Billionaire Disruptor Tom Steyer Launches Power Grab for California Governor

Paul Riverbank, 11/20/2025Billionaire Tom Steyer shakes up California’s governor race, promising bold disruption and activist energy.

Steyer, best remembered outside California for the television ads calling for Trump’s impeachment and for the near-quarter-billion-dollar price tag of his 2020 presidential campaign, thinks Sacramento could use a serious shake-up. In a just-released campaign video, Steyer strolls through the sort of sunlit street you don’t see in many political ads—less Hollywood backdrop, more the gritty-casual avenue where a $7 cup of coffee still causes pause, even in 2024—proclaiming, “I wanted to build a business here. Now it’s worth billions. And I walked away from it to give something back.”

That’s not exactly a pitch California hasn’t heard before. Wealthy outsider? Check. Systems are broken? Check again. But in a primary season where nearly half of voters have yet to decide, Steyer’s war chest—roughly $2 billion, according to Forbes—casts a shadow long enough to draw glances from an already crowded field. His message? Straight to the gut: Californians are being “run over” by living costs; politicians are careful, he claims, when it’s boldness that’s needed. “I’m not afraid to pick a fight,” he says, and the confidence feels more like a dare than a promise.

Where his campaign diverges is less in the headline ideas—rampant housing, lower energy bills, taxing corporate giants—than in the manner, the edge (occasionally a bit raw around the language, as his interviewers have learned). What Steyer’s selling is disruption, not in the pedestrian political sense, but as a lived reality. He’s teamed up with veterans from Sanders circles, the sort who prefer marching orders to talking points, signaling that this isn’t a hands-off vanity run but a full-court press.

Such disruptive energy is what Steyer insists Sacramento needs—and what, he wagers, voters crave. But for all his philanthropic bona fides (bank founder, school food advocate, and funder of redistricting drives), Steyer’s profile remains, for now, more known in donor lounges and activist strategy rooms than among voters scraping for affordable rent. Last month’s Berkeley poll pinned him at a lonely 1%. If there’s an underdog quality to this run, money is, awkwardly, the least of his obstacles.

His campaign, however, looks nothing like the others. Steyer’s operation has the fingerprints of NextGen, his own organizing machine, infamous in youth-vote circles for its ground game and relentless energy. It has also inherited elements from his “Need to Impeach” movement—bold media buys, a taste for provocation, and a rebellious streak that rubs both allies and adversaries the wrong way at times.

To be sure, the field is thick with heavyweights: from Katie Porter, the whiteboard-wielding former congresswoman with a cult following, to Xavier Becerra, a familiar face in health policy. Antonio Villaraigosa, with his LA mayoral swagger, is back, as is Betty Yee, the ex-state controller whom Sacramento insiders know well. Should the Republican bench warrant a footnote, there’s veteran lawman Chad Bianco and former Fox News host Steve Hilton, each with their own constituency.

So the story, at least for this moment, is less about how Steyer might spend than whether his particular recipe of outsider energy, activist roots, and unfiltered delivery can cross over from big-dollar spectacle to retail politics. Can the man who once outspent nearly everyone for a distant primary finish convince voters that this disruption is the answer, or is the appetite for risk already sated in a state that swings between extremes as reliably as the tides?

As campaign season grinds forward, Steyer will hammer away: more homes, fewer corporate handouts, an energy market that works for ratepayers instead of utilities—a formula ambitious enough to entice, familiar enough to invite skepticism. The ads, inevitably, will come. But so will difficult questions about authenticity, practicality, and whether another billionaire outsider has truly grasped what it feels like to live paycheck to paycheck in California’s most expensive zip codes.

Odds are, the next few months will test the limits of cash, the resonance of outcry, and the capacity for disruption in a golden state still searching, perpetually, for its next act.

The race to claim the governor’s seat in California isn’t short on candidates, or characters. But as of this week, the contest gained a new, unmistakable presence: Tom Steyer—hedge fund billionaire, climate crusader, and famously undeterred spender—has kicked off his run with the sort of self-introduction that only the very rich (and the very committed) can afford.Steyer, best remembered outside California for the television ads calling for Trump’s impeachment and for the near-quarter-billion-dollar price tag of his 2020 presidential campaign, thinks Sacramento could use a serious shake-up. In a just-released campaign video, Steyer strolls through the sort of sunlit street you don’t see in many political ads—less Hollywood backdrop, more the gritty-casual avenue where a $7 cup of coffee still causes pause, even in 2024—proclaiming, “I wanted to build a business here. Now it’s worth billions. And I walked away from it to give something back.”That’s not exactly a pitch California hasn’t heard before. Wealthy outsider? Check. Systems are broken? Check again. But in a primary season where nearly half of voters have yet to decide, Steyer’s war chest—roughly $2 billion, according to Forbes—casts a shadow long enough to draw glances from an already crowded field. His message? Straight to the gut: Californians are being “run over” by living costs; politicians are careful, he claims, when it’s boldness that’s needed. “I’m not afraid to pick a fight,” he says, and the confidence feels more like a dare than a promise.Where his campaign diverges is less in the headline ideas—rampant housing, lower energy bills, taxing corporate giants—than in the manner, the edge (occasionally a bit raw around the language, as his interviewers have learned). What Steyer’s selling is disruption, not in the pedestrian political sense, but as a lived reality. He’s teamed up with veterans from Sanders circles, the sort who prefer marching orders to talking points, signaling that this isn’t a hands-off vanity run but a full-court press.Such disruptive energy is what Steyer insists Sacramento needs—and what, he wagers, voters crave. But for all his philanthropic bona fides (bank founder, school food advocate, and funder of redistricting drives), Steyer’s profile remains, for now, more known in donor lounges and activist strategy rooms than among voters scraping for affordable rent. Last month’s Berkeley poll pinned him at a lonely 1%. If there’s an underdog quality to this run, money is, awkwardly, the least of his obstacles.His campaign, however, looks nothing like the others. Steyer’s operation has the fingerprints of NextGen, his own organizing machine, infamous in youth-vote circles for its ground game and relentless energy. It has also inherited elements from his “Need to Impeach” movement—bold media buys, a taste for provocation, and a rebellious streak that rubs both allies and adversaries the wrong way at times.To be sure, the field is thick with heavyweights: from Katie Porter, the whiteboard-wielding former congresswoman with a cult following, to Xavier Becerra, a familiar face in health policy. Antonio Villaraigosa, with his LA mayoral swagger, is back, as is Betty Yee, the ex-state controller whom Sacramento insiders know well. Should the Republican bench warrant a footnote, there’s veteran lawman Chad Bianco and former Fox News host Steve Hilton, each with their own constituency.So the story, at least for this moment, is less about how Steyer might spend than whether his particular recipe of outsider energy, activist roots, and unfiltered delivery can cross over from big-dollar spectacle to retail politics. Can the man who once outspent nearly everyone for a distant primary finish convince voters that this disruption is the answer, or is the appetite for risk already sated in a state that swings between extremes as reliably as the tides?As campaign season grinds forward, Steyer will hammer away: more homes, fewer corporate handouts, an energy market that works for ratepayers instead of utilities—a formula ambitious enough to entice, familiar enough to invite skepticism. The ads, inevitably, will come. But so will difficult questions about authenticity, practicality, and whether another billionaire outsider has truly grasped what it feels like to live paycheck to paycheck in California’s most expensive zip codes.Odds are, the next few months will test the limits of cash, the resonance of outcry, and the capacity for disruption in a golden state still searching, perpetually, for its next act.