Talarico and Crockett Test How to Convert Huge TikTok Followings Into Votes
Few politicians command audiences on TikTok large enough to rival traditional media outlets. But in the increasingly volatile Texas Senate race, two rising-star Democrats have built precisely that kind of reach, turning the platform into a central battleground in their primary contest.
[time-brightcove not-tgx=”true”]Congresswoman Jasmine Crockett and State Representative James Talarico have TikTok followings that would be the envy of most national political figures. Crockett counts more than 2.4 million followers, placing her among the most followed members in Congress, behind just Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and Bernie Sanders. Talarico, a former middle school teacher from the Austin suburbs, is not far behind with more than 1.6 million followers on the platform.
Together, they have amassed the largest TikTok followings of any candidates in competitive statewide races this year, according to a TIME analysis, making the March 3 primary a test of which of their distinct approaches to leveraging viral attention will translate into electoral success in a state where Democrats have not won a Senate seat since 1988.
Crockett’s most watched TikTok lasts just five seconds. Filmed outside the Capitol, she delivers a profane dismissal of Elon Musk with a flicker of exasperation that feels calibrated for the scroll. “F—k off,” she says when asked what she would tell the former DOGE director. The clip from last February has been viewed more than 20 million times. One of Talarico’s most popular videos runs closer to a minute and a half. Standing at a lectern, he argues that “the biggest division in our politics is not left versus right, it’s top versus bottom,” casting inequality as a moral crisis. That video from last summer has drawn more than 15 million views.
The contrast is instructive. Crockett, 44, a former public defender who flipped a Dallas-area House seat in 2022, has fashioned herself into one of the Democratic Party’s most combative messengers. Her televised clashes with Republicans—including a now-famous exchange with former Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene in which Crockett mocked Greene’s “bleach-blonde, bad-built, butch body”—ricocheted across social media and landed her on late-night television. She speaks openly about doing “the edgy things” consultants warn candidates to avoid, arguing that in an era of attention scarcity, bluntness cuts through.
Talarico, 36, offers a different register. He is training to be a Presbyterian minister, and many of his viral moments have the cadence of sermons. He has invoked scripture to criticize conservative proposals and to frame economic inequality as a betrayal of Christian teaching. In one widely viewed video, he criticized lawmakers for advancing a bill requiring the Ten Commandments in classrooms while working on the Sabbath, quipping that they should try following the commandments before mandating them.
Where Crockett’s videos often feel like a punchline delivered with precision timing, Talarico’s resemble closing arguments, carefully paced and morally freighted. Party veterans describe the online spectacle as both exhilarating and unnerving. The reach that once would have required a television buy across Texas’ 19 media markets can now be achieved with a well-timed clip.
TikTok Drama
The rise of candidates like Crockett and Talarico reflects a broader shift in how Americans encounter politics. A September Pew study found that more than half of adults now consume news on social media, and research from Johns Hopkins found that nearly three-quarters of Gen Z Americans say social platforms are their primary news source.
In Texas, that shift has produced an unexpected consequence: the loudest clashes in the Democratic primary have not been between Crockett and Talarico, but among the sprawling ecosystem of creators on TikTok and other platforms who have turned the race into a proxy battleground. Both campaigns recently found themselves consumed by whether Talarico had described former Democratic Senate nominee Colin Allred as a “mediocre Black man.” The allegation began with an interaction with a TikTok influencer and quickly metastasized into days of online recrimination. Talarico has said he had been misquoted and taken out of context.
Kyle Tharp, who closely follows the intersection of politics and online influencers and writes the left-leaning newsletter Chaotic Era, says the Texas race offers a revealing snapshot of a rapidly maturing “political influencer class.”
In recent weeks, he adds, online discourse surrounding the Texas primary has been “defined by drama between political creators,” many of whom publicly feud, criticize rival candidates, and amplify accusations originating far from the campaigns’ official operations.
Both campaigns have sought to cultivate relationships with creators by offering access to events or messaging, even as the financial relationships behind some online advocacy remain opaque. “We have no idea who is being paid by what campaign or affiliated PACs or groups,” Tharp says, describing what he called an emerging “undisclosed creator payment ecosystem.”
The Talarico campaign declined to comment for this story. The Crockett campaign did not respond to a request for comment, though a spokesperson previously told the Texas Tribune that her campaign does not pay for any content creators.
“If you think this is messy,” Tharp added, “just wait until there’s 30 Democrats running for president all trying to secretly pay these influencers to fight each other on their behalf.”
Polling suggests that TikTok is more than just a sideshow in the race. A recent survey from Texas Public Opinion Research found that 47% of likely Democratic primary voters said they had recently seen or heard from Crockett on social media; 35% said the same of Talarico. Digital platforms were the leading source of exposure for both candidates, outpacing cable and broadcast news. In a state with chronically low turnout and a large population of younger, less consistent voters, that kind of visibility is no small asset, says Luke Warford, a Democratic strategist who leads a political action committee focused on turning Texas blue and separately runs the Texas Public Opinion Research.
“The two things that candidates most need to do to be effective in 2026 is get attention and raise money,” says Warford. “Talarico and Crockett are two of the most effective TikTok communicators in the country and they’ve both been able to translate their ability to get attention on TikTok into really strong fundraising.”
A Colbert Bump
The primary fight between the two Texas Democrats has been among the most closely watched of the midterms thus far, becoming a national story this week after TV host Stephen Colbert alleged CBS blocked him from airing his interview with Talarico, a charge CBS has denied. The ensuing drama has drawn millions of viewers to the interview segment on YouTube, and has spurred a fundraising boom for Talarico. A clip of the interview Talarico posted on TikTok received more than 1 million views.
Yet polls show the race is either tied, or Crockett is several points ahead. Asked who is more likely to energize the Democratic base, voters give Crockett the edge according to most polling data. But when asked who is better positioned to appeal to the broader coalition needed to win statewide in November, Talarico holds a slight advantage. The primary, in effect, has become a referendum on two competing theories of Democratic revival in Texas: mobilization versus persuasion.
Crockett has embraced a turnout argument, contending that Texas is less a red state than a low-participation one, and that inspiring infrequent voters—particularly voters of color—is the key to breaking the Republican hold on statewide offices. Critics counter that past statements like her calling conservatives “inherently violent” and saying Latino Trump supporters have a “slave mentality,” will make for easy and effective attack ads in the fall.
“Our goal is to make sure that we can engage people that historically have not been talked to, because there’s so many people that get ignored, specifically in the state of Texas,” Crockett told CNN, adding that her strategy is to appeal to people who “vote for who they believe is fighting for them.”
Talarico argues that Democrats must broaden their appeal in a culturally conservative state. His religious language is not incidental but strategic, an attempt to compete on moral terrain that Republicans have long attempted to dominate.
The general election landscape adds another layer of unpredictability. Republicans are engaged in their own bruising contest between incumbent Senator John Cornyn, Attorney General Ken Paxton, and Congressman Wesley Hunt. Democrats see an opening, as they have before. Yet history weighs heavily: no Democrat has won a statewide federal race in Texas in more than three decades.
The unanswered question hanging over the race is whether cultural prominence can be alchemized into durable political power. A TikTok following may signal authenticity, charisma or anger at the status quo. It does not, on its own, build a turnout operation across a state with 254 counties.
“Every data point we get suggests that 2026 is going to be some sort of wave year,” Warford says. “The biggest question is: How big of a wave? What you’re seeing on TikTok is that people are fighting this hard because they actually think that whoever becomes the nominee might have a shot of winning in November.”