The theory is that George Russell, scrupulously diplomatic about competing alongside the most decorated driver in history, represents the perfect teammate. But Hamilton's past form suggests there is only so long such a dynamic can last.
The only reason he warmed to Valtteri Bottas across five years at Mercedes was because he knew he had him beaten. When Nico Rosberg challenged his alpha-male status in 2016, the atmosphere in the garage was as sour as curdled milk. Even in his debut campaign at McLaren in 2007, the tensions with Fernando Alonso grew so acute that Ron Dennis tore off his ear defenders in the pit lane in disgust.
Be in no doubt, Russell provides as genuine a threat to Hamilton's Mercedes supremacy as Rosberg once did. While a lapse in qualifying forced the young pretender to start only 14th, Russell gobbled up the ground to Hamilton at an ominous rate. You could detect the panic in Hamilton's voice when, in a discussion with race engineer Pete Bonnington, he cried out: "I'm going to lose the position to George, for sure."
After only five grands prix of 23 this year, the seven-time world champion already knows he faces a ferocious intra-team duel. The issue is how well he copes with such an affront to his pride. Perhaps the greatest worry for Hamilton, aside from Russell's stellar form, is his dwindling relevance in the championship. Even during his relatively fallow years, from 2009 to 2013, he won at least one race every season. But prospects of extending that remarkable consistency look remote.
Up the road, leader Max Verstappen, with whom he had battled so remorselessly just six months earlier, might as well have been contesting a different race.
Naturally, Hamilton's worth to his sport remains incalculable. There was nobody better to sell a second F1 race to a ravenous US audience than the man who has made a home in Malibu, established a skiing retreat in Colorado, and flaunted any number of extravagant self-designed creations on the Met Gala catwalk in Manhattan. He was at ease appearing on the set of Good Morning America as he was trialling his rusty golf swing in the company of Tom Brady. For all that he remains peripheral in the title standings, organisers ensured Hamilton was front and centre of every billboard.
The congestion of celebrities on the grid made Monte Carlo look positively off-Broadway. Even Martin Brundle, the model of laconic composure at moments like these, looked befuddled by the logjam, at one stage thrusting the microphone in front of the wrong person. Only at the end of an interview with the person he imagined was Kansas City quarterback Patrick Mahomes did he realise, with horror, that he had been talking to college basketball star Paolo Banchero.
At least David Beckham, England captain-turned-kingpin of Florida sport through his ownership of Inter Miami, deigned to stop for a few platitudes. The only problem, for a grand prix arguably more hyped than any in living memory, was how much the racing would linger in the collective consciousness.
Despite the radical transformation of the rulebook, the regulations are doing little to enable the more frantic overtaking that F1's technical chiefs envisaged.
Verstappen's brilliant pass on Charles Leclerc aside, there were few such flourishes to enrapture the vast crowds. So many had come to salute Hamilton, the icon of this generation, only to see him mired in mediocrity once more. It is a question of when, not if, his patience finally snaps.
