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If anyone needs the axiom “Tell me who you’re with, and I’ll tell you who you are” whispered to them every morning as a reminder to do better, it’s Spencer Pratt.

Can someone do that ASAP, por favor?

Instead of holding events around Los Angeles to convince skeptics that his mayoral campaign is for everyone, the former reality television bad boy has bunkered himself inside an echo chamber of sycophants, friendly podcasters and milquetoast media outlets.

Instead of offering an on-ramp to join his pissed-off posse, he calls Mayor Karen Bass “Basura” — trash — and her supporters “Bassholes,” insults that his followers share and like on social media by the thousands.

Instead of enlisting surrogates to push an uplifting vision for L.A.’s future, Pratt elevates those who speak of the city as a West Coast Chernobyl.

He’s running on a message of righteous fury as a survivor of the Palisades fire, in an era when many Angelenos feel pessimistic about what’s next. In recent months, he’s raised funds at a faster pace than Bass and City Councilmember Nithya Raman and delivered a decent debate performance, while holding strong in the polls with two weeks left before the June 2 primary.

Now that Pratt has shown his electoral quest isn’t a farce, it’s time he shows all Angelenos that they can rely on a Republican entertainer with no political experience to head a largely progressive, multicultural metropolis.

Instead, he continues to double down on his doomsday message, exciting the type of people who have been whining that L.A. is a “Lost Cause” since the days of the Watts riots.

They’re the ones depicting Pratt in AI-generated videos as a superhero — Batman, Luke Skywalker and a gladiator, among others — battling Bass, cast as a clown, Darth Vader, the Joker or as herself handing out needles to half-crazed homeless people.

They hound anyone who points out that L.A. is nowhere near as apocalyptic as they make it out to be, when homicides are at their lowest since the 1960s, burglaries are down 30% from last year and unsheltered homelessness has dropped two years in a row. They follow Pratt’s example and call unhoused people with drug problems “zombies” and “bums” while depicting the L.A. of the past as a problem-free playground out of “The Wonderful World of Disney” that derailed once Democrats took over.

Not all of Pratt’s supporters are this obnoxious. But he repeatedly platforms the worst of them and shows no signs of stopping. That nihilism might sell books and gain followers — but it’s no way to prove to Angelenos he’s serious about fixing anything other than his reputation.

Mayoral candidate Spencer Pratt, left, poses with a supporter during a campaign event in Sherman Oaks.

(Etienne Laurent / For The Times)

Anyone who truly loves the city complains about it even on its best days. They realize L.A. can never be perfect, and that’s what makes it so wonderful. When people try to better their part of paradise, everyone benefits.

But Pratt needs to realize that Angelenos don’t want the city to be torn down, as dissatisfied as they may be. Criticizing the status quo is necessary — but waging a campaign of humiliation, a la Donald Trump, isn’t how to heal L.A. It won’t get large swaths of the city on your side, and it can’t spark the true change City Hall so desperately needs.

Instead, we get people like former Times contributor Meghan Daum — who now calls herself the “official Liberal Elite for Pratt” — gushing in the Atlantic about how her man is the “factory-reset option” to Make L.A. Great Again.

Resetting to when, Meghan? The 2000s of the Great Recession? The 1990s of anti-immigrant policies, the Northridge earthquake and the riots? The 1980s and its out-of-control gangs? The white flight of the 1960s? The 1950s of legal segregation and hideous smog?

Or just to the days when the problems that have long racked L.A. didn’t lap up to the denizens of Prattland — until they did?

These are the people who stayed largely silent as Trump unleashed ICE goons across Los Angeles last summer. They said nothing about housing affordability and violent crime in the years when those issues primarily afflicted South L.A. and the Eastside. They didn’t have a fit about homelessness until encampments spread beyond Skid Row.

Pratt’s loudest fans fundamentally loathe modern-day L.A., and that should chill all other Angelenos. These haters would be his primary constituents and populate his brain trust if he does beat Bass — and if he lets them take over, heaven help the City of Angels.

I’m not discounting Pratt’s chances of winning — he’s too savvy a media pro to fully flop. I knew Bass and Raman would misjudge the anger of Angelenos, fail to capitalize on that rage and find themselves on the defensive against Pratt’s populist push. I also figured he would eschew politeness for the demonizing that has tainted past L.A. elections, from Yorty’s mayoral campaigns of the 1960s to the San Fernando Valley secession movement a generation ago to the continued charges of communism thrown at the democratic socialist wing of the City Council.

I don’t blame Pratt for jumping into the race after his life was upended. And I sure don’t underestimate L.A.’s middle-class malaise, long a reactionary force in city politics with a winning track record that spans decades. But I can’t trust the guy and his crew for just now beginning to say they care about reforming L.A., when all he has fought for is his dark idea of the city.

And if you think L.A. needs a complete makeover, then you probably never really loved it in the first place.

On a recent podcast with Adam Carolla — who has long railed against L.A.’s liberal, multicultural ways and is planning to move to Nevada after his children graduate high school — Pratt huffed that he will “be done with trying to live” in the city if he doesn’t become mayor.

“I’ll go find somewhere that my kids will not have to see naked zombies,” he said, in a comment that was cheered on and seconded by his online army.

Do Angelenos really want to entrust their city to someone who might pick up his ball and quit on a place he professes to love, if he doesn’t get his way?