The ultimate marker of status in Donald Trump’s Washington is a custom Rolex, which is curious because Rolex no longer offers custom watches. These exclusive timepieces—so exclusive that barely anyone knows they exist—were purchased and then modified by a bespoke operation in London. There are two options: a gold Day-Date Presidential and a GMT Pepsi, both with blue faces and the gold seal of the president on the dial. At the 45- and 47-second markers sits a star. On the back, there’s an engraving of the White House.

These watches—known to a select few as “the White House Rolex”—are gossiped about with no shortage of envy, as they were made only for White House staff. Specifically, the White House staff who could afford to pay for them. “There’s no one fucking rich enough in the West Wing to actually buy the watch!” one insider joked. In Trump’s White House, this is not strictly true, but it does limit the clientele. 

Steve Witkoff, Trump’s billionaire peace envoy; Susie Wiles, his chief of staff; and Will Scharf, the White House counsel, own one of these models, as do several members of Vice President JD Vance’s operation, including chief of staff Nick Luna and national security adviser Cliff Sims. Outside the West Wing, 2024 campaign maestro Chris LaCivita and Trump’s longtime pollster Tony Fabrizio are part of a very small circle in possession of one.

These timepieces are part of a time-honored Washington tradition. Every four years, a new flock of strivers swoop in for the status hunt, collecting the symbols that demonstrate their positions in the pecking order. It’s always been this way. In 1962, Tom Wolfe wrote a story that was never published. The drafts sit in a box at the New York Public Library, and they trace the markers of social rank in John F. Kennedy’s Washington: A row house in Georgetown. An invitation to a cocktail party at the French Embassy—or, better yet, the Iranian ambassador’s compound, where you were received by his wife, a princess and the sister of the shah, in a lush garden covered wall to wall with Oriental rugs. Or a helicopter, which, per Wolfe, liberates one “from the grime and clutter of the American masses.” What else is money for?

Washington is, more than ever, a town flush with cash and starved of humility. The Trump administration is the richest in history, and a towering tolerance for profiteering has ensured a lobbying boom. Even small-time players can rake in the cash in exchange for the specter of proximity to Trump. That’s fueled a climate wherein the flaunting of station is seen not as gauche, but as the ultimate demonstration of success. And it has spawned a new set of status symbols coveted by the newly rich lobbyists, donors, and administration officials enjoying, with flash and impunity, the spoils of a second Trump presidency.

The Clubs

You walk into The Ned, the Washington members club across the street from the White House, and take the elevator to the 10th floor. You walk through the dining room, which is called “the library,” though no one is reading more than a cocktail menu, and down a hallway until you hit an unmarked door. Through that is a private room, accessible only to so-called founding members who have paid $150,000 for the privilege. You sit down at one of a few dozen tables where a golden plaque has been placed with your name on it.

You can almost see into the White House from the room’s south-facing windows. There’s a martini bar and steaks shipped in from Taylor Sheridan’s Four Sixes Ranch in Texas. You might spot Jeff Miller, the veteran Republican fundraiser, or Heather Podesta, the powerhouse lobbyist, or Howard Lutnick, Trump’s Commerce Secretary. Here you’re closed off from the plebeians, but that might not save you from well-heeled climbers. One diner recalled a recent horror show wherein Senator Chris Coons was repeatedly approached by Ajay Banga, the head of the World Bank, who wanted to bend his ear in the middle of dinner. “There’s a lot of access in that room,” the diner said, their tone lowering in disapproval. “But you really aren’t supposed to table-hop.”

Further up the food chain, no venue provides better access than Executive Branch. The Georgetown members club launched by Donald Trump Jr. and his business partner Omeed Malik, the financier and founder of 1789 Capital, costs up to $500,000 to join. It boasts a moneyed crowd: David Sacks and the Winklevoss twins are founding members and are often seen there mingling with Trump administration officials. The regular membership runs $250,000, while a special offer for government officials is a relative pittance at $15,000. The draw of Executive Branch is not just proximity to the MAGA powerful but a steep barrier to entry that ensures far more privacy than the alternatives. Wiles, Trump’s discreet chief of staff, recently celebrated her 69th birthday in the club’s subterranean rooms. 

Executive Branch members scoff at those strivers relegated to The Ned, which they dismiss as little more than a tarted-up Soho House. “I can’t go to the fucking Ned. I would get mobbed,” says one famed Trumpworld figure. The club doesn’t allow journalists to join and counts just two lobbyists as members: Jeff Miller, of course, and Ches McDowell, the swaggering lobbyist who’s close with Don Jr. (Miller and McDowell declined to comment.) One member of both clubs pointed out a crucial distinction between them: the caliber of government officials throwing hands at each. “At Executive Branch, fights happen between Scott Bessent and Bill Pulte,” the member said, referring to the famous bust-up between the two Trump officials last year. “It’s top-tier people. And then at Ned’s Club, it’s like Kari Lake fighting a fucking clerk for Ketanji Brown Jackson,” he joked.

Unlike the staid and sober Republicans of yore, the MAGA set likes to party, and a number of big-name artists—50 Cent, Timbaland, and Akon—have performed at Executive Branch. These bashes are attended by the most important members of the administration. “The parties are wild,” says a club member who’s never missed a show. “You have Nelly and Ja Rule and 50 Cent performing, and Dr. Oz and his wife ripping it up on the dance floor. Imagine being 50 Cent and looking out into the crowd and you see the attorney general, Todd Blanche, dancing?”

The Watches

It’s not just custom Rolexes. The wealth that pervades Trump’s Washington has generally made for flashier wrists. The tone is typically set at the top, and past presidents have sought discreet timepieces to assure voters of their Everyman bona fides. George W. Bush famously wore a $50 Timex, and Barack Obama alternated between a humble Jorg Gray gifted to him by his Secret Service detail and a TAG Heuer available for the price of dinner at The Ned.

The ice on display in Trump’s Washington makes Obama’s TAG look like a poverty signifier. For those unable to score a White House special, Audemars Piguets and Patek Philippes are respected alternatives. Over a drink at The Ned, I recently marveled at the Royal Oak glinting from beneath the cuff of a 20-something operative.

Witkoff, the billionaire real estate magnate now serving as Trump’s special envoy, boasts the flashiest collection in town. He’s been known to wear a rose gold Patek Nautilus, a Rolex Daytona with a Tiffany dial, and an Audemars Piguet Tourbillon. Each can fetch north of $100,000, but other collections aren’t too shabby either: Wiles typically sports a diamond-encrusted Rolex Datejust, while White House communications director Steven Cheung, in a nod to his West Wing nickname, wears a Rolex Daytona Panda.

The Transport

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