The implied subject of the funk was the question of whether will Beto will join the 2020 race for the Democratic presidential nomination; its implied conclusion was that he would come back having made his decision. But the hero went forth, and then made his return, with no news to share. Oprah interviewed him in February, and he told her that he’d make his choice by the end of the month; he has yet to announce. He has planned a trip to Iowa. He has hosted a protest rally. He has dangled news, but not made it. And many of those watching this months-long and very public form of soul-searching have begun to lose the very thing that Beto’s lengthy blog posts have assumed people will have for him: patience. Politico, this weekend, summed up the general feeling like this: “The politician who built his entire persona on a thread of authenticity—crisscrossing Texas while eschewing pollsters and political consultants in his Senate run last year—is now manufacturing suspense.”

The most generous reading of Beto’s publicly teasing approach to his potential run is that he is taking seriously the commitment a presidential run demands, and that he is, at the same time, attempting to rewrite some of the staid rules of retail politics, finding new ways to connect with the public and refusing to care what the pundits might think about the effort. (A flow between people.) Here is another reading, however: In a primary that is, of its own accord, so interested and invested in finding new ways to go about old business, Beto’s approach is the opposite of revolutionary. As he superficially challenges convention, he is also ratifying regressive ideas about what an appealing candidate—what political charisma itself—really looks like.

This weekend, Beto, like several of his fellow politicians, made an appearance at the South by Southwest festival in Austin, Texas. He was there, officially, not to talk policy, as many of his already declared fellow Democrats had come to do, but to promote Running With Beto, the soon-to-be-aired HBO documentary following the candidate as he ran his senatorial campaign against Cruz. Beto was there, effectively, as a political celebrity, his lack of official candidacy helping him to avoid a full measure of scrutiny, his star filtered through the haze of manufactured mystery. Beto’s team, after his appearance at the festival, sent an email to supporters. “If you’re on the edge of your seat about Beto’s decision around a potential 2020 run for president, you’re not alone,” the note said, later adding, “There’s been an outpouring of speculation, excitement, and support from people across the country—everyone eagerly waiting for the news.”

Electoral politics are a transaction between romance and reality. And campaigning, for all that its work will eventually involve policy and Pizza Ranches, also has a way of summoning unspoken, but deeply held, mythologies. When Beto teases and winks and wanders, he is invoking old permissions, and embracing tired stereotypes. He is revealing the privileges that come, in politics as in so many other places, with being white and male and young and handsome: all the latitude you will be given, all the benefits you will be afforded in the face of any doubts.