Narrator: In mid-October 2016, with the presidential election just weeks away, editors at The New York Times were so confident in the outcome that they were already preparing a 3,500-word front-page article. Its title was simple and historic: "Madam President." The newspaper’s own predictive model gave Hillary Clinton a 93 percent chance of winning. The election, a senior editor told journalist Amy Chozick, was over. But Chozick, who had spent nearly a decade covering Clinton, felt a deep, nagging unease. She saw a disconnect between the data-driven certainty in the newsroom and the volatile reality she witnessed on the campaign trail. This chasm between perception and reality, between a carefully constructed narrative and the unpredictable forces of politics, lies at the heart of Amy Chozick's memoir, Chasing Hillary. The book is a raw, behind-the-scenes account of the immense, often-dysfunctional machinery behind a historic campaign and the personal and professional toll of reporting on one of the world's most scrutinized figures.

Narrator: The book opens by establishing the fundamental tension of political journalism: the conflict between a subject’s self-absorption and a reporter’s skepticism. Chozick frames her entire experience through this lens, arguing that journalists who simply accept a subject's narrative are not reporters but publicists. This principle was put to the test from the moment she was assigned the Hillary Clinton beat for The New York Times in 2013, a full 649 days before Clinton would even announce her candidacy.

The assignment came from executive editor Jill Abramson, who saw the inevitability of a second Clinton run and wanted a reporter embedded early. But covering Clinton was unlike any other beat. Her inner circle, a fiercely loyal group Chozick dubs "The Guys," viewed The New York Times with deep-seated suspicion, a grudge that stretched back to the Whitewater investigations of the 1990s. When Chozick informed them of her new role, the reaction was not collaborative but hostile. They saw her not as a journalist seeking truth, but as an agent of an enemy institution. This adversarial dynamic defined her reporting, creating an environment of paranoia and pressure where every story was a battle and every detail was scrutinized for bias. This constant tension forced Chozick to navigate the difficult space between gaining access and maintaining the critical distance necessary for authentic journalism.

Narrator: The hostility Chozick faced wasn't personal; it was historical. The Clinton camp's relationship with the media was a long, bitter war of attrition. This came to a head in a meeting at the Times' Washington bureau in May 2014. Clinton’s most senior aides, including Cheryl Mills and Huma Abedin, convened a summit not to build a relationship, but to air grievances. They complained about stories Chozick had written, arguing that the entire beat was unnecessary and that her coverage was part of a vendetta against the Clinton family.

This dynamic was further poisoned by incidents like "Bathroomgate." During the 2014 Clinton Global Initiative, Chozick wrote a brief, scene-setting blog post about a young press minder following her into the restroom. The post was intended to be a lighthearted observation on the campaign's tight control, but it exploded into a major controversy. It was framed as an attack on a young intern and proof of the media’s unfair obsession with trivialities. Bill Clinton reportedly fumed backstage, "Goddammit, we’re trying to save the world and all these people can talk about is the goddamn bathroom." The incident solidified the campaign's view of Chozick as an antagonist and led to her being "iced out," making an already difficult job nearly impossible.

Narrator: As the 2016 campaign officially launched, the Clinton team was obsessed with correcting the mistakes of 2008. Their central challenge was to make a candidate, often perceived as robotic and distant, appear relatable and spontaneous. The result was a series of meticulously staged events designed to showcase "humor and heart." The campaign’s new slogan, "Everyday Americans need a champion," was meant to signal a focus on ordinary people. This led to a "listening tour" where Clinton held roundtables with pre-screened voters to discuss issues like the opioid epidemic and student debt.

However, these efforts often backfired, feeling more manufactured than authentic. A stop at a Chipotle, intended to be a spontaneous moment, was heavily analyzed by pundits. A campaign announcement video featured a diverse cast of non-actors, but Clinton herself only appeared at the end, leaving many wondering what her core message was. The slogan itself became a source of internal frustration. Leaked emails later revealed that Clinton had grown to "hate" the phrase "Everyday Americans," feeling it was an inauthentic line fed to her by consultants. The campaign’s struggle to project spontaneity only reinforced the public’s perception of her as a calculated, overly managed politician.

Narrator: One of the most stunning revelations in the book is the Clinton campaign's deliberate, high-risk strategy to elevate Donald Trump. Internal documents from the Democratic National Committee and the Clinton campaign show they didn't see Trump as a legitimate threat. Instead, they viewed him as a "Pied Piper" candidate—an extremist whose outrageous rhetoric would expose the radicalism of the Republican party and, in the process, make their own candidate look more mainstream and electable.

Campaign manager Robby Mook’s meeting agendas included the question, "How do we maximize Trump?" The strategy was to ensure he received media attention, believing his "Trump sheen" would eventually wear off and he would implode, taking other "extreme" Republican candidates down with him. At a debate-watching party at the Brooklyn headquarters, senior aides expressed glee at Trump's performance, with Mook practically pressing his nose to the TV, saying, "I’ve gahtz to get me some Trump." They fundamentally misjudged the political moment, underestimating the depth of voter anger and the appeal of Trump's populist message. Their plan to use Trump as a tool to damage the GOP ultimately backfired, helping to create the very opponent who would defeat them.

Narrator: On the eve of the 2016 election, the mood on Hillary Clinton's campaign plane was celebratory. Champagne flowed as the press corps and staff toasted to what they believed was an inevitable, historic victory. The data, the polls, and the pundits all pointed to a win. Yet, as the night unfolded, this certainty crumbled into shock and disbelief. The "Madam President" front page at The New York Times would never see the light of day.

Chozick recounts the slow, painful realization that their predictions were wrong. The email controversy, which had dogged the campaign from the start, proved to be the "Chekhov's gun" of the election—a seemingly manageable issue that ultimately fired at the most damaging moment possible. In the aftermath, Chozick reflects on her own role. She had been an unwitting agent, not just of the media machine, but of forces far larger, including Russian intelligence that weaponized hacked emails. The book ends where it began: with the stark contrast between the confident, celebratory atmosphere on the plane and the devastating reality of defeat, a powerful metaphor for a campaign that, despite its immense resources and experience, never truly understood the country it sought to lead.

Narrator: The single most important takeaway from Chasing Hillary is the profound and often-fatal disconnect between the hermetically sealed world of a modern political campaign and the volatile, emotional reality of the American electorate. The Clinton campaign, armed with data and driven by a desire to control every variable, operated under the assumption that politics was a science to be managed. They failed to grasp that it is, and perhaps always will be, an unpredictable art form fueled by anger, identity, and a deep-seated desire for change.

Amy Chozick’s journey leaves us with a challenging question about the nature of truth in politics. In an era of strategic leaks, manufactured authenticity, and foreign interference, can a journalist ever truly capture the full story? Or are they, like the campaign they cover, simply chasing a version of reality that is always just out of reach?