After reading dozens of commentaries on the Alaska summit, one theme stands out: there was never much to discuss about actual peace. The slogan “Pursuing Peace” remained just that — a punchy phrase plastered on banners, thrown together at the last minute. What really mattered were the symbols, the staging and how each geopolitical actor played their part in the performance. United States President Donald Trump rolled out the red carpet for Vladimir Putin, staged military flyovers and even let the Russian president ride in his armored limousine in a gesture of pure flattery. To many, the ceremonial pomp turning an indicted war criminal into an honored guest looked grotesque. Commentators declared, “Trump got nothing, Putin got everything.” But the reading that it was theater without substance misses something essential. For both Trump and Putin, theater is substance. ​​So Trump, too, got his share of the pie. Later, Trump hosted his Ukrainian counterpart Volodymyr Zelensky and a room full of European leaders in Washington. Once again, choreography competed with diplomacy. Zelensky — chastised back in February for showing up in fatigues — appeared this time in a black suit and shirt. He smiled, thanked Trump at least eight times and even handed over a personal letter for the First Lady. The former actor had adapted his role for a single audience: Donald Trump. The uncomfortable truth is that Zelensky had no choice but to learn quickly. He has realized the hard way that the European style of diplomacy does not work here. To remain relevant and actually heard in the room he has started to mirror Trump and Putin’s playbook, flexibly deviating from his usual military uniform to wear a suit that will appease Trump and the U.S. media without deviating from his war-hardened image. But for him, this is not about cultivating the image of a global strongman admired on the world stage. It is about something far more immediate and pressing: saving lives and ensuring Ukraine’s survival. For all their differences, what unites the three — the spy, the actor, and the real-estate magnate — is a shared lesson from their past lives: the art of adapting.

Putin, trained by the KGB, perfected the arts of concealment, mimicry, and adjusting swiftly to shifting political winds. He deploys vague formulas — “useful talks” in a “constructive atmosphere” — that keep doors open and buy time on the battlefield. Zelensky, the former actor, understands the audience and costume. He shifts personas depending on the stage: in Kyiv, he embodies defiance, while in Washington, he expresses gratitude. Trump, the businessman, treats politics like a deal where flexibility is required to “get it done.” Like in a real estate negotiation, he flatters the client, projects courtesy and postpones specifics to keep the agreement alive. What critics saw as humiliation in Alaska — dropping his demand for an immediate ceasefire — was, for him, simply a response to shifting circumstances. For Trump, shameless pivoting is not weakness; it is how you keep the deal moving. In the shared logic of both Putin and Trump, the Alaska summit was no failure but a necessary diplomatic ritual. The performance itself became the deliverable. The choreography — including the unusually deferential press conference with no questions staged to suit Putin — was the point. There were no results to show, but Trump declared “great progress” had been made. Neither man offered specifics, because specifics tie you down. The mere suggestion that Putin might one day meet Zelenskyy was hailed as already a great achievement. For Trump and Putin, vagueness means victory. But for Brussels, vagueness means failure. This chameleon-like adaptability — unbound by principles, heavy on symbols but light on substance — often frustrates Europe, which struggles to practice it, leaving its diplomacy ineffective in Ukraine peace negotiations.