A Retrospective So Brutal Gavin will Need a Therapy Dog and a One-Way Ticket to France

The French Laundry Heard ‘Round the World

Let’s be honest: if Gavin Newsom ever announces a presidential run, the entire country will immediately re-open 2020 Twitter just to watch California’s greatest hits on loop. The man didn’t just enforce mask rules—he performed them like a one-man off-Broadway tragedy titled “Rules for Thee, But French Laundry for Me.”

While the rest of us were eating Thanksgiving turkey through a straw hole in a soaked cloth diaper, Gavin was maskless in a Napa wine cave, cheek-to-cheek with lobbyists, laughing at a $450 tasting menu that cost more than most Californians’ monthly rent. The photos hit the internet faster than the virus he swore lived in ocean spray. His excuse? “It was outdoooors… technically.” Bro, the table was literally indoors. There were chandeliers. You can’t gaslight chandeliers.

Kids in-School Sauna Edition

Gavin didn’t just mandate masks; he fetishized them. Kids in 110-degree Central Valley classrooms wore sweat-soaked gaiters for two straight years while Gavin’s own children attended in-person private school with zero masks because “the pod was very small and outdoors.” Translation: “I bought my way out of the dystopia I built for you peasants.”

He kept the school mask mandate until March 2022—long after every other blue state except Oregon had surrendered—because apparently toddlers are super-spreaders but Gavin hugging Magic Johnson maskless at an NFC championship game is “low risk.” Science!

The 2020 Thanksgiving Ban That Made Pilgrims Roll in Their Graves

In November 2020, Gavin dropped what might be the single most hated paragraph ever written by a state health department: private Thanksgiving gatherings were limited to no more than THREE households total, had to be held outdoors only, could last no longer than TWO hours, and — I swear this is real — everyone had to remain masked except when actively putting food in their mouth. Singing? Banned. Loud talking? Discouraged because “aerosols.” Bathrooms? Only one household allowed to use the indoor facilities at a time.

Meanwhile, three weeks earlier, Gavin had quietly attended a birthday party for one of his top lobbyist buddies at… wait for it… the French Laundry. Twelve people, multiple households, indoors, no masks, courses served over three hours, $15,000 bottles of wine flowing like it was the fall of Rome.

When the photos leaked, his office first claimed it was “outdoors” (it wasn’t), then said “the group got larger than expected” (translation: we got caught), and finally settled on the all-time classic: “The spirit of the guidance was followed.” Bro, the spirit of the guidance was choking on a soggy cloth diaper while eating cold turkey in your backyard at 4 p.m. so you could be home by 6. The only Gavin could turn a national day of gratitude into a dystopian timed trial.

California families canceled plans, grandparents ate alone, and somewhere in Sacramento, Gavin raised a glass of 1992 Screaming Eagle and toasted to “shared sacrifice.”

The Day the Ocean Became a Biohazard

For one glorious weekend in 2020, Gavin decided the virus could surf. Solo paddle-boarders—literally alone in the Pacific—were hunted down by boat like they were fleeing Alcatraz. Lifeguards on jet skis, helicopters overhead, deputies writing $1,000 tickets to a guy floating on a boogie board two football fields from the nearest human. Meanwhile, Gavin’s hair gel maintained perfect laminar flow without a single drop of disturbance.

Mask On Between Bites (No, Really)

Official state guidance: you may remove your mask to swim, but you must put it back on the second you exit the water. The virus, you see, hides in wet footprints. It’s stealthy like that.

California’s health department published actual taxpayer-funded diagrams showing how to chew and swallow without committing a felony: “mask on between bites,” “mask on between sips.” I’m not making this up. The PDFs still exist. They are immortal.

Emergency Powers Forever (Until a Judge Threatened to Make Him Wear One)

He clung to “emergency powers” for three straight years, finally letting them lapse only after a judge basically said, “Touch grass, Gavin.” Even then he kept the youth mask mandate like a vindictive ex who refuses to return your hoodie.

The Eternal Campaign Ad We’re All Waiting For

So here’s the deal, Gavin: the second you file those presidential papers, every single one of us is going to spam the internet with the greatest montage in political history—30 straight minutes of you maskless at parties, ballgames, and salons while the rest of California cosplayed as damp bandits. We’ll loop it 24/7. TikTok will make it the default sound. Planes will skywrite it over Napa.

You will never outrun 2020. The French Laundry footage is forever. The paddle-boarder chase is forever. The “mask between bites” PDF is forever.

Run if you want. We’ll just be here, unmasked, spending cash and eating indoor dinner with twelve friends, waiting for the inevitable mutiny.

And we’ll be smiling. Because for once, the mask is on you.