Heads I Win...Tails I Also Win

A nation built on revolution and freedom now flips a coin of absurdity; Trump on the front, Trump on the back, America trapped in his pocket.

Guest article by Michael Cohen. Follow him on Substack for more by clicking here.

In what may be the most surreal moment in U.S. history, on the very occasion of our nation’s 250th anniversary, the U.S. Treasury has announced that the commemorative coin celebrating this milestone will feature President Donald J. Trump — on both sides. Yes. Both sides. Heads, tails; it’s all Trump. Consider Lincoln, whose quiet strength and sacrifice earned him a place on the penny, a humble yet enduring symbol of character. Lincoln is gone. Trump is alive. Trump is here. And now, with his face stamped into our currency in perfect symmetry, he’s officially made history about himself.

Traditionally, commemorative coins are for the dead — never the living, never for ego in real time. They honor presidents, innovators, leaders whose contributions survive centuries. Lincoln. Washington. Franklin. They shaped the world and became immortal. Trump on both sides? Less immortality, more relentless self-promotion. The rendering has now been released: one side depicts Trump staring into eternity, the eternal vision of… himself. The other side shows Trump in his famous “fight, fight, fight” pose, the determined scowl that has been the centerpiece of rallies, debates, and Twitter threads. You could call it “America’s 250th Anniversary, According to Trump.” Or maybe just call it “Ego, 2025 Edition.”

The absurdity is breathtaking. Historians are likely ripping out their hair, numismatists gnashing their teeth, and the rest of us are left blinking at our wallets, asking ourselves if we’ve accidentally slipped into a parallel universe where the past 250 years are now just a one-man reality show. This is a quarter-millennium of American triumph, struggle, and vision compressed into a shiny metallic loop of ego. How does this commemorate 250 years of our country? One could argue that the eternal gaze on one side reflects introspection, and the “fight, fight, fight” side honors the perseverance of the nation. Or you could just call it a two-sided reminder that everything, everywhere, is about Trump.

And naturally, this level of absurdity practically begs for a soundtrack — something other than the YMCA song, perhaps lyrics like this:

I’m so vain, the coin is all about me
I’m so vain, flip it, watch it endlessly
Lincoln’s long gone, and he earned his fame
But I’m alive, so why not my name?
Staring into eternity, scowling to fight
250 years condensed into my might!

And the Grammy goes to… definitely not me!

Now, picture George Washington stepping out of the mist of history and being handed this coin. Would he drop it in horror? Would he roar with laughter? Or would he simply look at us, slack-jawed, and whisper, “Is this really what 250 years has come to?” One side shows Trump with that vacant, self-satisfied grin that suggests the mirror is his greatest audience. The other side? Trump again; chin jutted forward, as if daring the entire Republic to disagree. No liberty bell, no soaring eagle, no Lincoln’s solemn gaze — just an endless looping of ego, a coin that doesn’t so much honor America’s journey as it erases it in favor of one man’s reflection.

This isn’t just commemorative currency; it’s a daily intrusion. A two-sided idol stuffed into wallets, tossed in car cup holders, buried in couch cushions. Even Melania, who already has her fill, now gets the joy of bumping into him in spare change. What was supposed to be a reflection on America’s quarter-millennium has instead been boiled down into a pocket-sized monument to one man’s insatiable ego.

The coin is more than currency; it is a statement about our times. When significance is measured not by courage, contribution, or principle, but by volume, visibility, and sheer insistence, the very idea of legacy changes. A 250-year celebration should inspire awe, reflection, humility. Instead, it inspires confusion, disbelief, and a lingering sense that reality has become an elaborate funhouse mirror, where national milestones reflect only the whims of spectacle. Each flip of the coin is a reminder: permanence now belongs to whoever is loudest, most insistent, most impossible to ignore.

Yet there is poetry in this absurdity. History is no longer a river; it’s one of those carnival mirrors, distorted, dazzling, and impossible to take entirely seriously. Once we commemorated minds, deeds, and courage; now we commemorate presence, ego, and the power to command attention. Every glance at the coin is both ridiculous and strangely thought-provoking: what does it say about a society that grants immortality before accomplishment? What does it reveal about a country whose greatest milestone is reduced to a metallic echo of one person’s self-regard? And how exactly, one might ask, does staring into eternity on one side and scowling “fight, fight, fight” on the other honor 250 years of a nation built on ideals far bigger than a single man?

So hold it up. Flip it. Marvel at it. Jingle it in your pocket. Either way, it is 250 years of America condensed into the reflection of a single man. Confusing. Mercurial. Absurd. And unmistakably, undeniably… Trump.

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