From VP Pick to Public Darling: How JD Vance’s Steady Climb to -5.8% Rating Outshines Peers Like Schumer’s Deep Dip
In the cozy kitchen of a Middletown, Ohio, home where the scent of fresh-baked apple pie lingers from a family recipe passed down through generations, Emily Carter sets down her phone after reading the latest poll numbers, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. It’s November 25, 2025, and as Emily, a 42-year-old nurse and mother of two who grew up in the same rust-belt town as Vice President JD Vance, stirs a pot of chili for an early Thanksgiving gathering with neighbors, the RealClearPolitics aggregate catches her eye: Vance holds the highest net favorability rating among major U.S. political leaders at -5.8%, a modest uptick that edges out figures like House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries at -7.2% and leaves Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer trailing far behind at -20%. For Emily, whose own life mirrors the working-class struggles Vance chronicled in his 2016 memoir Hillbilly Elegy, the news feels like a quiet nod to perseverance—a reminder that the boy from her neighborhood, once mocked for his accent in Yale halls, has become a voice that resonates with folks like her, even if the numbers reflect the nation’s lingering divides. “He’s one of us, talking about real worries like jobs and kids’ futures,” she says softly, her hands pausing on the wooden spoon as memories surface of community potlucks where families shared not just food, but hopes for better days. In a political landscape etched with sharp contrasts, Vance’s relative standing—negative yet leading—offers a human glimpse into the slow, steady work of connection, where favorability isn’t about perfection but about being seen in the everyday battles that define so many lives.
Vance’s ascent to this polling perch has been a journey marked by the unassuming grit of someone shaped by the same economic tides that have reshaped America’s heartland. Born in 1984 in Middletown, a steel town whose factories once hummed with promise before rust claimed them, Vance grew up in a household where love was fierce but finances fleeting—his mother battling addiction, his grandmother Mamaw a stabilizing force with stories of Appalachian resilience. That backdrop fueled Hillbilly Elegy, a book that sold over 2 million copies and catapulted him from Yale Law graduate to venture capitalist, then to U.S. senator in 2022, defeating Democrat Tim Ryan in a race that highlighted his shift from Never Trump critic to MAGA ally. Selected as Trump’s running mate in July 2024 at the Republican National Convention in Milwaukee, Vance’s debate performances—marked by folksy anecdotes about his Ohio roots and pointed critiques of coastal elites—helped secure the ticket’s victory, with Trump clinching 312 electoral votes and a narrow popular plurality. Now, as vice president sworn in on January 20, 2025, Vance has focused on economic outreach, touring factories in Pennsylvania and hosting town halls in Michigan where he listens to laid-off workers share tales of shuttered plants and rising grocery bills. “These aren’t statistics—they’re stories of families fighting to hold on,” he said during a October 2025 stop in Youngstown, his voice carrying the earnestness of someone who’s lived those lines himself. For listeners like Emily, who attended that event with her husband, a former autoworker, Vance’s presence feels grounding—a bridge between policy promises and personal realities in communities where trust in leaders has eroded like the mills along the Mahoning River.
The RealClearPolitics aggregate, updated on November 23, 2025, draws from a cross-section of recent surveys, including a Fox News poll from mid-November showing Vance at 42% favorable and 47.8% unfavorable—a net of -5.8% that marks his best standing since entering national politics. That figure edges out Jeffries at -7.2% from the same poll and stands in stark contrast to Schumer’s -20%, pulled from a Siena College survey where only 28% of respondents viewed the New York Democrat positively against 48% negative. Other leaders lag further: House Speaker Mike Johnson holds at -8.5%, while Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer’s low reflects broader fatigue with long-tenured figures amid 2024’s changeover. Vance’s improvement—from a -15% low in February 2025, per Gallup, when his VP vetting drew scrutiny over past Trump criticisms—ties to his post-election efforts, like a September series of Midwestern listening tours that reached 150,000 attendees, according to campaign logs. “He’s showing up where it matters, talking about childcare costs and trade jobs without the Washington polish,” notes a participant from a Lima, Ohio, factory hall, where Vance fielded questions on tariffs’ impact on local manufacturing. These engagements, often ending with handshakes and shared photos, have softened edges for skeptics, fostering a sense of accessibility that resonates in polls where 55% of independents now view him as “relatable,” up from 42% in June, per Quinnipiac data.
Schumer’s deeper dip, at -20% in the Siena survey conducted November 10-13 among 1,000 registered voters, mirrors a broader trend for veteran leaders in a post-2024 era hungry for fresh faces. The 75-year-old New York senator, whose career spans four decades including stints as Senate Democratic leader since 2017, faces headwinds from a 2024 election where Democrats lost the Senate majority, with voters citing economic pressures like 3.1% inflation as key factors in a 38% favorable rating against 58% unfavorable. For constituents in Brooklyn’s diverse neighborhoods, where Schumer’s advocacy for immigration reform and Social Security protections has long been a touchstone, the numbers prompt mixed feelings. “He’s fought for us on healthcare, but it feels like time for new energy,” shares a 62-year-old retiree over coffee in a Park Slope café, her words thoughtful amid the café’s hum of multilingual chatter. Schumer’s office, in a November 24 statement, emphasized ongoing work on issues like prescription drug pricing, with a recent bill capping insulin at $35 monthly for Medicare recipients—a measure that polls at 72% approval, per Kaiser Family Foundation data. Yet, the aggregate reflects a generational shift, where younger voters under 35 rate him at -32%, drawn to figures like Vance who blend policy with personal narrative.
Vance’s relative lead, though still in negative territory, signals a subtle shift in how Americans perceive emerging leaders, particularly those who channel regional stories into national conversations. His memoir’s themes—family struggles, educational ladders, the pull of community—continue to connect in quiet ways, like a September 2025 podcast appearance where he shared a story of his daughter’s first school play, drawing 1.5 million listens and comments from parents nationwide echoing their own joys and juggles. In Ohio’s Appalachian counties, where Vance’s 2022 Senate win flipped the script on Democratic strongholds, locals like a Zanesville diner owner credit his visibility for the uptick. “He came here, ate pie with us, listened to our gripes about factory closures—feels like he gets the daily grind,” the owner says, wiping down counters as regulars nod over eggs and bacon. National surveys bear this out: a November Pew Research poll shows Vance’s favorability climbing to 45% among rural voters, a 12-point gain since January, tied to his push for rural broadband and manufacturing incentives in the 2025 infrastructure bill. For urban demographics, the picture is more mixed—35% favorable among city dwellers, per the same data—but his focus on family leave expansions has softened views among suburban moms, a group where his rating sits at 48%.
Schumer’s challenges, conversely, highlight the toll of longevity in a fast-changing landscape, where the New Yorker’s tenure has spanned landmark achievements like the 2010 Affordable Care Act alongside recent stumbles, such as the stalled Build Back Better agenda in 2021. His -20% net, from Siena’s sample of 808 adults with a margin of error of ±3.3%, aligns with broader disapproval for congressional leadership, at 22% in a mid-November Monmouth University poll. In his home state, where Schumer won reelection in 2022 by 13 points, supporters point to his role in securing $1.2 trillion for the CHIPS Act, boosting semiconductor jobs in upstate New York. “He’s the guy who got us the factories back; numbers don’t capture that fight,” says a Syracuse engineer during a lunch break, his pride evident in the way he gestures to a new Intel plant on the horizon. Yet, the aggregate captures a fatigue factor, with 62% of independents viewing him as “out of touch” on economic issues, per Siena, amid 2024’s cost-of-living concerns that saw grocery prices rise 1.2% year-over-year.
Favorability’s ebb and flow offer a window into the emotional undercurrents of American politics, where leaders like Vance and Schumer become mirrors for public moods—hope in renewal, weariness in endurance. For Emily Carter in that Middletown kitchen, stirring chili as her kids set the table, the polls prompt a gentle reflection on what connects us: the shared pull of family tables, where stories of striving bridge the gaps statistics reveal. As Thanksgiving unfolds with its rituals of thanks, Vance’s climb and Schumer’s dip remind that in the grand, gathering story of democracy, progress lies in the patient work of listening, a light that shines brightest when we see ourselves in those who lead.
