Tim Walz, who became Kamala Harris’s vice-presidential pick partially on the strength of a viral, unscripted cable-news appearance in which he called Donald Trump and JD Vance “weird,” is a surprisingly bubble-wrapped campaigner.

The Minnesota governor rarely interacts directly with undecided voters within view of the press. Instead, much of his independent travel involves thanking and encouraging people who already support the Democratic ticket. His first solo trips have involved drop-bys at campaign offices, where he has offered to jump on calls by phone-bankers; visits with fellow Democratic governors; feeding a baby cow; and plenty of retail stops for dessert: milkshakes, whoopie pies, cake, chocolate-covered pretzels and stroopwafels.

Before heading to debate prep in Northern Michigan this weekend, where he answered three shouted questions, Walz had only stopped once to take questions from his traveling press corps — a 90-second exchange at the Minnesota State Fair. That conversation ended when Walz was asked about six hostages killed in Gaza and did not answer. Since joining the ticket he’s given some local interviews, but far fewer than he did while serving as a campaign surrogate.

Vice-presidential candidates are by their nature secondary figures, and often recede into the background, aiming not to harm the ticket.

But Walz’s conservative approach to campaigning stands in contrast to that of Donald Trump’s running mate, Sen. JD Vance (R-Ohio), whose stint as the vice-presidential nominee has spurred headlines about his comments and controversies, including his role in spreading false claims that Haitian immigrants were eating pets in his home state. Vance has regularly participated in interviews with both traditional and new media. He frequently takes questions from the reporters covering his campaign travel, often combatively sparring with the journalists who cover him.

In the lead-up to the candidates’ debate showdown Tuesday night, Walz has been the more cautious candidate. At a college-football game in Ann Arbor, Mich., on Saturday, for example, he met with about 30 student supporters at the airport at a distance where Walz’s brief conversations were inaudible to the press. Later, Walz’s staff again kept reporters at a distance as he visited a tailgate party under a Harris-Walz branded tent, making it impossible to know if he spoke to anyone not already persuaded by the Harris campaign’s pitch. During the game, Walz sat with former congressman Beto O’Rourke and met with more students — all behind the closed doors of a luxury suite.

When he appears in public, Walz is prone to talk fast, at times rapidly running through his stump speech when using a teleprompter, which he has said he was not used to using before accepting the role, or peppering his prepared remarks with added anecdotes and stories. He sharply criticizes Trump, and connects his personal biography with issues — such as reproductive rights and gun control — that appeal to the Democratic base.

He sometimes stumbles over quotes or seems to misspeak. On the trail, for example, Walz has repeatedly told a story about being on a bus tour with Harris and seeing a group of their supporters on one side of the street and a group of Trump supporters (who he jokes are “real independent thinkers” with matching red hats) on the other. In the story, Walz says that Harris told him that they need to fight for both groups, and that their policies can affect those who did not support them.

But Walz has told different versions of the story at different times. On three occasions, at rallies and fundraisers, Walz said the moment occurred in Pennsylvania, and on three occasions he said it occurred in Savannah, Ga. The campaign declined to comment on where the interaction actually took place, but after The Washington Post asked about it, Walz removed any reference to a specific location from his next retelling of the story.

Republicans have criticized Walz for inconsistencies in how he has described his biography — for example, that he said he carried weapons in war, but never deployed in a war zone, and that he said his daughter was conceived via IVF when he and his wife, Gwen, actually used a different type of fertility treatment.

Walz has acknowledged he misspoke about the weapons and the IVF, and brushed off such moments as him wearing his emotions on his sleeve and speaking passionately about issues that motivate him.

“My wife, the English teacher, told me my grammar’s not always correct,” he explained in a joint interview with Harris on CNN, when asked about his past inaccurate statements.

Despite those stumbles, Walz has been an asset to the campaign. In joint rally appearances with Harris, Walz acts as the ultimate hype man. Onstage he is constantly moving — his hands clutched over his heart, then out to the side as if showing off Harris, then waving high in the air, then together as if in prayer, bowing in thanks to attendees. He will stretch his arms up high to point both fingers in the air, and when joined onstage by Harris or members of Congress even lift his feet in the air as if in a kick line while raising arms with them.

He’s shown an ability to hobnob with elite donors. He’s a regular keynote guest at Harris Victory Fund fundraisers, speaking in exclusive hotel ballrooms and the homes of wealthy donors, including at three climate focused fundraisers in New York City last week that brought him to the apartment of Alex Soros and Huma Abedin.

And he has psyched up the Democratic base, slotting into the role of happy warrior. He’s joked about his identity as an old, straight, White man, and much of his travel has been to rural, White areas. Much of his outreach has focused on the “Blue Wall” states of Pennsylvania, Michigan and Wisconsin. He’s become the campaign’s top emissary to labor groups, speaking at numerous union events, and many of his recent campaign swings have included meetings with college students where he can lean into his role as a former public school teacher and coach.

As he’s traveled across the swing states, he’s been inundated with supporters professing their love for him, like a volunteer in Arizona who asked if they could get married. Many admirers admit they didn’t know who he was a month ago, like the host of a Dallas fundraiser who told gathered donors “I was not paying attention to who the governor of Minnesota was, and what he was doing, until about five weeks ago.”

In interviews, new fans of Walz have cited his folksy appeal and relatability as winning them over in short order.

“He just makes you smile,” said Kandice Lora, 43, a Las Vegas flight attendant who attended a joint Harris-Walz rally in Nevada last month. She compared Walz to “the dad next door that’s going to come and help you with your car, or fill your groceries when you’re sick, or something like that.”

Kimberley Colbaugh, 64, who attended the same rally, took it a step further: “Tim Walz is Santa Claus. I am thrilled with Tim Walz.”