In the first and arguably most consequential televised U.S. presidential debate, in 1960, Richard M. Nixon looked nervous, sweaty, scowly and unshaven. John F. Kennedy looked cool, calm and at ease in himself, naturally handsome. Even on a little low-res black-and-white screen, the contrast couldn’t have been clearer, and in what Marshall McLuhan called a cool medium (as distinct from the Technicolor heat of the silver screen) the cooler candidate, Kennedy, made the more presidential impression, and went on to win the election.

In those days there were no reservations in the media about remarking on Kennedy’s good looks and what part his appearance played in his self-presentation as a politician and in his viability as a candidate. When Gavin Newsom was running for governor, countless commentators made a point of mentioning how he looked like he’d stepped off the cover of a men’s fashion magazine. I’ve never heard anyone complain about the objectification of JFK or Newsom.

But 11 years ago, at a California fundraiser, when Barack Obama tossed off an additional good-natured compliment after praising Kamala Harris’ legal smarts and dedication to the law, saying she was also “by far the best-looking attorney general in the country,” he had to issue an apology — although I doubt the remark bothered her at all — for daring to say such a sexist thing about a woman in the public eye. Such are the two-faced contradictions of contemporary gender politics.

Let’s get real: looks matter. Why is the word “telegenic” completely acceptable in the public discourse while a synonym like “good-looking,” “handsome” or “beautiful” is not? Why does Joe Biden have cosmetically enhanced teeth and hair? Why does Nancy Pelosi have a face job? Why does Sen. John Fetterman of Pennsylvania show up at the Capitol in cargo shorts and a hoodie? Why does Kamala Harris wear those broad-shouldered smartly designed power pantsuits in a range of evocative colors? Why does Trump sport a 10-foot-long cartoonishly comical red tie?

They are all sending a message about the need in this culture to appear younger than you are, or the need to distinguish yourself as a down-to-earth regular dude among business-as-usual-suited colleagues, or the desire to enlarge your smallish stature, or to suggest the size of your endowment.

The eyes may be the windows of the soul, but they are also the movie cameras of the mind. Movie stars look that way for a reason: to attract eyeballs, to seduce the gaze. Visual impressions in social life are important, and that has less to do with conventional ideas of attractiveness than with demeanor, style, charisma (which comes in a range of forms and temperatures), authenticity, confidence. One of my father’s streetwise salesman’s aphorisms was “All you have to sell is confidence,” meaning both trust and self-assurance.

I don’t pretend to know much less predict the winner of the presidential election, but after Tuesday night’s debate I know who has the visual advantage. Poor, old, grumpy, uncomfortable Donald Trump looked like he didn’t want to be there; his opponent had to chase him around his podium, which he was trying to hide behind, to shake his hand and introduce herself — and from that first moment hulking, towering Trump looked shrunken, hunched-over, shriveled-up. The much-smaller Harris, in spiky heels, cold-black big-shouldered pantsuit and white pussy-bow shirt, looked with confidence alternately at the camera and at Trump — but he never once looked at her or at the home viewer. She kept her cool even when angrily denouncing him, his policies and his behavior. Ask yourself who you would rather see on TV for the next four years.

I say unequivocally and without apology: Kamala Harris is better-looking than Donald Trump. What difference that will make in November is anyone’s guess.

Stephen Kessler’s column appears on Saturdays.