Donald Trump has apparently solved one of the oldest problems confronting presidents: What do you do when reality contains information you do not enjoy?

You print a different reality.

Enter Natalie Harp, Trump’s extraordinarily devoted aide, sometimes nicknamed the “human printer” because of her reported habit of supplying him with printed articles, social-media posts, and other material—much of it favorable to the president. She has become something like a presidential information concierge.

Bad reviews downstairs. Compliments delivered directly to the suite.

There is no basis for declaring that Donald Trump has been clinically diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder, and we should not pretend otherwise. Diagnoses belong to clinicians examining patients, not bloggers examining Truth Social.

But one does not need a medical degree to observe behavior.

Trump has spent decades publicly proclaiming himself smarter, richer, stronger, more successful, more popular, more historically important, and generally more magnificent than the evidence occasionally permits. Criticism rarely seems to produce introspection. More often, it produces an announcement that the critic is stupid, corrupt, failing, radical, dishonest, jealous, or possibly all six before breakfast.

And this is where Natalie Harp becomes politically interesting.

Imagine placing a man with an enormous appetite for admiration inside an information environment designed primarily to feed that appetite.

What could possibly go wrong?

The problem is not that Harp hands Trump flattering material. Every politician enjoys good press. Presidents have clipped favorable newspaper articles since newspapers learned how to print photographs.

The problem is the feedback loop.

Trump believes his instincts are extraordinary.

Harp brings him material demonstrating that his instincts are extraordinary.

Trump reads material demonstrating that his instincts are extraordinary.

Trump becomes still more convinced that his instincts are extraordinary.

He then makes another decision based upon those extraordinary instincts.

If the decision succeeds, Trump was a genius.

If it fails, someone sabotaged him.

Then Harp can print the articles explaining who sabotaged him.

And around we go.

This is not a presidential briefing system.

It is a hamster wheel with a laser printer attached.

The danger arises when unfavorable information becomes psychologically—or physically—harder to reach the president.

Presidents desperately need people who walk into the Oval Office and say things like, “Mr. President, this is going badly.”

They need economists who say tariffs may raise prices. Generals who say bombing may produce retaliation. Intelligence officers who say the adversary is not behaving according to the president’s theory. Political advisers who say voters hate the idea. Lawyers who occasionally introduce the exotic constitutional concept known as “No.”

A healthy presidency contains friction.

A dangerous presidency contains applause.

Consider what happens when presidential confidence becomes self-reinforcing. Trump announces that he has devised a brilliant policy. Friendly commentary arrives confirming its brilliance. Contradictory evidence receives less attention. Trump concludes that criticism comes from enemies rather than facts. The next decision is therefore made with even greater confidence and even less doubt.

Eventually, the president is no longer making decisions about the world.

He is making decisions about the version of the world delivered to his desk.

That distinction becomes rather important when the subjects are Iran, Russia, interest rates, tariffs, wars, nuclear weapons, or whether several million Americans can afford groceries.

Natalie Harp therefore represents something larger than an unusually loyal aide carrying a portable printer.

She represents the danger of turning the presidency into a hall of mirrors with the reflection only being good.

Trump looks into the first mirror and sees greatness.

The second mirror confirms it.

The third mirror enlarges it.

By the twentieth mirror, Donald Trump is ten feet tall, every policy is succeeding, every opponent is terrified, every rally is the largest in history, and every decision he makes is brilliant.

Meanwhile, somewhere outside the room, reality is pounding on the door.

Unfortunately, Natalie is busy printing compliments.