Spencer Pratt’s Game Was No Match For L.A.’s Democratic Machine

Reality TV villain Spencer Pratt, an enduringly wily and enterprising figure, willed his way into the Los Angeles political conversation with a buzzy mayoral bid that appears now to have failed to advance past the primary contest. Instead, incumbent Democrat Karen Bass looks in all likelihood to face off in this November’s general election against progressive city councilwoman Nithya Raman.

Pratt’s apparent loss came as little surprise to anyone with a clue about the city’s political demographics. Not just because he has zero leadership experience and a checkered personal history that he flaunted in a bestselling memoir published shortly after announcing his run. It’s that he’s a registered Republican who tried to run for office in lefty L.A. as an independent, even after President Donald Trump anointed him “a big MAGA person.”

Still, Pratt’s self-styled redemption arc as a crusading hero became a subject of fascination, even fan fiction, for conservatives and heterodox types across the country who saw his reformist focus on municipal ills as a possible winning strategy in deepest-blue districts. Then, when it didn’t work — in the last election cycle local undercover conservative Rick Caruso, who possessed actual bona fides and goodwill, blew more than $100 million on the same wishful thinking — many of his supporters claimed the election had been rigged, despite possessing no evidence. “Forget it, Jake. It’s Chinatown,” the prominent right-wing activist Christopher Rufo of the Manhattan Institute posted on June 7.

In defeat, Pratt’s next move is likely to be a pivot as a right-wing media figure, hybridizing the roles of news pundit and unscripted figure. For years now he’s been looking for a suitable hook to get himself and his family back on TV. Exile and resurrection in a red state may finally assure him a green light. Paramount+ or Fox Nation would be a natural fit.

Despite his unexceptional loss, Pratt should be acknowledged as perhaps one of the most consequential local political figures in recent memory. His improbable campaign, which turned a national Klieg light on the race, has both ushered in America’s era of the influencer candidate and reframed the narrative around the city’s key intractable social issue: homelessness.

The 42-year-old digital creator launched his City Hall bid after losing his family’s home in the 2025 Pacific Palisades wildfire — a disaster he blamed on government incompetence. His grievance-fueled populism resonated with a swath of frustrated voters who increasingly see L.A. as a dystopia amid persistent street encampments, property vandalism and runaway film and TV production.

Pratt’s main character energy proved attractive to (primarily out-of-state) donors as well as meme makers, who gravitated to his blend of righteousness and rage as well as irreverence. His distinct sensibility — by turns theatrical, ironic, chaotic, heartfelt — was native to the Internet. This is a man who’d spent decades yapping to his front-facing camera and now invested his campaign cash in online clipping services to promote his appearances on the video-podcast circuit.

Perhaps most significant was Pratt’s approach to homelessness, which ran counter to the local liberal establishment’s policymaking consensus and implementation regime. Other candidates, including his key rivals Bass and Raman, spoke about “unhoused neighbors” and a concomitant need to build more affordable housing units to help them. Pratt, meanwhile, advocated for law enforcement crackdowns to remove “zombies” from public spaces, arguing they are a danger to themselves and others due to (often co-occurring) mental health and drug addiction issues.

Much of politics is about framing. Just ask the professionals who cooked up “death tax” for estate tax, “undocumented immigrants” for illegal aliens and “safety-net programs” for welfare. Pratt, wielding dehumanizing language, was foremost a storyteller who intuitively understood how to manage perception and messaging — a lot like fellow unscripted television vet Trump, who a decade ago set the terms of his own agenda on immigration and deportation.

Paradigm shifters are rare in L.A. politics. The last true transformative figure was the city’s first Black mayor, Tom Bradley, who reigned for two decades beginning in 1973. He secured the 1984 Olympics, expanded LAX airport and helped orchestrate the rise of Downtown’s Financial District skyline. Yet his broader impact was in the pioneering electoral coalition that carried him to victory across five terms — a mix of Black and Jewish voters, white yuppies, union members and key corporate leaders. (At the time, L.A. was much less Latino and Asian.) This was the blueprint that Barack Obama would later follow to the presidency.

Pratt’s candidacy and its signature weaponization of homelessness may be a blip, or it may be something more. Just look to the former leftist radical Tom Hayden, who lost a bid for mayor in the 1990s to Richard Riordan, the most recent Republican to hold the office. (Hayden was Jane Fonda’s longtime partner, and in 2020 Eddie Redmayne portrayed him in The Trial of the Chicago 7.) Then a California State Senator, Hayden campaigned on a passionate anti-sprawl, transit-oriented policy platform which at the time was considered fringe in town. Now it’s conventional wisdom.

Fast-forward to today. Bass’ first post-Pratt attack line against Raman was about how her campaign looked forward “to winning a contest against an opponent who allows encampments near schools.”

A precedent for Pratt and his supporters is the turn-of-the-millennium San Fernando Valley secession movement, borne of similar anger and alienation over negligent, even dismissive local governance. While secession sputtered, the Valley’s reactionary energy led to structural reforms at City Hall. Most notably the creation of Neighborhood Councils which, despite their own flaws, remain founts of formidable pressure. A quarter-century later, the Valley is taken far more seriously in policy discussions as well as elections.

Pratt was no match for L.A.’s Democrat political machine. But his civic legacy is still unwritten.