× Expand John Locher/AP Photo Pete Buttigieg at a gun safety forum in Las Vegas, October 2, 2019

When Mayor Pete first threw his hat in the presidential ring, his foremost credential, beyond his time helming the government of a college town, was his charm. Here was Pete upgrading his city’s computer systems, here was Pete shoveling snow, here was Pete fixing a pothole. Extremely competent and agreeable, Pete was a nice-guy Democrat in a red, deindustrialized state, who had notched successes without ever dirtying his nose in the unbecoming arena of partisan politics. He condemned incivility and disunity. Despite being barely old enough to qualify for a run, he was lovingly referred to as the Mister Rogers of the Democratic primary. He may have been light on experience, but he had presidential disposition in spades.

But as the campaign season has unfolded, charming Pete has all but disappeared, replaced by a more combative, defiant Pete, whose new modus operandi is scoring points by attacking the Democratic Party’s progressive front-runners (and long shots) from the right, on everything from gun control to campaign finance to health care. His new demeanor was on display repeatedly during Tuesday’s debate, as he went toe to toe with Beto O’Rourke over gun control, and denigrated the Sanders and Warren vision for Medicare for All.

The first signs of his metamorphosis came in late June, when Black Lives Matter protesters confronted Buttigieg over the police shooting of a black man in South Bend, and his administration’s checkered legacy on policing (Buttigieg demoted the city’s first black police chief). After what the protestors deemed inadequate responses on the issue, one asked, “You’re running for president and you expect black people to vote for you?” to which Buttigieg snapped, “I’m not asking for your vote.”

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He recently trained a similarly snide comment on the Sanders/Warren/Ocasio-Cortez fundraising strategy of refusing high-dollar donations from corporate PACs, lobbyists, and private equity groups, among others. When asked about their approach in an interview with Snapchat’s Peter Hamby, Buttigieg responded, “My competitors can go with whatever strategy they like … we’re not going to beat [Trump] with pocket change.” The irony, of course, is that Sanders and Warren have both outpaced Buttigieg in fundraising, while the progressive wing of the party, which Buttigieg once claimed himself to be part of, has been emphatic that Democrats should shun such high-dollar contributors, both to preserve their independence and to make their demand for campaign finance reform all the more credible.

In the same interview, Buttigieg also swiped at Beto O’Rourke for his proposals on gun violence. O’Rourke made waves recently saying that he would institute a mandatory gun buyback program for assault weapons (he’s not the only Democrat to back such a proposal). Given the overwhelming popular support for gun control legislation, both broadly and within the Democratic Party in particular, that suggestion is hardly the radical proclamation it may have been in the past. But Buttigieg, channeling some familiar right-wing rhetoric, dismissed the plan as “confiscation.” “I get it,” he told Hamby. O’Rourke “needs to pick a fight in order to stay relevant.”

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Those comments presaged Buttigieg’s tack in Tuesday’s debate, where his newfound temperament was unleashed on Medicare for All, on Warren in particular, and on O’Rourke. Buttigieg’s dismissal of Medicare for All carried two main attacks: first, that Warren should acknowledge that middle-class taxes would go up under Medicare for All, and second, that it would be inordinately expensive. When Warren refused to do so, focusing instead on the fact that costs would go down for the middle class, Buttigieg sniped, “Well, we heard it tonight, a yes or no question that didn’t get a yes or no answer. Look, this is why people here in the Midwest are so frustrated with Washington in general and Capitol Hill in particular.” He later claimed Warren has been “more specific and forthcoming about the number of selfies she’s taken” than about laying out details of how she’d pay for Medicare for All, which dovetails with his recent ad that claims Medicare for All is “infringing on freedom.”

And in a predictable back-and-forth with O’Rourke, induced by the moderators in response to Buttigieg’s interview comments, he replied to O’Rourke: “I don’t need lessons from you on courage, personal or political.” He’s dismissed gun buybacks as a “shiny object.”

What happened to the guy who made his reputation as America’s solutions-oriented, sweater-wearing, overachieving grandson, who just months ago supported single-payer health care, calling it the “center of gravity” in the health care debate?

Well, for one thing, he’s spent the past few months worshipping at the altar of corporate interests. He’s stuffed his campaign coffers with money from K Street, Wall Street, and the health care industry, far beyond the rest of the Democratic field.

But his departure from his progressive policy convictions is less startling than his total overhaul of his disposition. In a matter of weeks, Buttigieg has gone from affable unifier above the fray to snide attack dog, routinely taking potshots and hurling sarcastic one-liners. This startling transformation into Mean Mayor Pete may seriously affect the fate of his candidacy, given how central his personality has been to his campaign. “What I like about Pete is he has the values, but he’s not as combative,” Shannon Schott, a 25-year-old Buttigieg voter told Time in a story that ran just before the debate. “Personality is a huge part of it.”

Buttigieg is hanging around in the polls. Though he still doesn’t occupy center stage, his debate performance succeeded in driving traffic to his website and bringing in donations. But his appeal to voters has shifted drastically, from progressive optimist to ruthless pragmatist, undercutting the left flank at every turn. No longer can he claim to be the nicest guy onstage.