When Ashley St. Clair, a 26-year-old former political influencer and the latest mother of one of Elon Musk’s children, hit “record” on her new podcast, “Bad Advice with Ashley St. Clair,” she didn’t just launch a show—she lit a match under an already combustible public drama. The debut, released on August 18, 2025, was less a polished media rollout and more a raw, confessional leap into the digital void. St. Clair, who gave birth to Musk’s thirteenth child, Romulus, in September 2024, opened with a blunt admission: she’s broke, facing eviction, and feels she’s out of options.
“After a year of unplanned career suicide, questionable life choices, and a LinkedIn gap that can’t be legally explained, I’ve decided to start a podcast. Not because anyone asked, but because statistically speaking, it was either this or join a pyramid scheme,” St. Clair quipped, according to The Blast. The confession was more than just self-deprecating humor—it was a window into a high-stakes custody battle with one of the world’s richest men, and a life upended by choices, circumstance, and, perhaps, a dash of fate.
The podcast, as reported by TNND, was not merely a creative outlet but a financial necessity. St. Clair revealed she’d accepted a $10,000 ad read from the prediction platform Polymarket just to keep a roof over her head. “I’m getting evicted and Polymarket offered me $10,000 to do an ad read,” she said. “So with that, the roof over my head has been brought to you by Polymarket.” The admission was both a jab at her own misfortune and a sly wink at the gig economy’s harsh realities.
St. Clair’s woes are set against the backdrop of an increasingly acrimonious legal fight with Musk. The two have been locked in a custody dispute since St. Clair went public on Valentine’s Day 2025 with the news of Romulus’s birth. According to court filings cited by The Blast and other outlets, Musk allegedly offered St. Clair a one-time payment of $15 million and $100,000 a month during her pregnancy to keep quiet about their son. She refused the offer, instead choosing to disclose the relationship and their child’s existence.
The fallout was swift and severe. St. Clair claims that after she went public, Musk retaliated by slashing her support payments by 60 percent. “I had to sell my $100,000 Tesla,” she told the Daily Mail, underscoring the abrupt change in her financial situation. Musk, for his part, has publicly insisted he’s provided ample support. “Despite not knowing for sure, I have given Ashley $2.5M and am sending her $500k/year,” Musk wrote in March 2025, expressing initial uncertainty about Romulus’s paternity. A subsequent paternity test confirmed Musk as the father, but the financial wrangling has only intensified.
St. Clair’s legal strategy has been direct. She filed two petitions: one to have Musk formally declared the father of her child, and another for sole custody of Romulus. She alleges that Musk has only visited their son three times and was absent for the birth—an accusation that has fueled further public debate about Musk’s sprawling family life. The SpaceX and Tesla CEO now has 14 children with four different women, though his first son, Nevada Alexander, died tragically at just 10 weeks old.
The drama has played out not just in courtrooms but across social media, where opinions about St. Clair’s predicament are sharply divided. Some critics have accused her of orchestrating the pregnancy for financial gain, referencing leaked messages and speculation about her intentions. “Find a job, and provide for yourself and the kid, until your legal saga with Elon gets resolved. No need to post negative stuff like that online/in the media,” one user commented, echoing the sentiment of many detractors. Others, however, have found her candor refreshing, with supporters urging her to share more about her experience with Musk and the high-wire act of parenting in the public eye.
St. Clair herself has leaned into the chaos, using her podcast to lampoon not just her own missteps but also Musk’s inner circle. In her debut episode, she poked fun at Edward “Big Balls” Coristine, Musk’s 19-year-old protégé, who was recently injured while trying to stop a carjacking in Washington, D.C. “Everyone’s talking about Elon Musk’s Big Balls,” she joked, riffing on Coristine’s nickname and the media coverage of the incident. “His DOGE crony Edward Coristine got roughed up by two teenagers. Fox News called it a gang, but really it was just a bloody nose. The damage was about what I sustained after telling my toddler he couldn’t watch Paw Patrol.”
The carjacking incident itself became a minor political flashpoint. According to reports, two teenagers were arrested in connection with the assault, while one suspect remains at large. Former President Donald Trump even weighed in, citing the attack as justification for deploying the National Guard in D.C., and claiming Coristine was “very badly hurt” and “lucky to be alive.” St. Clair’s irreverent take on the episode—comparing Coristine’s injuries to the tantrums of a toddler denied television—underscored her willingness to skewer both her own situation and the larger-than-life characters orbiting Musk’s world.
The messy public nature of the dispute has also drawn attention to Musk’s complex personal life. St. Clair has alleged that Musk offered similar hush-money deals to his other “baby mamas,” and even attempted to relocate her to a secluded compound in Austin, Texas, where, she claims, his “harem” of mothers live. Musk has not commented publicly on these specific allegations, but the very existence of such claims has only fueled speculation and fascination.
For St. Clair, the stakes are deeply personal. “I intend to allow our child to grow in a normal and safe environment,” she wrote when first announcing Romulus’s birth. “For that reason, I ask that the media honor our child’s privacy, and refrain from invasive reporting.” Yet, as the custody battle grinds on and her podcast gains traction, the line between public and private continues to blur.
The saga of Ashley St. Clair and Elon Musk is a collision of wealth, power, and the unpredictable fallout of modern relationships lived online. Whether St. Clair’s “Bad Advice” podcast becomes a lifeline or just another chapter in a turbulent year remains to be seen. But for now, her story is a reminder that even in the orbit of the world’s richest man, life can be uncertain, messy, and—sometimes—strangely relatable.
