There are few constants in Texas politics: barbecue debates, heatstroke, and Democrats losing statewide races. The streak is so reliable it might as well be sponsored by Buc-ee’s. Every two years, the party tries again, strapping on boots of optimism only to be dragged face-first across a desert of gerrymanders, megachurches, and oil money.
But this year, there’s a new variable in the laboratory of disappointment: James Talarico, a 36-year-old former middle-school teacher turned state rep turned viral TikTok star. Talarico has launched a campaign for the U.S. Senate, promising to break the curse that has haunted Texas Democrats for three decades. His slogan might as well be: What if Beto, but younger and with better hair gel?
The Candidate Formerly Known as Teacher
Talarico’s origin story is pure Hallmark Channel. Raised in Austin’s orbit, he taught middle school before running for office in 2018. Against the odds, he flipped a GOP-leaning district, proving that Texans sometimes vote blue when the candidate doesn’t make their eyes bleed. He’s spent the years since railing against school vouchers, church-state violations, and the slow-motion theocracy that is the Texas Legislature.
That resume alone makes him the kind of Democrat who usually gets honored at banquets in Dallas, loses by 15 points statewide, then lands a think tank job. But Talarico has a secret weapon: a TikTok following of 1.2 million. That’s more than the population of Dallas, which means more Texans have seen him clap back at Republicans online than have watched a Rangers game sober.
TikTok vs. Cornyn’s Dial-Up
The contrast with incumbent Sen. John Cornyn could not be starker. Cornyn has been in the Senate since 2002, which in Texas time is roughly two geological epochs. His vibe is less “statesman” and more “guy who reminds you fireworks are illegal inside city limits.”
Cornyn is facing his own problems: a GOP primary challenge from Attorney General Ken Paxton, who is to ethics what Whataburger is to nutrition. Paxton is mired in corruption charges, legal scandals, and a general aura of “Florida Man in exile.” Cornyn, meanwhile, is left trying to remind Texans that he is still alive, still vaguely Republican, and still capable of pronouncing “border crisis” in under three syllables.
Into this mess wades Talarico, armed with a ring light, generational swagger, and the kind of rhetorical chops that make C-SPAN clips trend on TikTok.
Generational Change or Just a Filter?
Talarico pitches himself as the embodiment of “people power” and generational change. He talks about student debt, healthcare, and school funding like someone who has actually paid a rent bill this century. His rivals in the Democratic primary, former Rep. Colin Allred and ex-astronaut Terry Virts, look like respectable LinkedIn profiles by comparison.
Allred has the gravitas of a former NFL linebacker turned congressman, which is impressive until you realize Texas voters have historically preferred oil barons who can quote Leviticus. Virts, meanwhile, literally went to space, which is inspiring until you remember that Texans already believe astronauts are a deep-state hoax.
Talarico, though, has the elusive aura of relatability. He does not sound like a PowerPoint. He sounds like the teacher who made you believe fractions weren’t invented by Satan. In politics, that counts for something.
The TikTok Gamble
But let’s address the obvious question: can TikTok followers vote?
In theory, yes. In practice, TikTok is where democracy goes to cosplay. Millions of young people watch Talarico roast Republican voucher schemes, nod approvingly, and then forget to register. The app is a dopamine slot machine, not a voter registration drive. If likes translated to ballots, the Senate would already be run by Taylor Swift’s cat.
Still, social media has power. Talarico’s videos reach people who would sooner eat gravel than watch a Senate debate. He knows how to condense outrage into 30-second bursts, which is what passes for civic engagement now. Cornyn, by contrast, still believes engagement is when two Texans agree to get married before their first kid turns five.
Republicans in Disarray™
The wildcard here is Republican infighting. Cornyn vs. Paxton is less a primary than a live-streamed divorce proceeding. Cornyn represents the old guard: bland, establishment, allergic to enthusiasm. Paxton represents the new guard: performative, corrupt, and allergic to indictments.
The GOP could tear itself apart, creating an opening. But history suggests Texas Republicans could nominate a horse in a cowboy hat and still win by seven points. That’s not a metaphor; it’s a prophecy.
The Democratic Curse
Texas Democrats are used to heartbreak. Wendy Davis filibustered her way into legend, then lost spectacularly. Beto O’Rourke skateboarded his way into hearts, then lost to Ted Cruz, the Zodiac Killer of charisma.
Now it’s Talarico’s turn to audition for the role of Texas Democratic Martyr. If he wins, it would be a generational earthquake. If he loses, he’ll get a book deal, a CNN contract, and another million TikTok followers. Either way, he’s playing with house money.
Why This Race Matters
Even if you don’t live in Texas, this Senate race matters because it tests whether Democrats can win in a state that has become shorthand for reactionary politics. It tests whether young voters can overcome apathy, voter suppression, and their own attention spans. It tests whether generational change is a slogan or a movement.
And it tests whether America is ready for a senator who knows how to use TikTok without accidentally recording themselves upside down.
Cornyn’s Nightmare
Cornyn has survived many elections by being boring enough to disappear into the furniture. But TikTok doesn’t allow furniture politicians. It thrives on conflict, spectacle, and moments that make voters feel like they’re watching a reality show.
Talarico can deliver that. Cornyn cannot. Paxton can—but only in the sense that he might literally be in jail by Election Day.
So the choice before Texas voters is stark: do they want the senator who feels like your middle school history teacher, the senator who feels like your corrupt uncle, or the senator who feels like a chair?
The Bitter Truth
Here’s the truth lurking under all this satire: Texas is still Texas. It is still a state where the electorate tilts older, whiter, and more evangelical than the population at large. It is still a state where Democrats must not just win but overcome a structural handicap of gerrymanders, voter ID laws, and a political culture marinated in grievance.
Talarico may be young, charismatic, and social-media savvy. He may generate headlines and trends. But winning in Texas will take more than TikToks and slogans. It will take turning apathy into turnout, likes into logistics, and viral clips into votes. That’s a mountain even taller than Cornyn’s forehead.
The bitter truth is this: Talarico could be the candidate Democrats have been waiting for, or he could be the next in a long line of sacrificial lambs. Either way, the race is not just about one man’s ambition. It’s about whether Texas—this sprawling, contradictory, oil-soaked state—can imagine itself differently.
Because until it can, the streak continues. And Tom Hanks will get a medal from West Point before a Democrat gets a Senate seat from Texas.