Sao Paulo Elections: Metal Chairs and Fake Doctors Take Center Stage in the Battle for the Mayor’s Office

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In the chaotic carnival of Brazilian politics, where logic is on holiday and common sense is a mere spectator, the showdown for Sao Paulo’s mayoral throne has come down to Ricardo Nunes and Guilherme Boulos. It’s like a reality TV finale that somehow turned into a wrestling match—because nothing says municipal governance like a full-blown slapstick brawl.

Incumbent Nunes is going toe-to-toe with the leftist rebel Boulos, while the self-help guru-turned-political-pantomime Pablo Marçal, recently eliminated from the race, is surely trying to sell his “How to Lose Politely” guide. The big day was marred by violence, proving once again that Brazilian elections are less about policy and more about who can throw a chair the hardest. Just ask José Luiz Datena, who literally evolved from TV host to political contender, only to demonstrate his debate skills the way most people demonstrate talent on a soap opera—by smashing Marçal with a metal chair when sexual harassment allegations floated into the debate arena.

Meanwhile, Marçal’s team employed a novel tactic: they circulated a fake medical report claiming Boulos was on cocaine, which was so poorly executed you’d think it came straight from a rejected sketch on a third-rate comedy show—it even bore the signature of a “doctor” who had expired before social media was even a thing. Not to be outdone, a judge intervened by temporarily booting Marçal off Instagram—the modern equivalent of being sent to your room without dessert for the weak attempt at political sabotage.

In Rio, the incumbent Mayor Eduardo Paes waltzed in for a cozy fourth term after successfully dodging bullets—both metaphorically and politically—against his challenger, Alexandre Ramagem. Ramagem, who formerly headed Brazil’s intelligence agency under Bolsonaro, might as well be a spy in a James Bond flick—woefully outmatched and trapped in a plot twist of his own making. Despite Bolsonaro‘s last-ditch endorsement, the voters evidently decided they preferred their local governance chair-free and without the added thrill of espionage.

And if you thought the political circus couldn’t get more colorful: this year, the number of transgender candidates tripled since the last election, with nearly 1,000 hoping to break down barriers while the rest seem hell-bent on building higher walls. So as over 155 million Brazilians poured their hopes—or perhaps just confusion—into ballot boxes, it’s clear: in this land of samba and scandal, every election feels like a surreal performance art piece, and every candidate applauds the absurdity with a well-placed smile, all while the real show goes on uninterrupted in the background.