Written by Thomas Bennett.
President Donald Trump, never one to shy from an opinion, tossed some pointed advice at former Vice President Kamala Harris as she mulls a leap into California’s gubernatorial ring. It’s a rare moment—Trump playing coach to a rival—and it lands squarely on a nerve that could define her next chapter.
Trump’s Take: Talk More, Hide Less
Picture this: Trump, mid-flight on Air Force One, chatting with OutKick’s Clay Travis. “She’s gotta start doing interviews,” he says, cutting straight to it. He’s got a point to prove—Harris, he reckons, can’t dodge the press and win. “Biden pulled it off during COVID, no interviews, and the virus gave him cover,” Trump mused. “That trick won’t fly twice.” It’s a jab with teeth, and it’s aimed at Harris as she eyes California’s top job, a decision she’s expected to nail down by summer’s end.
Harris isn’t just daydreaming here—she’s serious. California’s governorship, overseeing a state that’s practically a country with its $3.6 trillion economy, is up for grabs in 2026. Gavin Newsom’s out, thanks to term limits, and the Democratic field’s already twitching with ambition. Harris brings a resume that’s hard to ignore—state attorney general, U.S. senator, vice president—and a name that echoes coast to coast. A former advisor put it bluntly: “She’d be great.” They see her turning the role into a launchpad, much like Newsom’s done, tackling wildfires or homelessness while keeping an eye on 2028’s national stage.
But it’s not all rosy. That presidential campaign still dogs her—whispers she shunned the mic too often. Trump’s not wrong to poke at it. After Biden bowed out and handed her the baton, Harris went 39 days before sitting down with Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz for a joint interview on August 29. Critics pounced—she’s dodging, they said. She upped her game, hitting local stations, national ones too, but then came the next gripe: she’s cherry-picking softballs. Fair or not, it’s a perception she’ll have to wrestle down.
A Media Misstep That Stings
One fumble stands out like a sore thumb. Harris had a shot at Joe Rogan’s podcast—millions of ears, raw questions—and it fell apart. Word is, her team wanted guardrails on what Rogan could ask. He balked. Trump, though? He waltzed onto Rogan’s show, no script, and walked away with an endorsement. It’s a tale of two approaches: one risks the gauntlet, the other ducks it. In California, where voters expect leaders to face the music—Newsom’s press conferences are practically performance art—that contrast could bite.
She’s got the edge elsewhere. Polls peg her ahead of Newsom and Kentucky’s Andy Beshear for a hypothetical 2028 run, with Pete Buttigieg nipping at her heels. But California’s a different beast. It’s not just about fame—it’s about answering for $4,000-a-month rents in L.A. or blackouts during heatwaves. Her Senate days pushing housing reform could play well, but only if she steps up and owns the conversation. Sidestepping mics won’t cut it when folks want straight talk on real problems.
Trump’s advice, oddly enough, might be her wake-up call. He’s not exactly rooting for her, but he’s spotlighting a flaw she can’t ignore. If she wants Sacramento, she’ll need to ditch the cocoon and face the heat—something Californians, battered by drought and cost-of-living woes, respect in their leaders.
The Race Heats Up Early
Newsom’s departure cracks the door wide. He’s made the gig a megaphone—COVID lockdowns, jabs at Texas governors—and now he’s testing waters with a podcast featuring Steve Bannon, the MAGA lightning rod. Beshear didn’t hesitate to slam it: “Bannon’s hate doesn’t deserve a platform.” Fair point—Bannon’s a powder keg—but Newsom’s move screams confidence, a willingness to spar with anyone. Harris could take notes; her cautious streak looks tame next to that.
Then there’s Buttigieg, bowing out of Michigan’s 2026 races—Senate and governor—to focus on something bigger. “I’m not running,” he posted on X, waxing poetic about “a vision for an alternative.” He’s clearing his slate for 2028, leaving Harris a cleaner shot at California. But it’s a double-edged sword—win there, and she’s a contender; flop, and he’s waiting in the wings. The stakes are sky-high.
California’s mess adds pressure. Housing’s a nightmare—median home prices hit $850,000 last year. Wildfires scorch budgets; power grids buckle. Voters aren’t in the mood for platitudes—they want fixes. Harris has ammo—her record on criminal justice, her push for green jobs—but it’s useless if she can’t sell it face-to-face. The field’s open, but it’s brutal, and 2026 will test her mettle like nothing before.
Our Take
Trump’s offhand tip to Harris cuts deeper than he might intend—it’s a mirror to her biggest hurdle. She’s got the pedigree and the platform to claim California’s helm, but that media-shy shadow could sink her. Voters there don’t just want a resume—they want a fighter who’ll stare down tough questions and tougher crises. She’s ahead now, but 2026 isn’t a gimme. If she heeds Trump’s nudge and steps into the fray, she might just turn a weakness into a win. If not, the Democratic bench is deep, and the clock’s ticking.
