Since the election, my life and routine have changed greatly. But I still treasure many moments from that long and sometimes strange trip. Many mental snapshots that I took along the way are in this chapter. So are a lot of details about a typical day on the traiclass="underline" what I ate, who did my hair and makeup, what my mornings were like.
It may seem strange, but I get asked about these things constantly. Philippe Reines, my longtime advisor, who played Trump in our debate prep sessions, has my favorite explanation why. He calls it the “Panda Principle.” Pandas just live their lives. They eat bamboo. They play with their kids. But for some reason, people love watching pandas, hoping for something—anything—to happen. When that one baby panda sneezed, the video became a viral sensation.
Under Philippe’s theory, I’m like a panda. A lot of people just want to see how I live. And I do love spending time with my family and getting some sun, just like a panda—and while I’m not into bamboo, I like to eat.
I get it. We want to know our leaders, and part of that is hearing about Ronald Reagan’s jelly bean habit and Madeleine Albright’s pin collection.
In that spirit, if you’ve ever wondered what a day in the life of a presidential candidate is like—or if you’ve ever asked yourself, “Does Hillary Clinton just… eat lunch, like a normal person?”—this is for you.
Six A.M.: I wake up, sometimes hitting the snooze button to steal a few more minutes. Snoozing leaves you more tired—there are studies on this—but in that moment, it seems like such a great idea.
As often as we can, we arrange my schedule so I can sleep in my own bed in Chappaqua. Many nights, that isn’t possible, and I wake up in a hotel room somewhere. That’s okay; I can sleep anywhere. It’s not unusual for me to sleep through a bumpy plane landing. But waking up at home is the best.
Bill and I bought our home in 1999 because we loved the bedroom. It’s one and a half stories high with a vaulted ceiling and windows on three sides. When we first saw it as prospective home buyers, Bill said that we would always wake up happy here, with the light streaming in and the view of the garden around us. He was right.
There’s a colorful portrait of Chelsea in her late teens on one wall of our bedroom, and photos of family and friends scattered everywhere. We loved the wallpaper in our bedroom in the White House—yellow with pastel flowers—so I tracked it down for this bedroom too. There are stacks of books on our bedside tables that we are reading or hoping to read soon. For years, we’ve been keeping careful track of everything we read. Plus, Bill being Bill, he has a rating system. The best books get three stars.
After waking up, I check my email and read my morning devotional from Reverend Bill Shillady, which is usually waiting in my inbox. I spend a few minutes in contemplation, organizing my thoughts and setting my priorities for the day.
Then it’s time for breakfast. When I’m home, I head downstairs. On the road, I order room service. It’s hard to plan exactly what or when I’ll be eating over the course of the day, since we’re always on the go, so breakfast is key. Usually I opt for scrambled egg whites with vegetables. When they’re around, I add fresh jalapeños. Otherwise, it’s salsa and hot sauce. I’m a black coffee and strong black tea person, and I drink a huge glass of water in the morning and keep drinking water all day long, since I fly a lot, which can be dehydrating.
Over breakfast, I start reading the stack of press clips and briefing papers that have arrived overnight from my staff. If I’m home, Oscar Flores, a Navy veteran who had worked in the White House and is now our residence manager, prints it all out for me. I also take another look at the day’s schedule, which is a logistical masterpiece. My team—Lona Valmoro, my invaluable scheduler since my Senate days, who also worked with me at the State Department; Alex Hornbrook, director of scheduling, who previously did the same job for Vice President Biden; and Jason Chung, director of advance—are miracle workers. They juggle dates and places with grace and create flawless events out of thin air. It isn’t unusual to call them from the plane as we are landing at night to say, “We need to completely redo tomorrow’s schedule to add one more state and two more events.” Their answer is always “No problem.”
If Bill’s in town, he’s probably still asleep. He’s a night owl; I’m an early bird. But sometimes he’ll get up with me, and we’ll read the papers (we get four: the New York Times, the New York Daily News, the New York Post, and the Journal News, our local paper) and drink our coffee and talk about what we have going on that day. It’s probably a lot like what’s happening at that moment in our neighbors’ houses, except in our case, one of us is running for President and the other one used to be President.
I try to find time for yoga or a strength and cardio workout. At home, I work out in an old red barn out back that we’ve converted into a gym and an office for Bill, with space in the converted hayloft for the Secret Service. I’m no match for Ruth Bader Ginsburg, however, who pumps iron and does planks and push-ups two days a week. Her regimen is daunting; mine is more forgiving. But if she can find the time and energy to exercise regularly, so can I (and you!). When I’m on the road, I have a mini exercise routine I’ve now done in hotel rooms across America.
Then there’s hair and makeup. Long ago in a galaxy far, far away, having my hair and makeup done was a special treat every now and again. But having to do it every single day takes the fun out of it.
Luckily, I have a glam squad that makes it easy. Two hairdressers have taken great care of me in New York for years: John Barrett, whose full-service salon is in Manhattan, and Santa Nikkels, whose cozy salon is just a few minutes from my house in Chappaqua. They’re both terrific—though a lot of people were baffled to discover, after my emails were made public, that I had regular “appointments with Santa.”
When I’m in New York and need help with my makeup, I see Melissa Silver (recommended to me by Vogue’s Anna Wintour after she saw me at an event and knew I needed help).
On the campaign trail, I have a traveling team: Isabelle Goetz and Barbara Lacy. Isabelle is French and full of positivity; she doesn’t walk so much as bop. She’s been doing my hair on and off since the mid-1990s, which means we’ve been together through a lot of hairstyles. Barbara, like Isabelle, is perpetually cheerful. In addition to doing my makeup on the campaign, she does makeup for movies and TV shows such as Veep. I, of course, don’t want to be compared with Selina Meyer in any way, shape, or form, but there’s no denying, Julia Louis-Dreyfus looks fantastic.
While they get me ready, I’m usually on the phone or reading my briefings for the day. That hour is valuable, so I occasionally schedule calls with staff to discuss electoral strategy or a new policy. They usually don’t mind speaking over the blow dryer. Isabelle and Barbara do their best to work around me until they tell me they need me to be still, s’il vous plaît.
At the beginning of the campaign, Isabelle and Barbara got me ready for the day once a week or so, as well as for big events such as debates. I tried to take care of my own hair and makeup the rest of the time. But photos don’t lie, and since I looked better when they were with me, it became an everyday thing. When they travel with me, Isabelle and Barbara are always nearby, ready to touch me up before interviews or debates. Every time our plane lands, Isabelle rushes forward with hairspray, and Barbara spritzes my face with a vaporizer full of mineral water. “The air on planes is so dry!” she laments. Then she spritzes everyone else in the vicinity, including, at times, the Secret Service.