During my internship at a certain independent online publication last month, I was asked by one of the editors if I could track down some clue as to the whereabouts of our beloved Treasurer. It was the first week of a new, unpredictable Senate and Joe Hockey was nowhere to be seen, having taken a “well-deserved break” from trying to sell the Federal Budget to an increasingly hostile public.

“No problem,” I quipped, desperate to please, “I’ll just look for the cloud of smoke.”

Looking back, it was a cheap shot. Why shouldn’t Mr Hockey be allowed to savour a fine cigar in the privacy of the Parliament grounds without being labelled a pampered fatcat by every hypocrite with an autocue? Not that it mattered – the editor was probably halfway back to her desk before I managed to get the words out.

Now, of course, it’s almost impossible to imagine a cartoon of Smokin’ Joe Hockey without a fat Cuban crammed between his teeth, thumbs rammed deep into his fobs while his chauffeur lights up a hundred dollar note. This caricature, absurd though it may be, illustrates a fundamental truth that must be drilled into everyone pursuing public office: the most damaging gaffes are not the ones that shatter our image of a politician, but those that confirm it.

As Amanda Vanstone pointed out in The Age this morning, Joe Hockey is hardly the first politician to enjoy a cheeky stogie between sittings. Why, then, is this minor piece of mockery being mentioned in the same breath as more egregious errors of judgement, such as his recently stated – and belatedly recanted – belief that poor people don’t drive?

Politicians live and die by their image. American presidential hopeful Mitt Romney suffered from the same image problem – although arguably more justified – as Hockey; that he was yet another out of touch blue-blood too caught up in his own privilege to understand the struggles facing average Americans. His infamous “47%” gaffe may have killed any hope he had of making it to the White House, but it was the litany of ill-judged comments and upper-class stuff-ups that set the former governor of Massachussets up for his abrupt fall.

Men like Clive Palmer, for whom every front page is a victory and every viral interview another million saved on advertising, embrace and even cultivate the popular image that builds up around them like a pearl around shit.

But for Joe Hockey, dancing triumphantly before releasing the toughest budget in decades, lying on a beach in Fiji while Tony Abbott desperately tried to repeal the carbon tax on his own terms, puffing away on his cigar while preaching a budget crisis…

For THAT Joe Hockey, these so-called minor gaffes may see his dreams of becoming prime minister going up in smoke.