Billionaire Caruso Rejects 'Toxic' Politics, Shakes Up LA Race

Paul Riverbank, 1/17/2026Billionaire Rick Caruso bows out of LA politics, reshaping the city’s political landscape.

For many longtime observers, Caruso’s announcement landed with a dull thud rather than a bang. He’d been teasing the prospect for months, ever since that bitter 2022 mayoral race where Karen Bass bested him by almost 10 points. The loss clearly stung—Caruso had poured millions of his own fortune into the campaign, saturating city airwaves with slick commercials that promised a businessman’s cure to civic malaise. In the months since his defeat, whenever Malibu blazed or bureaucrats faltered, Caruso was rarely silent. After last year’s fires scorched the coastal canyons near his properties, he publicly grilled city leaders, especially Bass, on what he saw as their sluggish response. “It’s baffling to watch homes burn while city departments pass paperwork around,” he lamented on one Sunday morning political show.

But life outside the campaign trail, with all its emotional toll, can become persuasive. According to one confidant, Caruso’s decision boiled down to a simple calculation: what serves his family best in an era when political ambition often feels indistinguishable from mud wrestling. “It’s a deeply toxic time,” the friend admitted. Caruso echoed those sentiments in his own way, admitting that public life’s cost was hard to tally: “Where can I create the greatest impact—without sacrificing the things I treasure most at home?”

It’s worth noting that for all his absence on the ballot, Caruso hasn’t exactly disappeared into private life. His nonprofit, Steadfast LA, sprang into action after the wildfires, spearheading recovery programs for displaced families and coordinating with rec center staff as the city rebuilt. It was Caruso who first floated a proposal to tweak Measure United to House LA—the so-called “mansion tax”—so homeowners recovering from disaster could access resources faster. Even Mayor Bass, one-time rival, gave him credit: the idea, born out of a planning meeting and developed by Steadfast, ended up as a draft before the council.

Still, electoral arithmetic hasn’t been on Caruso’s side. Los Angeles votes overwhelmingly blue. While he recently registered as a Democrat, his years as a political wanderer—sometimes a Republican, sometimes an independent—didn’t endear him to the party’s progressive vanguard. His ability to coax moderate or swing voters seemed uncertain, a tough ask at a time when partisan lines feel chiseled in stone, not chalk.

His statewide prospects weren’t much rosier. In Los Angeles, Caruso is as familiar as the skyline, but north of Ventura, the name recognition dips sharply. There’s no glossing over it—a gubernatorial run would’ve demanded a rapid-fire introduction to millions of voters who know him, at most, as “that mall guy.” The primary calendar, ticking down already, left little breathing room.

Zoom out, and the political atmosphere only thickens. Every local contest gets touched by the national mood, debates about President Trump echoing through city council races. Caruso, for all his public service passions, has never indulged in sharp anti-Trump theatrics, a surefire way to miss out on the most fervent Democratic base. Even party strategists admitted, off record, that he lacked the red-meat rhetoric often demanded in today’s campaign trenches.

For now, Caruso insists his commitment to public service remains. “It doesn’t require a title,” he said—not a resignation so much as a shift in how he’ll show up for the city. He plans to keep his focus fixed on local recovery, rebuilding efforts, and his nonprofit’s steady expansion.

Meanwhile, Los Angeles gears up for another mayoral race, but without a household name in the lead. In Caruso’s absence, the hopefuls feel less weighty: Spencer Pratt, known more for reality TV than policy insight; Rae Chen Huang from DSA, whose grassroots activism hasn’t yet made citywide waves; Austin Beutner, familiar in education circles, now dipping a toe into broader politics. And over in Sacramento, the list of gubernatorial contenders will take shape, with one big name never added.

One thing Caruso’s decision doesn’t change: the open questions. As LA and the state wrestle with disaster recovery and identity politics, the kind of debate Caruso courted—about money, power, and what defines a true public servant—lingers. He hasn’t left the stage entirely, just picked a new set of wings backstage.

It’s been a year of whispers—corridor conversations and speculative chatter from City Hall to the Santa Monica shoreline. Rick Caruso’s name floated atop every shortlist, a phantom candidate for either the governor’s seat or another bruising shot at the Los Angeles mayoralty. Yet this week, Caruso—developer, magnate, and a fixture at ribbon cuttings from The Grove to Palisades Village—shut down the rumors with a six-sentence note on social media. “After much reflection and heartfelt conversations with my family,” he wrote, “I have decided not to pursue elected office at this time.” Simple as that, an era of speculation closed.For many longtime observers, Caruso’s announcement landed with a dull thud rather than a bang. He’d been teasing the prospect for months, ever since that bitter 2022 mayoral race where Karen Bass bested him by almost 10 points. The loss clearly stung—Caruso had poured millions of his own fortune into the campaign, saturating city airwaves with slick commercials that promised a businessman’s cure to civic malaise. In the months since his defeat, whenever Malibu blazed or bureaucrats faltered, Caruso was rarely silent. After last year’s fires scorched the coastal canyons near his properties, he publicly grilled city leaders, especially Bass, on what he saw as their sluggish response. “It’s baffling to watch homes burn while city departments pass paperwork around,” he lamented on one Sunday morning political show.But life outside the campaign trail, with all its emotional toll, can become persuasive. According to one confidant, Caruso’s decision boiled down to a simple calculation: what serves his family best in an era when political ambition often feels indistinguishable from mud wrestling. “It’s a deeply toxic time,” the friend admitted. Caruso echoed those sentiments in his own way, admitting that public life’s cost was hard to tally: “Where can I create the greatest impact—without sacrificing the things I treasure most at home?”It’s worth noting that for all his absence on the ballot, Caruso hasn’t exactly disappeared into private life. His nonprofit, Steadfast LA, sprang into action after the wildfires, spearheading recovery programs for displaced families and coordinating with rec center staff as the city rebuilt. It was Caruso who first floated a proposal to tweak Measure United to House LA—the so-called “mansion tax”—so homeowners recovering from disaster could access resources faster. Even Mayor Bass, one-time rival, gave him credit: the idea, born out of a planning meeting and developed by Steadfast, ended up as a draft before the council.Still, electoral arithmetic hasn’t been on Caruso’s side. Los Angeles votes overwhelmingly blue. While he recently registered as a Democrat, his years as a political wanderer—sometimes a Republican, sometimes an independent—didn’t endear him to the party’s progressive vanguard. His ability to coax moderate or swing voters seemed uncertain, a tough ask at a time when partisan lines feel chiseled in stone, not chalk.His statewide prospects weren’t much rosier. In Los Angeles, Caruso is as familiar as the skyline, but north of Ventura, the name recognition dips sharply. There’s no glossing over it—a gubernatorial run would’ve demanded a rapid-fire introduction to millions of voters who know him, at most, as “that mall guy.” The primary calendar, ticking down already, left little breathing room.Zoom out, and the political atmosphere only thickens. Every local contest gets touched by the national mood, debates about President Trump echoing through city council races. Caruso, for all his public service passions, has never indulged in sharp anti-Trump theatrics, a surefire way to miss out on the most fervent Democratic base. Even party strategists admitted, off record, that he lacked the red-meat rhetoric often demanded in today’s campaign trenches.For now, Caruso insists his commitment to public service remains. “It doesn’t require a title,” he said—not a resignation so much as a shift in how he’ll show up for the city. He plans to keep his focus fixed on local recovery, rebuilding efforts, and his nonprofit’s steady expansion.Meanwhile, Los Angeles gears up for another mayoral race, but without a household name in the lead. In Caruso’s absence, the hopefuls feel less weighty: Spencer Pratt, known more for reality TV than policy insight; Rae Chen Huang from DSA, whose grassroots activism hasn’t yet made citywide waves; Austin Beutner, familiar in education circles, now dipping a toe into broader politics. And over in Sacramento, the list of gubernatorial contenders will take shape, with one big name never added.One thing Caruso’s decision doesn’t change: the open questions. As LA and the state wrestle with disaster recovery and identity politics, the kind of debate Caruso courted—about money, power, and what defines a true public servant—lingers. He hasn’t left the stage entirely, just picked a new set of wings backstage.