Donald Trump’s Gulf War has brought an already frayed relationship with Europe to a new tipping point. At the top of European fears: that a prolonged closure of the Strait of Hormuz will expose them to a new energy crisis, four years after the oil and gas tremors that followed Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine. A “stagflationary shock,” in the words of EU Economy Commissioner Valdis Dombrovskis, could soon join the list of European grievances with Washington, after recent tussles over Greenland or the extortionate trade deals forced upon them last summer.

Look no further than the growing friction between Trump and his fellow travelers among the far-right movements in or out of power across Europe. From Germany and Italy to France and Hungary, Trump’s repeated aggressions are placing his natural allies in an unenviable political position, forcing them to level with the spillover effects caused by their big brother in the White House.

Last Sunday’s crushing defeat for Hungarian strongman Viktor Orbán, who had received a ringing endorsement from the Trump administration, ought to be taken as a warning sign: Cleave too closely to the White House at your own peril. Orbán’s replacement, Péter Magyar, is far from the liberal paragon that some might make him out to be, and benefited from the economic malaise associated with the later years of Orbán’s term in office. But the incoming premier also speaks for the desire in Hungary to restore a better working relationship with the European Union after the constant bickering of the Orbán years.

In that, Magyar’s victory confirms the continental hard right’s trend toward cooperation via the European Union. A breakaway veteran of Orbán’s Fidesz party, Magyar has stated that he “hopes to make decision-making easier” on the EU-level and would not hold up, for example, a new European financial lifeline for Kyiv. That’s a refutation for Trump, whose constant broadsides against Europe’s stance on the Ukraine conflict mirrored the ousted premier’s. On Wednesday, Trump sought to minimize his ally’s defeat, telling ABC that he “wasn’t that involved in this one.”

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In post-EU Britain, home to arguably the most US-phillic of European hard right parties, Nigel Farage’s Reform UK is also expressing frustration with the White House. No doubt Farage cares quite little about Trump’s April 7 claim that “Iranian civilization will die” unless Tehran accepts capitulation—that “went way to far,” the English politician said, though he has indicated that as prime minister he would authorize American strikes at Iranian infrastructure from UK airbases. What he surely does care about is the prospect that Trumpism could prove an electoral drag, as falling support seems to suggest. One recent study suggests that the leading reason for voter hesitation is Farage’s perceived proximity to Trump.

The turnaround is just as marked from Giorgia Meloni. Since Trump’s return to power, the far-right Italian premier, the leader of a party that traces its roots back to post-WWII neofascism, sought to serve as a chief intermediary between Washington and the EU. While hewing closely to Brussels on European support for Ukraine, Meloni advocated for tempering the European response to Trump’s “Liberation Day” tariffs.

In recent days, Meloni has started to reap a more bitter fruit. Trump has taken to lashing out at the Italian premier, calling her a coward for her refusal to allow the US to launch strikes against Iran from its bases in Italy. That rebuke added to Trump’s latest tirade against Pope Leo, which Meloni deemed “unacceptable.” On April 14, she announced the suspension of Italy’s security pact with Israel, a decision that came after Italian troops involved in a United Nations peacekeeping mission came under Israeli fire in Lebanon.

A great deal of this is necessary posturing for a turbulent geopolitical moment. But it’s not just that. After all, European leaders of all stripes are being forced to contend in a continental political scene where there’s ample reason to see partnership with Trumpist America as a liability at best, when it’s not outright exploitative.

In France, skepticism of the US has long kept Marine Le Pen’s Rassemblement National at a relatively cool distance vis-à-vis the MAGA world—a far cry from the symbiosis projected by Orbán or the Italian hard right.

But an April 14 report from Reuters has its thumb on some of the deeper costs of proximity. In the lead-up to France’s presidential elections in 2027, the news agency is reporting that Charles Kushner, the US ambassador to Paris and father of Trump’s son-in-law Jared, is holding a series of consultations with leading contenders. Their talks with the Rassemblement National purportedly left US diplomats with little confidence in the RN’s capacity to steer the French economy, curtail the country’s high public deficit, and “win US investment,” in Reuters’ paraphrasing of the unnamed officials.

If Trump has sought to drill in one message to Europeans, it’s that American “friendship” comes at a price. From exorbitant tariffs to purchases of American fossil fuels and weapons, the White House expects European publics to swallow its dictates. The European nationalist has no magic solution to a grim political math demanding large increases in military spending at a time of tightening budgets. He may even feel a pang that his country’s digital economy or defense industry is in a state of drastic dependence on US technology.

Bonhomie can only do so much in covering up these ingrained imbalances. It’s all far and well to boast of common civilizational values—and it’s far too early to talk of a divorce. But the stilted deal being forced on Europe by this trigger-happy White House has its costs. Even for Trump’s boosters on the old continent, that relationship is showing some wear.