JD Vance Humiliated: Jimmy Kimmel’s “Vice President Maybelline” Monologue Ignites Late-Night Firestorm and Sends MAGA Into Meltdown

Brooklyn’s Barclays Center pulsed with electric anticipation on a crisp November evening in 2025 as Jimmy Kimmel strode onto the stage, microphone in hand, ready to reclaim his late-night throne after a brief hiatus. The audience— a diverse mix of New York liberals, comedy enthusiasts, and political junkies—sensed something big was brewing. Kimmel, ever the sharp-tongued satirist, wasted no time diving into the week’s hottest political scandal: JD Vance, Donald Trump’s unflinchingly loyal vice presidential running mate, caught in a whirlwind of hypocrisy and image obsession. With one razor-sharp phrase—“Vice President Maybelline”—Kimmel didn’t just land a punch; he detonated a cultural bomb that reverberated across television screens, social media feeds, and conservative echo chambers alike. What unfolded was more than a monologue; it was a masterclass in comedic evisceration, exposing Vance’s contradictions with ruthless precision and turning the Ohio senator into the unwilling star of a viral humiliation.

The setup was deceptively simple. Kimmel opened with a nod to Vance’s recent public appearances, where the Yale-educated author of *Hillbilly Elegy* had positioned himself as a blue-collar everyman, a moral warrior railing against coastal elites and “woke” culture. But Kimmel, armed with a montage of damning clips, flipped the script. “Folks, meet JD Vance,” he quipped, as the screen flashed images of Vance meticulously applying eyeliner in what appeared to be a leaked behind-the-scenes video from a campaign event. “Or should I say, Vice President Maybelline? Because this guy’s got more contour than a Sephora tutorial!” The crowd erupted in laughter, a wave of cheers and applause crashing through the arena. Kimmel leaned into the bit, mimicking Vance’s supposed makeup routine with exaggerated flair: “First, a little foundation to cover up those flip-flops on Trump. Then, some blush for that rosy glow of loyalty. And don’t forget the mascara—gotta bat those lashes at the base!”

But Kimmel’s genius lay in layering the jokes with substance. He didn’t stop at surface-level jabs about Vance’s alleged vanity; he unearthed the senator’s own words from years past, when Vance was a vocal Trump critic. Rolling a clip from a 2016 CNN interview, Kimmel let Vance condemn himself: “I can’t stomach Trump,” the younger Vance declared. “He’s America’s Hitler.” Cut to present-day Vance, grinning alongside Trump at rallies, and Kimmel pounced: “From ‘Never Trump’ to ‘Forever Trump’—talk about a glow-up! JD must’ve used that Maybelline to erase his principles.” The audience howled again, the irony palpable. Kimmel then pivoted to Vance’s dating app digs, referencing leaked screenshots from Vance’s pre-political life on apps like Tinder, where he reportedly sought “authentic connections” while crafting his rugged persona. “Swipe right if you like venture capital and venture hypocrisy,” Kimmel deadpanned, holding up a mock profile: “JD, 40, Ohio. Interests: Coal mining (in theory), bashing elites (except when fundraising from them), and perfecting that smoky eye.”

The monologue’s climax came with a rapid-fire reel of Vance’s greatest hits—or misses. Kimmel juxtaposed Vance’s anti-Trump tweets with his current sycophantic soundbites, his criticisms of Big Tech with his Silicon Valley donors, and his “family values” rhetoric with rumors of personal indiscretions. “This isn’t a politician; this is a chameleon in cover-up,” Kimmel declared. By the segment’s end, the Barclays crowd was on its feet, chanting “May-bell-ine! May-bell-ine!” as confetti rained down in a scripted flourish. Kimmel signed off with a wink: “JD Vance: Proof that with enough foundation, anyone can build a new face.”

The backlash was immediate and ferocious. Within minutes of the broadcast airing on ABC, #VicePresidentMaybelline trended worldwide on X (formerly Twitter), amassing over 2 million posts in the first hour. Clips of the monologue racked up 50 million views on YouTube and TikTok, with users remixing Kimmel’s eyeliner bit into memes featuring Vance’s face superimposed on makeup ads. Progressive outlets like MSNBC hailed it as “the takedown of the year,” while late-night peers Stephen Colbert and Seth Meyers piled on in solidarity. But the real meltdown unfolded in MAGA world. Fox News anchors, sensing blood in the water, devoted prime-time segments to decrying Kimmel’s “vicious personal attacks.” Tucker Carlson’s successor fumed on air: “This is Hollywood elitism at its worst—mocking a working-class hero!” Trump himself weighed in via Truth Social, calling Kimmel a “low-rated loser” and Vance “the strongest VP pick in history.” Yet, the outrage only fueled the fire; conservative influencers inadvertently boosted the clip by sharing it in condemnation.

Social media became a battlefield. Pro-Vance accounts flooded timelines with defenses, posting childhood photos of a bare-faced JD to “prove” the makeup claims were fabricated deepfakes. Others accused Kimmel of sexism, arguing that mocking a man’s appearance was off-limits. Counter-memes emerged: Vance as a drag queen, Vance as a CoverGirl model, Vance crying mascara tears. The hashtag #MAGAInMeltdown trended alongside, with users pointing out the irony of a movement built on “owning the libs” now owned by a comedian. Even international outlets picked it up—BBC News ran a segment on “America’s Late-Night Political Wars,” while Vietnamese netizens on X (given the user’s VN origin) shared translated clips, chuckling at the universal appeal of political roast.

Deeper analysis reveals why this hit so hard. Vance, once a darling of intellectual conservatives for his memoir’s raw portrayal of Appalachian struggles, had rebranded as Trump’s attack dog. His evolution—or devolution—embodied the GOP’s identity crisis: authenticity versus opportunism. Kimmel’s jabs struck at the core of that facade, using humor to humanize the critique. Makeup, in this context, symbolized artifice; the dating app references highlighted curated personas in an era of social media politics. And the old anti-Trump clips? Undeniable receipts in a post-truth landscape.

By morning, Vance’s team issued a terse statement dismissing the monologue as “desperate liberal humor,” but the damage was done. Polls showed a dip in his favorability among independents, and late-night bookings for Vance surrogates dried up. Kimmel, meanwhile, basked in the glow—ratings soared, and sponsors clamored for spots. In an interview the next day, he shrugged off the controversy: “If JD can’t handle a little blush, how’s he gonna handle the White House?”

This wasn’t just comedy; it was cultural commentary wrapped in laughter. In a polarized America, Kimmel’s “Vice President Maybelline” moment reminded us that satire remains a potent weapon against hypocrisy. As the dust settles, one thing is clear: JD Vance entered the week as Trump’s heir apparent and left it as late-night’s punchline. MAGA may rage, but the internet—and history—will remember the glow.