Public Affairs Counsellor Jessica Eritou looks at social and digital trends of Prime Minister Mark Carney and Conservative Leader Pierre Poilievre.

As Parliament returns this fall, the spotlight isn’t just on policy; it’s on how that policy feels to Canadians. Prime Minister Mark Carney and Opposition Leader Pierre Poilievre are entering a new phase — one that’s shaped how effectively each leader communicates urgency, empathy and credibility in a hyper-saturated digital landscape.

Back in March, I explored how Carney was shaping his digital narrative on the campaign trail. What’s clear now is that this next phase of political storytelling will be less about bills and votes, and more about whose message can cut through Ottawa’s noise and resonate across Canada’s 24/7 news and digital algorithm.

Carney’s visual caution

Carney’s brand is grounded in authority and expertise. As a former central banker and global figure, his digital presence is designed to position him as a stabilizing force in unstable times. His government leans heavily on livestreams and media validators, turning headlines into legacy-branded graphics with Carney front and centre to boost credibility by association.

This technique borrows trust from established outlets and projects seriousness. It says, "We’re responsible, and we’re paying attention." But the control is palpable.

What’s notably still absent is the emotional proximity in his visuals. Carney’s social channels rarely feature direct-to-camera videos, behind-the-scenes content or informal clips that pull audiences closer. His feeds are stiffly composed, filled with posed handshakes, formal meetings and polished language. The result is a brand that feels competent but distant.

The strength of this approach is its credibility. For younger Canadians and voters exhausted by partisanship, Carney’s tone can feel like a welcome return to calm. But credibility without connection risks feeling cold. His communications style must evolve to meet the moment — not just in tone, but in form.

His greatest challenge may be translating complex economic policy into visual narratives that feel personal and tangible to everyday Canadians.

When I worked as a Senior Communications Advisor on the Hill, I constantly asked myself and my team members during strategy sessions: How does this land with “Kristina from Kanata” — a shorthand for any Canadian who doesn't live in the Ottawa bubble. Will she feel part of this narrative? Will she feel seen, understood and protected? These are not aesthetic questions; they are questions of trust.

Without this bridge, even a technically sound policy can feel disconnected. Without a sense of inclusion, voters tune out.

“Carney and Poilievre offer Canadians two starkly different models of connection: one built on authority, the other on resonance. This fall will test whose story can break through, and which one Canadians will carry with them into the next election.”

Poilievre’s visual velocity

Poilievre, by contrast, has built his brand on direct-to-voter communication, relying less on traditional media. His feed is fast, emotion-invoking and hyper-targeted: shorter videos in the age of TikTok, viral soundbites and YouTube shorts targeting a younger audience, and live streams that speak to frustration about affordability, inflation and government waste.

He also leans on media headlines, but rather than borrow their credibility, he repurposes them as tools to frame his critique of government. His posts often include podcast clips, quick cultural references and even a “Summer of George” Seinfeld nod to inject levity, signal cultural fluency and relatability.

On Instagram, this was a time when the byelection was helpful for him in humanizing his image. We had another opportunity to view his blunt, highly shareable infographics and footage from the trail, often dressed down, connecting with voters, emphasizing his relatability. Despite his combative style, there are occasional glimpses of softness: an outstretched arm in a factory, a warm smile in an unguarded moment. These flashes matter. They remind viewers that, behind the disruption, there’s still a person trying to connect.

Poilievre’s strength is immediacy. He speaks in the language of the algorithm: snappy and visual. For Canadians outside political circles, his messaging is more present, more accessible, and more human. But this speed comes at a cost. Oversimplification risks distortion. Combative rhetoric risks alienation.

The communications divide

The clash this fall is not only ideological. It’s stylistic. Carney represents the institutional communicator: cautious, polished, sometimes distant. Poilievre is the populist disrupter: blunt, agile, and emotionally direct.

This divide reflects a broader truth in Canadian politics: trust can be communicated in an increasingly visual and personal way. In a country as diverse as Canada, the old broadcast-era strategies no longer guarantee reach or resonance. Different audiences trust in different ways: some through formal credibility, others through emotional authenticity. Some need the facts in their feed. Others need to feel the person delivering them.

This is where Carney has the most room and need for growth. Without a stronger visual storytelling strategy that reflects real, relatable life, he risks letting strong ideas die in the short-attention-span scroll. He must answer not only what he believes but also why it should matter to someone watching on a phone during their lunch break.

Poilievre, on the other hand, must show he can be more than just the voice of opposition. He must demonstrate his leadership not only to his caucus, however to Canadians more broadly.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then every clip, post and photo op is a chance to shape public trust or lose it. This return to Parliament is not just about passing legislation; it’s about landing a narrative in an era of fractured attention. In an environment where traditional institutions feel brittle, how leaders communicate is as important as what they communicate.

Carney and Poilievre offer Canadians two starkly different models of connection: one built on authority, the other on resonance. This fall will test whose story can break through, and which one Canadians will carry with them into the next election.