By Mary Jones | Monday, September 23, 2024 | 4 min read
In 1984, Donald J. Trump had already begun to establish himself as a major player in New York City. A few years earlier, the son of a wealthy real estate developer from the outer boroughs had shocked the city with his Grand Hyatt Hotel deal, securing an extraordinary 40-year tax break from a financially struggling New York. He followed this success by constructing Trump Tower, defying his father’s cautious advice and diving into the highly competitive Manhattan real estate market—a domain he would control for years to come. Now, Trump had his sights set on his next ambitious project: Trump Castle.
New York Magazine described Trump’s vision as “complete with spires, drawbridge, and [a] moat”—a literal fortress at Madison Avenue and 59th Street, a concept only The Donald could dream up. Competitors dismissed the plan as “lunacy,” and they were ultimately proven right. The project’s costs soared to over $135 million, and Trump’s partner, Prudential Insurance, eventually backed out.
Before construction even began, Trump’s grand vision of a castle had already fallen apart. (The following year, he would reuse the name for an Atlantic City casino.) In the highly competitive Manhattan real estate scene, this was viewed as a major setback for the mogul. Trump had aimed to create an iconic, larger-than-life property, but ultimately failed. According to New York magazine, his partner, Prudential Insurance, ended up losing $15 million in the process.
However, John Barron, a supposed “Trump spokesperson,” offered a different story. Barron told reporters that selling the property had been Trump’s plan all along. He spun the narrative to make it seem like Trump never actually wanted the castle and was happy to see it go. “It sure is easier to get a large commission on a $105-million sale than to put up a building,” Barron told New York at the time. Contrary to public perception, Trump supposedly emerged from the deal victorious—or so Trump claimed.
The key detail? Throughout the 1980s, Donald J. Trump was John Barron. Barron was a fictional alter ego Trump created, allowing him to say whatever he wanted to the New York City press, whenever he wanted. Barron acted as Trump’s spokesperson, his representative, and occasionally, even as a Trump executive. Sometimes the name was spelled “Barron,” other times just “Baron.” But no matter the variation, it was always Trump speaking through his invented persona.
Perhaps the most telling and narcissistic twist in this story came years later when Trump named his youngest son Barron, after his own alter ego. The decision was a striking display of Trump’s ego and self-reverence. By bestowing the name on his son, Trump immortalized the persona that had served him so well during his early rise to fame and power.
Naming his son Barron was not just a tribute to a character; it was a reflection of Trump’s unique brand of self-mythologizing. In many ways, Barron the alter ego and Barron the child represent the intertwining of Trump’s public and private personas, a blending of fact and fiction that has long defined his approach to both business and life.
The use of an alter ego is not unusual for public figures or celebrities seeking to control their image. However, Trump’s invention of John Barron was distinct in its purpose—it wasn’t just a way to protect his privacy or escape the media’s gaze. Instead, it was a tool for inflating his persona and feeding his self-created legend. It allowed Trump to dictate how he was perceived without bearing the weight of his own grandiosity.
The fact that Trump later chose to give this name to his own son speaks volumes about how deeply intertwined his personal identity and his public persona have always been. For Trump, the line between reality and the stories he tells about himself is often blurred, and the creation of John Barron is just one example of how he’s manipulated that line for decades.
In the end, the Barron name serves as a symbol of Trump’s enduring need for control, recognition, and self-validation—an alter ego that became not just part of his public life, but his family legacy as well.
