means something to them.

Positive name recognition means voters feel okay casting their vote for you. As a candidate, you could be incompetent or a crook, but your opponent with no name recognition will likely lose.

On the other hand, high name recognition driven by local controversy, past legal issues, unpopular votes, or partisan polarization can create an "electoral ceiling" that a candidate can rarely overcome.

The pillow guy, Mike Lindell, can tell you that name recognition doesn’t automatically put you on top in an election contest. He blames evil manipulation rather than the negative recognition he’s received since he went from peddling pillows to promoting conspiracy theories. 

On the other hand, name recognition has vaulted several popular Minnesotans to public office. In 1978, Rudy Boschwitz, owner of Plywood Minnesota, a chain of building supply stores, was elected to the U.S. Senate, where he served two terms. In his plaid flannel shirts, he appeared in every television commercial for his stores, and there were many.

Rod Grams first ran for office and won in 1992. He was the longtime news anchor of KMSP-TV in Minneapolis in the 1980s. He had great name recognition. 

And who will ever forget the electoral success and troubled tenure of Governor Jesse “The Body” Ventura, who enjoyed 100% name recognition as a professional grappler. Not known for his political or policy chops, he still beat two traditional politicians with strong name recognition: Skip Humphrey, Hubert's son, and Norm Coleman, the former DFLer and sitting mayor of St. Paul.   

On name recognition alone, I’m curious to see whether Michelle Tafoya, the well-known sideline soundbite slinger on televised NFL football games, whose political and policy chops are more Jesse than Skip, can pull off an upset against a sitting Lieutenant Governor.