Ashley St. Clair, once a rising right-wing influencer, has reemerged in the public eye under circumstances that are as dramatic as they are revealing. On August 19, 2025, St. Clair launched her new podcast, Bad Advice, with a candid confession: she’s broke and facing eviction. The first episode, released on Elon Musk’s X platform, was part confessional, part stand-up routine, and all emblematic of a very public unraveling that’s intertwined with the world’s richest man, Elon Musk, and their ongoing custody battle over their son, Romulus.
St. Clair’s opening salvo set the tone for her new venture. “Well, after a year of unplanned career suicide, many questionable life choices and a gap in my LinkedIn profile that cannot legally be explained, I’ve decided to start a podcast,” she said, as reported by The Daily Beast. She didn’t mince words about her motivation: “Not because anybody asked, but because statistically speaking, it was either join this or join a [multi-level marketing scheme]. So here we are.”
St. Clair, who first made headlines as a MAGA-aligned commentator, vaulted into the national spotlight earlier this year when she revealed she’d given birth to Musk’s 13th child, Romulus, in September 2024. The news, which she broke on Valentine’s Day, was explosive. Musk, who now has at least 14 children with four women, initially responded with skepticism about his paternity. “I don’t know if the child is mine or not,” Musk wrote in March, according to The Wall Street Journal. “Despite not knowing for sure, I have given Ashley $2.5M and was currently sending her $500k/year.”
But the drama didn’t stop there. St. Clair alleged that Musk had offered her a one-time payment of $15 million and $500,000 in monthly child support to keep the birth quiet—a deal she refused. “I don’t want my son to feel like he’s a secret,” St. Clair reportedly told Musk’s fixer, Jared Birchall, who runs Musk’s family office, as cited by The Independent. After she went public, the financial arrangement soured. St. Clair claims Musk retaliated by slashing her child support by 60%, forcing her to sell her $100,000 Tesla just to make ends meet. “I’m getting evicted and Polymarket offered me $10,000 to do an ad read,” she announced on her podcast. “So with that, the roof over my head has been brought to you by Polymarket.”
The saga has unfolded in the courts as well as the headlines. After Musk’s initial uncertainty, a paternity test ordered by the New York Supreme Court in April 2025 showed a 99.9999% probability that Musk is indeed Romulus’s father, according to The Wall Street Journal. St. Clair has since sued for sole custody and filed a paternity petition, while Musk has reportedly only met his son three times and was not present at the birth, according to court filings referenced by TNND.
St. Clair’s podcast doesn’t shy away from the chaos of her personal life. She poked fun at her own misfortunes, saying, “Unlike your Ben Shapiros or Megyn Kellys, I’m not starting this because I think my big-brain thoughts and my podcast mic are the greatest gift to humanity. I actually think I have the worst ideas, so consider everything out of my mouth a cautionary tale.” The self-deprecating humor is both a shield and a calling card, as she weaves her struggles into the show’s fabric.
But the first episode of Bad Advice wasn’t just about her; it also tackled the recent assault of 19-year-old Edward Coristine, known as “Big Balls,” a Department of Government Efficiency appointee and Musk apprentice. Coristine was reportedly assaulted by a group of teenagers while trying to stop a carjacking near the White House. St. Clair’s take was irreverent: “I have to start off with what everybody’s been waiting for me to talk about. The story that’s dominated the headlines, the one that made the entire world go ‘This can’t be real life, we must be living in a simulation:’ Elon Musk. Elon Musk’s Big Balls.” She continued, “He got his ass beat so bad, some are calling it ‘reparations.’ I, of course, would never do that. But what I don’t understand is why didn’t you just let them take the car?”
Her commentary didn’t stop at Coristine’s misadventure. St. Clair joked about the White House reportedly considering awarding Coristine the Presidential Medal of Freedom for his actions, quipping, “which is fascinating because I was under the impression that Republicans were morally opposed to participation trophies. Since when does losing a street fight make you Rosa Parks?” as quoted by Article 3. The tongue-in-cheek remarks drew both laughter and criticism on X, with some users applauding her candor and others deriding her for oversharing.
St. Clair’s relationship with Musk is emblematic of the billionaire’s complex personal life. Musk, who has frequently voiced concerns about declining birthrates in the West, has built a compound in Austin, Texas, for his children and their mothers. Yet, only Shivon Zilis, a Neuralink executive and mother to four of Musk’s children, is known to have taken up residence there. St. Clair, for her part, has made it clear she wants Romulus to have a normal, safe upbringing, urging the media to respect her child’s privacy.
The fallout from St. Clair’s revelations has been swift and public. In March, right-wing activist Laura Loomer labeled her a “gold digger and professional gaslighter” after St. Clair sold her Tesla. Meanwhile, Musk’s ex-partner Grimes, mother to three of his children, has also entered legal battles with Musk over custody issues. The Musk “kid legion,” as the billionaire sometimes calls his brood, is at the center of an ongoing debate about privacy, responsibility, and the spectacle of modern digital celebrity.
St. Clair’s decision to launch a podcast as a last-ditch effort to stave off eviction is both a commentary on the precariousness of influencer fame and a reflection of the gig economy’s realities. “After a year of unplanned career suicide, many questionable life choices and a gap in my LinkedIn profile that cannot legally be explained, I’ve decided to start a podcast,” she repeated, as if to drive home the absurdity of her predicament. The first episode, sponsored by Polymarket for $10,000, lasted just over 30 minutes and offered a blend of biting humor and raw vulnerability.
As St. Clair’s case against Musk continues in the courts and her podcast gains traction, the world watches a uniquely modern saga unfold—one that blurs the lines between private pain and public performance, and between cautionary tale and entertainment. For now, St. Clair’s voice rings out as both a warning and a wry commentary on the price of being part of the Musk orbit.
In a world where personal lives are broadcast for clicks and courts, Ashley St. Clair’s story is a reminder that even the most sensational headlines have a very real, very human cost.
