EDITOR'S LETTER

On the Thursday morning after Congress ended the longest government shutdown in American history, I went to the White House. Nine hours later, I left with a giant shopping bag filled with presidential M&M's featuring Donald Trump's signature, a portfolio of photography, and an appreciation that this government—this relentless, clamorous, smash-and-grab government that is changing so much about the country and the world—is run by about half a dozen people. And they had agreed to spend the day with Vanity Fair.

The magazine has been visiting the White House since the '80s. Tina Brown wrote that she "could hardly breathe" the moment Harry Benson captured "The Reagan Stomp" for the cover of our June 1985 issue. (The Reagans got a "farewell" cover in 1988.) VFreturned in 1993 to document Clinton's "New Guard" and again for the second Clintonian West Wing in 1997. In 2002, Annie Leibovitz shot the Bush administration for a portfolio titled "War and Destiny," and in 2009, VFforewent our annual Hollywood Issue cover for President-elect Barack Obama.

This time, to document Trump 2.0, Iwas joined by photographer Christopher Anderson, deputy editor Claire Howorth, global creative director Jennifer Pastore, two assistants, Benjamin Coppola and Trip Peters, and Chris Whipple, who, over the course of a year, interviewed White House chief of staff Susie Wiles 11 times for "Eye of the Hurricane," which starts on page 44. It is a diary of crisis that tells the story of the first year of this administration.

Vice President JD Vance was our first subject of the day. "I'll give you $100 for every person you make look really shitty compared to me," he said as Ben metered the light. "And $ 1,000 ifit's Marco." When Christopher said that he had been a conflict photographer and with the first battalion to enter Baghdad, Vance replied, "Oh yeah, we were greeted as liberators. For two fuckin' days." Christopher explained that he was shooting on film as well as digital, because the exposure is physically larger and therefore captures more information, more color. "It has soul," Jennifer said. "That's good," the vice president replied, "because I think I read in Vanity Fair that I have no soul."

Deputy chief of staff James Blair, a pugnacious five foot nine, was next. His office had copies of The Economist, The New Yorker, and New York magazine. The only periodical that looked read was something called Cabinet VIP Experiences, which offered "Basketball at the FBI" and a trip to the top of the Washington Monument. I noticed a mousetrap in the corner of Blair's office. The rodents are the only truly permanent residents of the White House.

Then Karo line Leavitt was ready for us. Leavitt has brought revolution to the White House press briefing room, prevaricating on everything from tariffs and soybean sales to condom contracts and Tylenol. Her office has a working fireplace, and a uniformed guard to light it. The decor— an American flag throw blanket, seasonal pumpkin pillows—invoked a certain "Live, Laugh, Lie" homeyness. On her desk, a Stanley cup and a floral coffee mug sat next to a pink calendar offering aphorisms by the flip. Sitting below framed pictures of the president with Leavitt and her family were a white orchid, a pink globe, and a Bible open to Proverbs 4: "Get wisdom at all costs."

Stephen Miller's gaze is like a laser beam, and his calculated manner of speaking made me think of HAL from 2001: A Space Odyssey We photographed him in front of a painting of Native Americans: Crossing the River Platte, by Worthington Whittredge.

When it came time for the group portraits, the last-minute inclusion of Dan Scavino brought the team—selected for the photos by Wiles herself—to seven in total. Secretary of State Marco Rubio tried for a little charm: "Double-breasted, peak lapel," he said, inspecting my suit. "I haven't seen anything like that here." The others filed in, a bit like nervous schoolchildren. Miller balked at the idea of sitting on the end of the table—"not natural," he declared. There was giggling. A "Blue Steel" joke was made. "We're all going to get fired for this," someone cracked. "Except for me," the vice president said. "I have 100 percent job security." These people who run the nation—who together are something like Trump's prefrontal cortex—are, in the end, also just office coworkers.

Christopher started shooting. "Is this the part where you say we're all evil?" the vice president asked.

Eventually, Wiles's executive assistant informed us that we would not be allowed to photograph either the "Presidential Walk of Fame" or the Rose Garden, as we'd asked. "Those are very special to the president," she said. "They're his spaces." Actually, I wanted to remind her, they're not.