Nicki Minaj Dismantles Newsom—Governor’s Office Fires Back, Critics Pile On

Paul Riverbank, 12/15/2025Nicki Minaj clashes with Governor Newsom; viral memes blur lines between politics, pop culture, and activism.

It began after Newsom gave an interview to the *New York Times*, where he reaffirmed his well-publicized support for transgender youth. That in itself isn’t especially new; Newsom has often positioned himself as a progressive standard-bearer, particularly on issues tied to LGBTQ rights. Still, the phrasing—his stated desire "to see trans kids" and his backing for pro-trans legislation—became tinder for what came next.

Minaj pounced, not with subtlety, but in a cascade of posts on X (formerly Twitter). “Imagine being the guy running on wanting to see trans kids. Not even a trans ADULT would run on that… Not Gav,” she wrote—a shot as pointed as it was public. Just in case her message wasn’t clear, she dialed it up: “Oh Gavvy pooh, it only gets worse from here for you, buddy…It’s the end of the road for you, my love. Get on the nearest jet ski & let that beautiful hair blow in the wind. It will make you happier than this race that you will not win.”

Usually, politicians weather such celebrity rebukes with silence or bureaucratic restraint; not this time. In a turn that raised more eyebrows than it defused, Newsom’s communications director, Izzy Gardon, entered the fray with a post referencing one of Minaj’s own singles. The image posted—her face, photoshopped into a trash bin, captioned “Stupid Hoe”—was as blunt as any rejoinder from an official government account in recent memory. For reference, “Stupid Hoe” isn’t just an insult; it’s the title of a 2011 Minaj track, but the callback struck some as tone-deaf, others as outright offensive.

Accusations soon swirled. Some called Gardon's post "disrespectful," with Representative Carl DeMaio taking particular issue with the language used against a Black woman in public life. Gardon, doubling down, cheekily suggested only the “certified homosexual” would catch the music reference. “We may need to take your gay card away, Carl. Your infractions are becoming insufferable,” he added, a quip that did little to halt the barrage. If anything, these exchanges only drove the story further.

Only in today's digital politicking could a rapper accuse a governor of self-sabotage, while the official response references pop culture with such abandon. Minaj, sensing the interaction was gaining momentum, kept up her side of the spat. “You’re ready to make a career politician with everything to lose throw it all away — just like they did to everyone else before him — just to go against me,” she wrote in a follow-up, noting the heightened stakes.

The visual metaphors kept coming. There was Minaj’s jab likening Newsom to Tom Cruise (with a “Mission Impossible” reference for good measure), plus a not-so-subtle meme of Chucky—the devious horror movie doll—for added resonance. Style and substance intermingled; derision didn’t overshadow the core policy dispute, but it certainly colored it.

For those watching from Sacramento to Staten Island, the episode seemed to crystallize a larger trend in contemporary American politics: the crumbling decorum and a willingness to engage in skirmishes that in other eras might have been settled with a sidelong glance, or at most, a sharply worded press release. Today, those lines are blurred—or erased entirely—when a single tweet, sent in moments, can reverberate coast to coast within an hour.

While Newsom’s office chose not to return further comment, the story had already transcended the initial disagreement. Halle Berry, Academy Award winner and another high-wattage public figure, recently called out the governor too—though for a very different reason—accusing him of failing women by vetoing a bill related to menopause care. “He probably should not be our next president, either,” Berry remarked, further stoking debate about Newsom’s ambitions and priorities.

There’s a sense, among longtime political observers, that what once counted as out-of-bounds between leaders and critics now passes almost without consequence. In decades past, there was a tacit agreement: family members—especially children—remained off-limits. Public exchanges rarely devolved into overtly personal jabs. The past week’s events, driven by viral algorithms as much as raw impulse, made it clear those traditions have faded.

It’s difficult to say where this leaves the broader debate over trans rights, or what the sum cost will be for our civic culture when private grievances break into full public view, armed with memes and song lyrics. What’s certain is this: these social media eruptions are more than ephemeral dustups. They shape what people notice, how they talk about power, and—perhaps most tellingly—what they expect from those seeking public trust.

For now, as the political winds swirl from the statehouse to the timeline, the boundaries between governance, celebrity, and activism seem more porous than ever. The consequences—intended or not—likely won’t stop echoing anytime soon.

It’s unusual—though perhaps not surprising anymore—to see a state governor and a chart-topping rapper locked in a very public standoff. This week, California found itself in the middle of exactly that kind of spectacle. Nicki Minaj, known as much for her prodigious lyrical output as her fearless online presence, turned her attention, and her considerable following, toward Governor Gavin Newsom.It began after Newsom gave an interview to the *New York Times*, where he reaffirmed his well-publicized support for transgender youth. That in itself isn’t especially new; Newsom has often positioned himself as a progressive standard-bearer, particularly on issues tied to LGBTQ rights. Still, the phrasing—his stated desire "to see trans kids" and his backing for pro-trans legislation—became tinder for what came next.Minaj pounced, not with subtlety, but in a cascade of posts on X (formerly Twitter). “Imagine being the guy running on wanting to see trans kids. Not even a trans ADULT would run on that… Not Gav,” she wrote—a shot as pointed as it was public. Just in case her message wasn’t clear, she dialed it up: “Oh Gavvy pooh, it only gets worse from here for you, buddy…It’s the end of the road for you, my love. Get on the nearest jet ski & let that beautiful hair blow in the wind. It will make you happier than this race that you will not win.”Usually, politicians weather such celebrity rebukes with silence or bureaucratic restraint; not this time. In a turn that raised more eyebrows than it defused, Newsom’s communications director, Izzy Gardon, entered the fray with a post referencing one of Minaj’s own singles. The image posted—her face, photoshopped into a trash bin, captioned “Stupid Hoe”—was as blunt as any rejoinder from an official government account in recent memory. For reference, “Stupid Hoe” isn’t just an insult; it’s the title of a 2011 Minaj track, but the callback struck some as tone-deaf, others as outright offensive.Accusations soon swirled. Some called Gardon's post "disrespectful," with Representative Carl DeMaio taking particular issue with the language used against a Black woman in public life. Gardon, doubling down, cheekily suggested only the “certified homosexual” would catch the music reference. “We may need to take your gay card away, Carl. Your infractions are becoming insufferable,” he added, a quip that did little to halt the barrage. If anything, these exchanges only drove the story further.Only in today's digital politicking could a rapper accuse a governor of self-sabotage, while the official response references pop culture with such abandon. Minaj, sensing the interaction was gaining momentum, kept up her side of the spat. “You’re ready to make a career politician with everything to lose throw it all away — just like they did to everyone else before him — just to go against me,” she wrote in a follow-up, noting the heightened stakes.The visual metaphors kept coming. There was Minaj’s jab likening Newsom to Tom Cruise (with a “Mission Impossible” reference for good measure), plus a not-so-subtle meme of Chucky—the devious horror movie doll—for added resonance. Style and substance intermingled; derision didn’t overshadow the core policy dispute, but it certainly colored it.For those watching from Sacramento to Staten Island, the episode seemed to crystallize a larger trend in contemporary American politics: the crumbling decorum and a willingness to engage in skirmishes that in other eras might have been settled with a sidelong glance, or at most, a sharply worded press release. Today, those lines are blurred—or erased entirely—when a single tweet, sent in moments, can reverberate coast to coast within an hour.While Newsom’s office chose not to return further comment, the story had already transcended the initial disagreement. Halle Berry, Academy Award winner and another high-wattage public figure, recently called out the governor too—though for a very different reason—accusing him of failing women by vetoing a bill related to menopause care. “He probably should not be our next president, either,” Berry remarked, further stoking debate about Newsom’s ambitions and priorities.There’s a sense, among longtime political observers, that what once counted as out-of-bounds between leaders and critics now passes almost without consequence. In decades past, there was a tacit agreement: family members—especially children—remained off-limits. Public exchanges rarely devolved into overtly personal jabs. The past week’s events, driven by viral algorithms as much as raw impulse, made it clear those traditions have faded.It’s difficult to say where this leaves the broader debate over trans rights, or what the sum cost will be for our civic culture when private grievances break into full public view, armed with memes and song lyrics. What’s certain is this: these social media eruptions are more than ephemeral dustups. They shape what people notice, how they talk about power, and—perhaps most tellingly—what they expect from those seeking public trust.For now, as the political winds swirl from the statehouse to the timeline, the boundaries between governance, celebrity, and activism seem more porous than ever. The consequences—intended or not—likely won’t stop echoing anytime soon.