“The fact that I’ve worked with my hands and provided for my family, working with my hands every day — I think a lot of people can relate to that,” Osborn, an independent running to unseat Republican Sen. Pete Ricketts, said in an interview.
He’s not the only Senate challenger who has decided that his hands were made for running.
In Maine, Marine veteran Graham Platner is running to unseat longtime Republican Sen. Susan Collins. “People like to point out that I’m a political novice. I guess that’s true,” Platner, a Democrat and oyster farmer, told us. “I also think that the current situation the country finds itself in seems to have been built by experts, and I’m not super excited about the straits that we’re in.”
Over in Iowa, where Republican Sen. Joni Ernst is set to retire, Democrat Nathan Sage — a former mechanic and Marine veteran — is drawing a similar contrast with buttoned-up establishment types. “I might be a little bit hairy, I might be a little bit fat, I might be a little tattooed,” he said in an interview, “but I’m here standing up, willing to fight.”
Meet the Rugged Guys of the 2026 midterms. They are scruffy, solidly built, middle-aged White military veterans who work with their hands and look like they’re way more comfortable in plaid flannel than pinstripe suits. And they are banking that the antiestablishment populism that Republicans have embraced during the Trump era can work the other way, too.
“Every cycle, there is a different hot candidate profile that everybody’s trying to be,” said Chuck Rocha, a Democratic strategist who has worked for Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-Vermont) and Sen. Ruben Gallego (D-Arizona). Suburban soccer moms, veterans, self-funders. “This year, it seems like it’s these blue-collar workers.”
Independent candidate Dan Osborn departs an election night watch party in November, when he got a lot of votes but still lost to Sen. Deb Fischer (R-Nebraska). (Bonnie Ryan/AP)
The backdrop: Democrats are unpopular and facing a crisis with the working-class voters who once formed the base of their coalition. When Donald Trump won the presidential election last year, he did so in part by winning voters making less than $100,000 per year and also those making less than $50,000, according to network exit polls. (Kamala Harris won the making-over-$100,000 vote but lost the election.)
“To put it a little differently,” says David Litt, a former speechwriter for President Barack Obama, “One of the divides that is the reason that Trump is president — as opposed to, you know, facing a great deal of jail time — is the political divide between people who work with their hands and people who work in front of a screen.” Democrats, Litt says, are now trying to emphasize that they can work with their hands.
“You’ve got to appeal to the working-class people in this country,” says Doug Sosnik, a Democratic strategist who has been studying the education divide. “Period.”
Osborn has filmed himself in his garage, installing a carburetor kit (and another time posted a photo of his dirty fingers).
Platner showed a gubernatorial candidate how to shuck oysters before an event.
Sage has talked about growing up poor in a trailer park.
All three men are clients of Fight Agency, a firm founded by strategists who worked for Sanders, Gallego and Sen. John Fetterman, the tattooed, gun-owning, hoodie-wearing Pennsylvania Democrat who rose swiftly from small-town mayor to the Senate thanks to his distinctly not-another-politician vibes. The new Rugged Guys’ ads — including sleek announcement videos set against electric guitar riffs — are the firm’s handiwork, according to Tommy McDonald, one of the agency’s partners. Osborn’s announcement video finds him sliding out from beneath a car, wearing denim and holding a socket wrench. “There’s a lot of rich guys in Washington like Pete Ricketts,” the candidate says in the video, “but not a lot with hands like these.”
“Authentic” is what they’re going for, McDonald says — you film at worksites, you keep the tone conversational, you let the candidates dress how they want.
“A lot of candidates have to go to Carhartt and buy a shirt. Most candidates don’t have them,” McDonald said. “These guys have them.”
Nathan Sage does a meet and greet with voters and potential supporters at a brewery in Sioux City, Iowa, in August. (Jerry Mennenga/ZUMA Press Wire/Shutterstock)
Sage’s most recent jobs have not exactly been rugged; after working as a mechanic in the Marines and then as a civilian, he went to college and worked at a pair of radio stations before becoming the executive director of the chamber of commerce in Knoxville, Iowa. But he feels deeply connected to his upbringing in a Mason City trailer park. “We ate the same stuff: buttered noodles, S.O.S., whatever we could make to make it through it,” he said. When he started on his journey in electoral politics, he would complain to his staff about “call time” — the part of the schedule when candidates get on the horn to ask for donations.
“You don’t ask people for money where I come from,” Sage said. “You work for it. You mow lawns for $10. You fix a car for a six-pack. You work for that money. So to have to ask people for money now is degrading for somebody in the working class who’s never done that before.”
Osborn can relate. “I went through my contact list,” he said, “and I’m calling other mechanics and plumbers, and, you know, the people that I hang out with don’t have a lot of money.” For many working-class candidates, this means relying on online and social media fundraising. At the moment, Osborn — who unsuccessfully challenged Nebraska’s other Republican senator last year but ran well ahead of Harris in the Cornhusker State — is still clocking in to work as a steamfitter at a plant in Omaha until his next leave of absence, which is planned for the spring. He says his debt collectors “don’t give a s---” about the results of his last race, or that he’s running again. He spoke to us from an office at work where he can take breaks for some campaign-related calls. Later that weekend, there’d be a state fair and Labor Day parades to attend.
“My job can be pretty hazardous, so I need to stay focused while I’m at work,” he said. “But my race is always on the back of my head.”
Platner says he sometimes has taken calls while on the boat, and people on the other end would keep asking about noises they were hearing. “I’m like, I’m sorry, I’m shaking oysters right now,” the Maine Democrat said. Normally he’d be taking the boat out in the morning, and staying out all day until the evening, but the campaign has shifted things around. His business partner of eight years has picked up some of the slack when he can’t be out all day. The oyster farm is his passion, and Platner says he couldn’t have started it without the government health insurance that allowed him the chance to recover from “symptoms from my combat service” after his military deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan. It allowed him to work on himself, he said.
“Everybody in the state of Maine should have access to that kind of support without having to hop over the bar of fighting in stupid foreign wars and watching their friends die,” he said.
Rocha, the strategist, worries about first-time candidates following the advice of consultants who aren’t working-class simply because they haven’t run for office before and think they don’t know better: “When some big consultant says, ‘That’s not how it’s done, you have to do it this way,’” he told us, “rarely do they push back, because they have no reference.” Would the campaigns be able to speak to working-class Latinos — a constituency Trump seemingly made inroads with, and one Rocha says Democrats have overlooked? He had a word of advice for the candidates, in a recent video: Don’t let the media consultants and pollsters tell you how to talk to the voters you seek. “You know more about working people.”
When it comes to winning political races, rugged, working-with-your-hands authenticity has its limits. There’s the words that the candidates speak, the jobs they’ve had, the clothes they wear and the vibes they give off. And then there’s the brand that goes with their name: “Democrat.” “Republican.” “Independent.”
“The most important brand that matters in politics to voters is party identification,” says Lynn Vavreck, a professor of political science at UCLA. “That is the brand.”
The parties are offering very different visions for the kind of world they want to build, Vavreck says. Voters know which of those two worlds they want to live in, and they want someone who will fight to build that world — whether that’s “a construction worker, a schoolteacher, a doctor or even a former member of Congress.”
“It matters very little,” she says, “who that person is.”
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