I gave Ross Doubt That a link to my most recent Potter series so he could update his social commentary without having to search for some newer cultural trend.
Seriously though, it was more the Times' idea than this one's, since they promoted the original trend so hard before this one even knew the books existed. I'm presenting this not because Doubt That was aware of my existence or drivel, but because the NYT has been so massively involved since the very beginning in pushing Potter in every way possible, including insulting it as a means to drive more attention in Potter's direction. Once, it published the carefully selected worries of Christian parents about how Potter was "too imaginative" for children; now, it's positioning Potter as anti-Trump in order to simultaneously make Trump more popular with some people, and Potter more popular with others (neither side's position would be changed, but more Pepsi/Coke/product would be sold overall). Doubt That's article is not strictly news about how "liberals" are resorting to purportedly-juvenile metaphor content, but rather a pointed allusion to the cultural prevalence of one of the Times' partner-projects. His use of large imagery from the Potter series in his related articles makes his point, though not the point he's theoretically (and that he himself quite probably believes he's) making.
Ironically, this one is doing the same thing. I cited him, and even used a picture, to make a point. Not only have I caused more attention to be directed at Potter, I've done the same for one of Potter's little lackeys, Doubt That. Which makes this one his little lackey.
This ultimately speaks to the recursive nature of power. "Liberals" use "Potter" as a reference for Trump not necessarily because they're stupid, but because it's all they have, just like the internet (or some sub-derivation thereof) is all I have by which to whine about it (since my boss at Domino's says not to insult Hermione any more or he'll cut my hours). Using the medium to try to tell someone the medium is a fake: already broken. We're here, so we're all guilty, so we can take comfort in one another's failings. Yet the availability of that comfort is, like the proverbial SSRI, why we're so calm. Perhaps Strauss was right; perhaps we need pretty lies to avoid instant madness in the face of the cosmic emptiness.
Or, conversely, perhaps there is a way out, and we're just disgusting hypocrites for not taking it.