When Bad Bunny took the Super Bowl stage, he didn’t just perform — he brought Puerto Rico with him. It began with recognition. With Tití Me Preguntó, the show opened inside a Puerto Rican memory — sugar cane fields stretching across the field, jíbaros in pavas standing proudly, elders playing dominoes, piragua and coco frío carts rolling through the scene. It felt less like a stage and more like a neighborhood. Less like television and more like home.
The choice to open this way mattered. On the most-watched broadcast in America, Bad Bunny centered the people and places that shaped him — the same people and places that shaped generations of Puerto Ricans long before global recognition was possible. “Tití Me Preguntó” wasn’t just a hit; it was the sound of family parties, of cousins dancing, of music playing too loud and too long. It reminded us that joy has always been part of survival.
That joy sharpened into confidence with Yo Perreo Sola, a declaration of autonomy and freedom. The performance didn’t slow or soften itself for comfort. When he appeared standing on the pink casita from his Puerto Rico residency, No Me Quiero Ir De Aquí, the symbolism landed hard. That residency was about staying, about choosing the island when leaving would have been easier. But it wasn’t just symbolic. The residency drew thousands of fans to San Juan, boosted local businesses, supported stage crews, hotels, restaurants, and transportation workers, and showed the world that Puerto Rico is a thriving cultural hub. Bringing that same casita to the Super Bowl felt like a promise kept — a message that Puerto Rico, and those who nurture it, matter. At the casita, he was joined by entertainers like Pedro Pascal, Cardi B, Jessica Alba, and Alix Earle, not as glamour guests, but as community members celebrating together. It moved boldly into Safaera, embracing chaos and controlled disorder — a perfect metaphor for reggaetón itself, a genre born from marginalization and creativity colliding. Puerto Rican music has never asked permission, and this moment made that clear.
As the show flowed into Party and Voy a Llevarte Pa’ PR, Bad Bunny wasn’t just performing — he was inviting the world in. Puerto Rico wasn’t a backdrop; it was the destination.
The tone shifted, snippets of classic reggaetón — Daddy Yankee’s “Gasolina,” Don Omar’s “Dale Don Dale,” Tego Calderón’s “Pa’ Que Se Lo Gozen,” and even Hector el Father’s “Noche de Travesuras” — rippled through the air as the beat shifted. These weren’t random throwbacks. They were homages to the artists who built the genre from the streets of Puerto Rico and the barrios of New York, the same artists whose songs first brought reggaetón into the mainstream and made it possible for a young Benito in Vega Baja to dream of this stage. That medley flowed seamlessly into EoO — a track on which Bad Bunny recently won a Grammy for Best Global Music Performance.
“During Monaco,” the music softened, and Bad Bunny spoke directly to the camera: “My name is Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio and if I’m here today at Super Bowl LX, it’s because I never stopped believing in myself. You should believe in yourself too. You’re worth more than you think. Trust me.” In that instant, he wasn’t Bad Bunny, — he was Benito, the kid from Vega Baja who once worked as a cashier. By saying his full name, he reminded everyone that success doesn’t mean forgetting your roots; it means carrying them with pride. For young Latinos and anyone chasing a dream, it was a simple but powerful message: if he could make it here, you can too. His last name, Ocasio, stitched into his outfit, made sure of that. Fame did not erase where he came from.
Then came Lady Gaga — and the moment worked because of how it was done. In the middle of Bad Bunny’s performance, the broadcast cut to a real couple actually getting married onstage, exchanging vows and sharing a kiss in front of thousands in Levi’s Stadium and millions watching at home. Gaga then performed a salsa‑infused version of Die With a Smile — not as a disconnected cameo, but as if she were the wedding singer at that very celebration. Her light blue dress — echoing the azul celeste of the earlier Puerto Rican flag variant linked to independence movements — and the red flor de maga pinned on her outfit brought intentional cultural symbolism. Gaga didn’t pull Bad Bunny into her sound; she stepped into his. Salsa, a genre born from Caribbean rhythms and shaped by Latino communities in New York, became the bridge between them. Her voice, warm and inviting, threaded through the moment like a tribute to love itself, and when Bad Bunny joined in his hit Baile INoLVIDABLE, the scene felt less like a halftime show and more like a Puerto Rican fiesta — a wedding reception full of rhythm, joy, and collective heartbeat. It was unity in motion — proof that culture and collaboration can elevate a moment without diluting identity. The camera caught a child asleep across two chairs at a wedding — anyone who grew up Latino understood instantly. Parties don’t stop for bedtime. You fall asleep wherever you fit, surrounded by music and laughter.
The show expanded outward again with NUEVAYoL. This was the diaspora chapter. Puerto Rican bodegas, city imagery, and cultural references filled the screen, honoring those who left the island out of necessity but never left the culture behind. In this moment, Toñita appeared — the owner of the Caribbean Social Club in Williamsburg, a real-life pillar of Puerto Rican New York. Bad Bunny has long referenced her in his music and even celebrated the release of Un Verano Sin Ti at her club, later fundraising to help keep it open. Her presence wasn’t symbolic — it was gratitude. It was saying that culture survives because people protect it.
One of the most moving moments of the night came when a living‑room set appeared on the field, and on it sat a young boy with his family watching footage of Bad Bunny’s Grammy win speech. Bad Bunny approached and handed the Grammy to the boy, a gesture that felt like honoring his own younger self while inspiring the next generation of dreamers. For anyone who grew up Latino, Puerto Rican, or chasing a dream against the odds, it was a quiet but profound reminder — success isn’t just for you; it’s meant to be shared, celebrated, and passed forward.
That history and survival came into sharper focus when Ricky Martin joined the stage for “LO QUE LE PASÓ A HAWAii.” This wasn’t a random collaboration. The song draws a parallel between Hawaii and Puerto Rico — two islands shaped by colonialism, tourism, and displacement. Sung alongside Ricky Martin, one of the first Puerto Rican artists to reach global pop stardom, the moment carried weight. It felt like an acknowledgment that Puerto Rico’s story is not unique, but it is unfinished.
Then the lights dimmed. El Apagón arrived like a rupture. On a stage powered flawlessly, Bad Bunny performed a song about darkness — about Puerto Rico’s broken electrical grid, privatization, and neglect. As the visuals flickered and power poles climbed skyward, he held a light blue Puerto Rican flag, a version historically associated with resistance and independence. The image was devastating and deliberate: pride held high in the middle of instability. While the stadium glowed without interruption, an entire island still waits for the lights to stay on.
Out of that darkness came warmth again with CAFé CON RON. The song felt communal, almost grounding — a reminder that even when systems fail, culture does not. Music, rhythm, shared space — these things endure. The show closed with DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS, a choice that felt deeply personal. As Bad Bunny walked out of the stadium with musicians playing güiros and panderetas — instruments tied to Puerto Rican plena — the message was clear: memory matters. Home matters. Time with the people you love matters.
At the very end, the Super Bowl field became a tapestry of identity. Flags from across the Americas — including Puerto Rico — filled the stadium, celebrating the continent’s diversity. He raised a football high above his head, emblazoned with the words “Together, we are America.” In a stadium of millions, he said in English, “God bless America,” naming countries across the continents. That simple act — a Puerto Rican performing mostly in Spanish on the most-watched broadcast in the United States — reclaimed the meaning of belonging. America is more than one story; it is all of us.
He spiked the football in celebration, a symbolic send-off: we exist together, we stand together, and we are stronger together. The final words on the stadium screens echoed: “The only thing more powerful than hate is love.”
The show drew an estimated 135.4 million viewers, making it the most‑watched halftime performance in Super Bowl history and surpassing previous records held by Kendrick Lamar and Michael Jackson, as millions around the world tuned in. This halftime show was not built to be easily consumed. It was built to be felt. It moved from joy to legacy, from diaspora to darkness, from protest to love — without ever apologizing for its language, its symbols, or its pride. For Puerto Ricans — on the island, in New York, everywhere — this wasn’t just a performance we watched. It was a moment we saw ourselves in. A moment where history, struggle, and celebration collided, where a kid from Vega Baja who once worked as a cashier shared the world stage with millions and gave it back to his people. And that made it unforgettable.
