The Super Bowl LXI halftime show wasn’t just a performance; it was a cultural collision, and Bad Bunny emerged as the unlikely victor in a battle he didn’t explicitly seek. While the Puerto Rican artist delivered a widely celebrated spectacle at Levi’s Stadium on , his performance simultaneously exposed a stark divide and, according to many observers, effectively dismantled a predictable counter-offensive from the right wing.
For years, celebrities have attempted to land a meaningful blow against Donald Trump through satire, direct criticism, or pointed political statements. As The Hollywood Reporter noted, many have “dodged, deflected, jujitsued back,” only to be “canceled, suspended, or fired.” Bad Bunny, however, achieved something different. He didn’t engage in a direct confrontation; he simply was, and that proved to be profoundly disruptive.
Trump’s immediate reaction, a flailing statement decrying the performance as an “affront to the Greatness of America,” underscored the potency of Bunny’s impact. The former president’s critique – that “Nobody understands a word this guy is saying, and the dancing is disgusting” – inadvertently revealed a core disconnect. If no one understands the artist, how can they judge his success? The statement, as one observer pointed out, felt like an admission of defeat.
But the reaction extended beyond a single tweet. The attempt to counter-program the Super Bowl with a “Turning Point USA Halftime Show” featuring Kid Rock, Lee Brice, and Gabby Barrett, ultimately backfired spectacularly. The TPUSA event, plagued by licensing issues that prevented streaming on X (formerly Twitter), garnered a fraction of the viewership of Bad Bunny’s performance – an estimated 6.1 million viewers compared to over 135 million for the Super Bowl show. The contrast in scale was telling, and the attempt to position it as an “all-American” alternative felt increasingly desperate.
The key to Bad Bunny’s success, according to analysis, wasn’t aggressive opposition, but rather a strategic “unflappability.” He avoided the pitfalls of direct confrontation, eschewing “cutting comedy and the tit-for-tat bullying” that often prove ineffective against a figure like Trump. Instead, he maintained a cool indifference, embedding subtle political references within a vibrant and joyful performance. This approach, described as “trolling without trying,” proved remarkably effective.
The Super Bowl performance was layered with symbolism. The shout-out to “God Bless America” followed by a listing of all the countries in the Americas, the ascent of a power line (a reference to Puerto Rico’s infrastructure failures), and the display of a pro-independence Puerto Rican flag were all subtle yet pointed statements. These weren’t overt protests, but rather Easter eggs that rewarded those who were already aware of the context, while remaining accessible to a broader audience. The ambiguity, it seems, was the point.
The contrast with the TPUSA show was stark. While Bad Bunny offered a celebration of joy, dance, and inclusivity, the Turning Point event leaned into anger, victimhood, and a nostalgic vision of America that felt increasingly out of touch. One song, “Country Nowadays,” lamented the inability to simply “catch my fish, drive my truck, drink my beer” without facing opposition – a sentiment that felt particularly tone-deaf given the artist’s platform and privilege.
The situation highlighted a broader shift in the cultural landscape. For years, conservatives have criticized Democrats for being overly sensitive and self-victimizing. Yet, the TPUSA show inadvertently mirrored those very criticisms, while Bad Bunny successfully flipped the script, embodying the playful, confident energy that conservatives had previously claimed as their own.
Even a rumor that Bad Bunny had dedicated his Grammy award to Liam Ramos, a five-year-old facing deportation, gained traction, demonstrating the artist’s ability to tap into current events and generate further conversation. (The rumor was later debunked, but the fact that it resonated so strongly speaks to the power of the narrative.)
Bad Bunny didn’t simply win a performance slot; he won a cultural battle. He exposed the limitations of Trump’s troll game, demonstrating that a more subtle, joyful, and authentic approach can be far more effective than direct confrontation. He didn’t try to beat Trump at his own game; he played a different game entirely, and in doing so, he may have inadvertently offered a blueprint for future cultural resistance.
