Life in California is full of vexing questions. Is it illegal to pick poppies? Why is Gavin Newsom always hoarse? Should we still be worried about Bill Maher?
Alta Journal has enlisted two experts to answer all of your questions: Stacey Grenrock Woods and Gustavo Arellano, both of whom bring decades of hard-won knowledge and laser-sharp insights into the Golden State.
Have a question of your own? Ask a Californian!
What do you think a Californian would bring to the White House?
—Cali Voter
Stacey: We already know what Californians bring to the White House: questionable ethics, weird religions, nefarious associates, drug-addled celebrities, quack doctors, strange pills…but enough about Richard Nixon. At least he didn’t bring his wife’s astrologer.
I think a Harris White House would showcase her Californian spirit in bold and meaningful ways. I don’t just mean that she’ll put a reed diffuser in the Lincoln Bedroom or scatter a few seashells on the Resolute Desk—though I’d be a little hurt if she didn’t. I predict a radical aesthetic update of the entire residence to full Coastal Grandma, which is both very comforting and about two years out-of-date, just like her candidacy. I see more pottery, more pillows, more cashmere throws in more baskets, tons of hand-knotted rugs, soy candles, and sheer linen curtains swaying from every window. This would do much to put a careworn country at ease. It would send a message that this Californian is skilled in Brunch Diplomacy.
One can expect the place will become much greener, both symbolically (Rose Garden? You mean the Cactus Patch!) and also literally. I wouldn’t be surprised if she deviated from the harsh primary colors favored by more-masculine Oval Office dwellers and went with a mix of gray-ish greens and green-ish grays. Not only would it look nice, but it’d be soothing to a new president who might find herself longing for the simplicity of Brentwood. The chef she hires will no doubt be a master of farm-to–State Dining Room dining, who keeps a never-ending batch of bone broth simmering and has a fresh matcha at the ready for those late-night work sessions. And the First Dog will definitely be a rescue from Vanderpump Dogs. More than just cute and lovable, its situation should be so dire that it’s impossible not to love, just like her!
As for what Harris will bring to the White House with regard to secondary issues, like, say, governance and improving our standing in the world, it’s just too soon to tell. I urge you to sit back, have a nice cup of matcha, grab a blanket from the basket, and wait. We Californians don’t make a move until we get the vibe right.
Gustavo: Hey, you’re forgetting Los Angeles Lakers co-owner Johnny Buss, who’s running an independent campaign because LeBron James must’ve been too busy winning an Olympic gold medal to bother. So is Sacramento native Cornel West, the Black intellectual legend whose veep pick is Cal State Los Angeles professor and Black Lives Matter cofounder Melina Abdullah. Good luck to them and Kamala and RFK Jr.—who thankfully stopped his presidential campaign to no doubt scour for roadkill along Highway 395—because they’re going to need it: California’s White House record is about as illustrious as the San Diego Padres’.
Herbert Hoover ran us into the Great Depression and is the name behind Stanford University’s neocon Hoover Institution. Ronald Reagan convinced Americans that entertainers are perfectly qualified to lead this country and forever ruined Jelly Bellys. That leaves Richard Milhous Nixon, the only native-born Californian president (Hoover and Reagan were midwesterners by birth). His administration looks better and better every year as the Republicans get fascier and fascier…until you remember Watergate. (For the kids: it was a scandal where a president was accused of breaking the law and resigned, lest he bring shame upon his position. Yeah, even corrupt presidents once had scruples.) What did those three commanders in chief bring to the Oval Office, and what does the current batch of hopefuls offer? They’re all better than Donald Trump—but none of them ain’t no Chet Roosevelt.
What is California’s greatest gift to the world?
—An Inquiring Mind
Stacey: Besides Richard Nixon? Besides me and Gustavo?
Those three things should be more than enough, but I always like to go above and beyond when I’m helping people, so I guess I’ll have to use my Apple computer, or my even more convenient iPhone to hop on the internet to really suss this out. I hope I don’t get too distracted by all the entertainment—past, present, and future—from the entertainment industry streamed through Netflix to research this properly.
As you can see by that little demonstration, California has given the world so many gifts that it’s hard to pick the greatest one. So I’ll pick the greatest three. They are jeans, cheeseburgers, and Robert Redford. The world’s best thing to wear, the world’s most satisfying dish, and cheeseburgers are pretty good, too. Why, a list like that is so magnificent that it calls for a toast. Raise your probably-California-invented martinis high, everyone!
And as you can see by that little demonstration, California’s given the world so much, and we’ve asked so little in return, that perhaps the question isn’t, What’s California’s greatest gift to the world? but, What should be the world’s greatest gift to California? And how soon can we have it? Because there are a few things we could really use. Like, once you’ve put on your comfiest jeans, downed a couple of martinis with your Cobb salad (invented in Los Angeles in 1937), and streamed The Sting on your phone, maybe you could see if there’s anything in that little black bag for us, Wizard. (You like that movie too, right? That Hollywood movie?) We could use some new roads, some decent public transportation, and a few more places for us all to live. Oh, and we’d love a little water. Do you have any water? Even just a glass or two would be great, thanks.
Gustavo: Right turns on red lights, of course! But even those are going the way of San Clemente’s coastline, so I’ll offer something more immortal and inspiring: Toypurina. She was an Indigenous woman arrested by the Spaniards in 1785 for helping to plan and instigate a revolt at the San Gabriel Mission. Rather than cower before her captors, Toypurina decried the padres and the others of the Mission, because they had come to live and establish themselves in her land—in other words, she was California’s first NIMBY, and one of the few whose cause was righteous.
The Spanish crown exiled Toypurina to the Carmel Mission, so dangerous they thought she was. Yet she remains undefeated. Today, Toypurina is celebrated as a freedom fighter who bucked patriarchy and colonialism and is commemorated in murals and monuments and even as the mother of the legendary Zorro in Isabel Allende’s 2005 novel based on the original masked avenger. Sadly, only feminists, Latinx Studies types, and Indigenous Californians give her proper respect. California knows how to promote itself, so it’s time for us to launch a campaign to make Toypurina a worldwide icon on the lines of Boudicca, Joan of Arc, Lady Triệu, and other badass women warriors of yore—make a Netflix series about her already, Eva Longoria, instead of lionizing a guy who claimed he invented Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.
I enjoy your column, but sometimes I wonder if California is too obsessed with itself. Is there something about this place that makes us a little too self-aware or even narcissistic?
—DSM V
Stacey: Did you not catch what we just said about Robert Redford and martinis? But not only do I take your point, I even occasionally share your concern. I sometimes wonder if we Californians can be a bit obsessed with ourselves, if the constant praise and jealousy (i.e., misguided praise) leveled at us from the rest of the country (OK, the world) might be giving us bigger heads than the perfect-sized ones we naturally have and making us act in ways unbefitting the exceptional people we are. And then I remember that it’s that very humility that keeps us firmly in place (i.e., first place) in the first place! It’s the questioning of our greatness, however infrequently it might happen, that keeps us great.
The only critique I’d give us is that we might question ourselves a little too often. Since the answer to Are we as wonderful as we think we are? inevitably comes back Yes, it doesn’t make much sense to keep asking. One of our best qualities is the ability to learn from our mistakes, so let’s not make the mistake of doubting ourselves when we don’t need to. What do you think of a person who never learns? (Assuming you even know anyone like that here in the Golden State.)
So my advice to you, my fellow Californian, is as follows: The next time you start to think you’re becoming too obsessed with yourself, I want you to look in one of your mirrors, or any nearby reflective surface, and praise yourself for catching yourself in the act of questioning yourself. And then give yourself the original praise for being as great as you think you are. Remember, you don’t owe anyone an explanation for your majesty. When asked if he was the son of God, Jesus said, “You have said so,” which, according to the Bible (a pretty cool book even though it never mentions California), is exactly how you know someone is the son of God. The same, my child, goes for you.
Gustavo: Well, when your state motto is Eureka, which is Greek for “I have found it” and was famously said by a naked Archimedes, navel-gazing is going to be your factory setting.
And when our belly button is mountains, the coast, Eve Babitz, and lowriders, why wouldn’t you want to think about yourself? California self-worth gave the world all the awesome stuff Stacey and I listed in the second question and the things I just mentioned, and it just might give the United States a cool California president for the first time ever. Besides, everyone wants our narcissism. When was the last time you heard someone say, “Gee, I wish I was as arrogant as a Texan, as obnoxious as a New Yorker, as loony as a Floridian, or as whatever it is an Oregonian is supposed to be?” If everyone in this country had a bit of California narcissism in them, we would all be tanner, have more tacos in our lives, and always want to save the United States. Anyone who hates that needs to move to Franklin, Tennessee, already. Or at least Scottsdale.•
Next question: Ask a Californian!
Gustavo Arellano is the author of Orange County: A Personal History and Taco USA: How Mexican Food Conquered America. In 2025, Arellano was named a Pulitzer Prize finalist for his work as a columnist for the Los Angeles Times. He was formerly editor of OC Weekly, an alternative newspaper in Orange County, California, and penned the award-winning ¡Ask a Mexican!, a nationally syndicated column in which he answered any and all questions about America’s spiciest and largest minority. Arellano is the recipient of awards ranging from the Association of Alternative Newsweeklies Best Columnist to the Los Angeles Press Club President’s Award to an Impact Award from the National Hispanic Media Coalition, and he was recognized by the California Latino Legislative Caucus with a 2008 Spirit Award for his “exceptional vision, creativity, and work ethic.” Arellano is a lifelong resident of Orange County and is the proud son of two Mexican immigrants, one of whom came to this country in the trunk of a Chevy.
Stacey Grenrock Woods is a regular contributor to Esquire and a former correspondent for The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. She writes and consults on various TV shows, and has a recurring role as Tricia Thoon on Fox’s Arrested Development. Her first book is I, California.
