You Can’t Sit with Us: How Mean Girl Politics Fractured the Democratic Coalition

A Decade of Exclusion, Alienation, and the Rise of a New Political Majority

In the film Mean Girls Regina George’s Plastics ruled North Shore High with cliquish exclusion and performative morality—a blueprint for how the Democratic Party alienated working-class voters, minorities, men and the majority.

Because of the times we live in, it must be noted that not all Democratic women are Mean Girls. Most aren’t. But many, many mean girls are Democrats. And they are a loud minority. It should also be mentioned that their identification and focus in this essay do not negate or disregard the excesses of men, of which there are many. Insert your not-alls as you see fit.

Baz is a contributing writer on U.S. Politics. He can be found at the Split Ticket Substack

Politics, like high schools, thrives on tribal allegiances. But what happens when a political movement takes that literally and then confuses moral conviction with moral superiority? It becomes the modern Democratic Party, morphing into a Regina George regime—a clique of coastal elites, NGO activists, and hyper-educated professionals who police ideological purity with the vindictiveness of a teenage queen bee marked by a closed circuit of self-congratulatory gatekeepers more invested in scolding dissenters than winning converts. A decade-long project of exclusion left working-class men, Latino voters, and Gen Z rebels standing outside the cafeteria, lunch trays in hand.

Mean Girl politics—a blend of moral grandstanding, cliquish exclusion, and asymmetrical accountability—has metastasized into the Democratic Party’s operating system. But this isn’t politics—it’s pep rally governance, where loyalty to the clique trumps loyalty to the cause, reason, and, in many cases, common sense.

Enter Mean Girls

But just who are the mean girls? They are not just the childless cat ladies that J.D. Vance once lamented, or the unhappy brides of Kamala, or the Karens caught on video scolding minority teens. They are literary agents who insist on Kafkaesque standards to get a book deal, comedians and actresses who feign grievances to destroy others, and the educated elite who rose to power by leveraging institutions to spur their fascist tendencies, all while insisting on good manners. They are often between the ages of 20-45 and statistically have reaped the most from institutions as beneficiaries of affirmative action. They cut off family and friends for differing political opinions at the drop of a hat, citing issues of “safety-ism.”

Failure to obey her risks removal through a “You can’t sit with us” politick of moral grandstanding, cliquish exclusion, and asymmetrical accountability. With an uncanny lack of self-awareness & irony, the Mean Girls use Burn books to cancel those they do not agree with (or simply don’t prefer), assemble their own ‘Plastics Squads’ ensuring no one but they can have power (and shutting out viewpoints beyond coastal zip codes), and even stage talent shows (think Tiktok’s Brat Summer) to showcase their performative activism. The result isn’t progress—it’s secular Calvinism, where salvation (read: wokeness) is predestined, and the electorate is sorted into elect and reprobate.

Framing Dissent as Moral Failure or “You Can’t Sit with Us” Politick

The Mean Girls Coup—and its attendant institutional favoritism—was no accident. It mirrored what sociologist Peter Hall and Georgina Evans terms “cosmopolitan capture” a class that conflated moral purity with cultural fluency, gleefully weaponizing terms like “toxic masculinity” or “microaggressions” to gatekeep political participation. These tactics serve as deliberate methods of social control, rewarding elite women and a small cadre of (mostly gay) men. Across politics and pop culture, women who toe the ideological line get promoted, while everyone else gets purged or ignored.

The 2016 primary laid bare this ethos: the Democratic National Committee deployed superdelegates (party insiders) to tilt the primary toward Hillary Clinton despite the momentum of candidates like Bernie Sanders. The resultant hostility the DNC had towards Sanders, in particular, created an image of elitism and exclusion. Or consider the Democratic primaries in 2020, in which Elizabeth Warren framed her candidacy as corrective to systemic sexism. At a pivotal Iowa debate, she contrasted her electoral record with male rivals, declaring:

“The Only people in this stage who have won every single election…. Are the women: Amy [Klobuchar] and me.”

While factually true, this pivot reframed the race as a referendum on gender, not policy; media outlets, in turn, amplified this narrative, smearing Sander’s working-class supporters as sexist. That would not be the end of Sander's heresay; between 2016-20, Bernie Sanders and his supporters would be cast out as misogynists. There was even rhetorical vilification. Terms like "Bernie Bros" stereotyped Sanders’ supporters as intrinsically toxic, further alienating them and deepening intra-party divisions. When Warren, who notably has a history of challenges with the truth–ran for President in 2020, accused Sanders of sexism, alleging that Sanders told her in private (these things seem to almost happen exclusively in private when no one’s around) that a woman would never win the presidency. He was cast once again as a misogynist.

Simultaneously, a strain of feminist ideology within the party framed women’s advancement as a universal solution, sidelining all other groups' issues. Fast forward to 2024, Kamala Harris’ staff—predominately female from elite institutions—snubbed labor leaders like Teamsters president Sean O’Brien with a dismissive “We’ll win with or without you.”

The message was clear: You can’t sit with us.

The gambit failed spectacularly: Warren secured just 9% of non-college voters, a cohort Sanders dominated by 28 points. Kamala Harris would go on later to lose the election—the revelation apparently being that women also work jobs. But by prioritizing gender identity over class, Democrats narrowed their coalition to metro-professionals, abandoning the labor voters who delivered Trump victories in Michigan and Wisconsin.

This disdain for solidarity even metastasized into policy. While organizations like EMILY’s List and Time’s Up amplified the ideological narrative, media outlets prioritized “Lean In”-"-style gender discourse over class struggles, eroding labor-focused messaging. When Michigan hemorrhaged factory jobs and grappled with a Muslim population furious over Gaza, Harris launched a Reproductive Freedom Tour—prioritizing abortion rights over labor reform and foreign policy. The Teamsters, once a Democratic bulwark, declined to endorse her. “You Can’t Sit with Us!” advanced from a movie catchphrase to a fully operational political ethos—shutting out those who dare to question the party’s anointed standard-bearers, all while trading lunchpail solidarity for virtue performativity.

Mean Girls Online: Exile as Default

“Mean girls don’t argue; they exile.” — Rosalind Wiseman, author of Queen Bee, the book that inspired Mean Girls

The playbook for this pep rally style of governance didn’t emerge from thin air. Its roots trace to college campuses, where institutional capture nurtured a culture of moral absolutism. Universities normalized callout culture, teaching a generation to equate dissent with harm. Professors like Kathleen Stock and Bret Weinstein were hounded out at Evergreen College for questioning gender orthodoxy. At Southern Oregon University, a student was kicked from a Student Government race for questioning gender-neutral bathrooms—a move emblematic of a party that silences discussion rather than engaging it. All this while feminist scholarship paradoxically framed men as “patriarchs” even as male enrollment plummeted. This hypocrisy—preaching equity while practicing female favoritism (particularly for white women)—alienated dissenters, creating a pipeline of grievance that digital activists later weaponized.

Twitter mobs, lacking the accountability of face-to-face dialogue, became the new political battleground. Outrage is cost-free, context is optional, and removal from public discourse is permanent. The collapse of social capital Robert Putnam warned of in Bowling Alone played out in real-time, as digital politics replaced community debate with performative mobs.

Rosalind Wiseman’s observation that “mean girls don’t argue; they exile” applies not just to overt cancellations but to quieter forms of disengagement. In progressive spaces, even passive withdrawals of support—curating social circles, muting dissenters, or quietly sidelining allies deemed insufficiently “pure”—can replicate the exclusionary dynamics. This isn’t about bullying; it’s about how unspoken litmus tests and the conflation of disagreement with harm narrow the tent.

For instance, consider the tendency to label dissent as “problematic” or “unsafe” rather than engaging it. When influencers, institutions, or activists algorithmically exile “wrongthink” from their feeds—or worse, their real-world networks—they signal who belongs and who doesn’t. The result is a paradox: movements preaching inclusivity become insular, mistaking ideological homogeneity for solidarity.

The tension lies in the gap between intent and impact. Well-meaning progressives may disengage to avoid conflict or protect marginalized voices, but when dialogue is replaced with silent exile, it entrenches the very hierarchies it claims to dismantle.

Of course, the problem with all this is that in physical spaces, coexistence tempers extremism. At a dinner party, disagreeing with a guest over healthcare or pronouns requires nuance; you must confront their humanity. Online, quote-tweeting strangers into oblivion demands none of that. And neither does shunning people who might disagree with you. Tribalism rewards petty cruelty, not persuasion.

Burn Book Selective Accountability: Protecting the Clique

Behind the scenes, the Mean Girls’ machinery hums: Slack channels and WhatsApp groups—digital Plastics HQ—curate who’s worthy of a seat at the table. When their falter? A shrug, a whisper-network pardon. The same apparatus that cancels outsiders for “wrongthink” pivots to excusing insiders with the efficiency of a Beltway PR firm.

Consider Tara Reade, who accused Joe Biden of sexual assault in 2020. While major media publications did not outright dismiss the claims, their coverage often focused on the political implications for Biden rather than the merits of the allegations. Senator Al Franken, meanwhile, was forced to resign in 2017 over a decades-old gag photo after Senator Kirsten Gillibrand led his ousting. Oddly, Gillibrand stayed silent when New York Governor Andrew Cuomo faced far graver allegations in 2021, exposing the clique double standard.

Women who were guilty of assault were also protected. While predators like Harvey Weinstein—rightfully–faced justice, #MeToo icon Asia Argento retained her status after quietly settling a lawsuit alleging her assault of a minor actor. National media again underreported this scrutiny—a pattern of protecting insiders while shaming outsiders.

The same asymmetrical accountability applied to race. Black men are seven times more likely to face false sexual misconduct accusations than white peers, a disparity ignored by the #MeToo movement.

Cisgender, heterosexual minority men–predominantly black and Latinos– feeling unwelcome & recognizing the hypocrisy–fled the Democratic Party in droves. Many felt that having faced penalization for their race on the right; they now found themselves penalized for their gender in conjunction with their race on the Left. Many simply opted out, registering as independents or switching parties.

Shifts in Democratic Vote to Republican per Presidential Election by Race Source: Ryan James Girsudsky

But accountability à la carte isn’t a bug; it’s the ethos. Protect the clique, exile the skeptics, and cloak it all in the language of progress until you eventually get a moral ecosystem where survival hinges on proximity to power, not principle. Overall, the dynamic mirrors high school cliques: punish the outsider for glancing sideways but shield the friend caught in cruelty.

Exiled from the Cafeteria

Alienated by progressive purity spirals and gendered scorekeeping, young men & minorities increasingly flock to right-wing figures like Andrew Tate and Joe Rogan—not necessarily because they embrace conservative ideals, but because these spaces tolerate things like dissent, faith, & masculinity without exile. For those cast out of progressive circles, the Right’s “big tent” pragmatism (however cynical) feels less suffocating than a Left demanding perfect ideological fealty. A 2023 Teen Vogue poll found 61% of men aged 18–34 view Democrats as “actively hostile to masculinity,” conflating Mean Girl rhetoric with the entire Left. a perception amplified by moments like Rep. Jasmine Crockett dismissing men as “mediocre white boys.”

This isn’t just reactionary posturing; it’s a flight from movements that weaponize moral superiority to gatekeep belonging. While the right permits internal dissent (e.g., libertarians vs. evangelicals), progressive spaces increasingly conflate disagreement with harm. Democrats are almost five times as likely as Republicans to say they'll spend less time with certain family members because of their political views. When even private relationships hinge on ideological compliance, the Left’s coalition shrinks—and the Right’s swells with new members.

Herein lies the irony: Progressives claim to champion inclusivity yet replicate high school hierarchy. By gendering & dismissing “mediocre” (mediocre by the way is another word for average) grievances, figures like Crockett signal that average voters’ concerns—economic instability, cultural displacement—are unwelcome. They then manufacture a permission structure to ignore people’s issues—particularly those of white, working-class men, whom she needs to win elections.

As Obama once warned, when people feel the rug pulled out, they retreat to familiar touchstones: guns, religion, or reactionary influencers. Democrats’ insistence on labeling them “deplorables” only confirms their suspicion: The Left hates us.

The Grand Realignment

All of this is evident in actual voter data. Since 2012, once reliably blue states have witnessed a mass exodus from the Democratic rolls. Some voters switch to the GOP, while others simply go independent.

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez precinct flipped 25 points for Republicans, one of the most in America. Hispanic, Asian, and white voters in her district in 2020–not turned off by Tony Hinchcliffe jokes on Puerto Ricans–turned out with 34 points, and Harris got 65 points. And GOP support has grown 20 points in the past decade, making it one of the top 5 movements in the nation to the right.

Percentage of electorate supporting the GOP in Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’s 14th District, New York City

Pennsylvania’s Changing Coalition

Nowhere was this shift more striking than in Pennsylvania. 2012 Pennsylvania Democrats outnumbered Republicans by over a million (4.24 million vs. 3.11 million). By 2025, the Democrats sat at 3.81 million, while Republicans had climbed to 3.62 million—a near tie. Counties like Beaver and Cambria, once cornerstones of the Democratic base, flipped from substantial Democratic leads to Republican majorities. Traditionally tied to union jobs and known for their blue‐collar ethos, these counties show residents simply switching over to the GOP—while others drifted away from major‐party registration altogether, driving up the statewide total of Non‐Partisan or “Other” voters from ~1.1 million to over 1.4 million.

Nevada’s Surge in Non‐Partisans

A parallel trend unfolded in Nevada, where both major parties saw their shares decline. In 2012, Democrats held roughly 41% of the electorate and Republicans 37%, with Non‐Partisan/Others filling the remainder. By 2025, Democrats and Republicans hovered near 29%, while Non‐Partisan soared 34%. In Clark County (home to Las Vegas), a large share of minority and service‐sector voters once presumed reliable for Democrats simply became “No Party” instead of switching to the GOP.

Florida: The GOP Overtakes Democrats

Meanwhile, Florida witnessed a more direct exodus from the Democratic rolls to the GOP. In January 2016, Democrats held 4.53 million registrants versus 4.21 million Republicans—a lead of about 325,000. By January 2025, Republicans had soared to 5.64 million while Democrats dipped slightly to 4.46 million, flipping the margin by over 1.5 million. Throughout this period, No Party Affiliation rose from 2.91 million to 3.71 million, highlighting an influx of new “independent” voters and a defection by some Democrats who no longer felt a strong partisan bond. Zooming in on Miami‐Dade County reveals that while Democratic registration barely grew, the Republican count shot up by nearly 150,000, and No Party tallies climbed by over 100,000—shifting the landscape of a steadfast Democratic stronghold.

The surge in unaffiliated voters underscores a more profound disillusionment with partisanship itself. The Republican Party has capitalized on the Democrats’ implosion, particularly in battleground states like Nevada, Florida, and Pennsylvania. For the first time in decades, the GOP has more registered voters in Nevada than Democrats. In Pennsylvania, new Republican registrations are piling up each month.

Perhaps most astonishing about the Unaffiliated & Republican Party’s gains over the past four election cycles is that they have been organic, not bought—no billion-dollar ad blitzes, no astroturfed grassroots campaigns. Their coalition thrives on ticket-splitting voters, a hallmark of political realignment, where newcomers flirt with party loyalty while clinging to local Democratic incumbents they’ve known for decades, which aligns well with the notion in political science that voters who feel alienated from a party often disaffiliate before or instead of jumping to the opposite major part. This lines up well with research from political scientists like Morris P. Fiorina, who have long argued that when parties move away from voters’ policy preferences or identities, many voters “dealign,” ending up in the independent or unaffiliated category.

When Reagan and Nixon first cracked the Deep South (breaking a Democratic stronghold unshaken since Reconstruction), voters still backed familiar Dixiecrat faces like Strom Thurmond locally. Democrats now face a similar crossroads. If they cling to exclusionary “Mean Girls” politics, they risk losing not just one election cycle but an entire generation of voters. And if the Republicans reach the point where they receive the same share of working-class voters as Democrats were with black votes a Democrat could never win the White House again.

Historical Echoes & Future Risks

The political parallels are uncanny. In 1984, Ronald Reagan—a massively popular incumbent—cruised to a 49-state landslide, while Democrats, led by the hapless Walter Mondale, collapsed into existential irrelevance. Although Trump doesn't match Reagan in popularity, the same conditions that undermined the Democrats then seem to resurface. Back then, the party had no answer to Reagan’s “Morning in America” optimism, coherent policy agenda, or identity beyond “not Republican.” It took 12 years–and the rise of Bill Clinton’s centrist DLC faction to rebuild a winning coalition—a delay that could repeat itself today if they don’t cast off Mean Girl Politick. If Vance inherits MAGA’s energy and pairs it with disciplined messaging (cc: his Ohio Senate win), Democrats could face not four years of Trump but 12 years of Vance-ism: a fusion of anti-woke rhetoric, economic nationalism, and institutional capture.

Toward a Better Politics

A politics of fleeting outrage and clique approval may deliver viral moments, but it doesn’t grow a stable governing majority. If Democrats want to regain their role as a big-tent party, they must rediscover genuine debate, coalition-building, and a commitment to labor issues that transcend identity tropes. A more inclusive approach—grounded in listening rather than lecturing—could restore the moral force the party once claimed.

For now, though, the backlash is mounting. As the saying goes, “Mean girls don’t argue; they exile.” But in a functioning democracy, exile doesn’t last forever—eventually, the exiles become the new majority at the ballot box.