In Just 13 Minutes, Bad Bunny’s Historical Super Bowl Halftime Show Proves You Don’t Need a Speech To Make a Statement

Benito Antonio Martinez Ocasio, 31, was born in Bayamón, Puerto Rico, to two working parents and was raised in Vega Baja, where he worked as a bagger at a local supermarket chain called Econo. Known as Bad Bunny now, Ocasio made it far enough to perform at the Super Bowl LX halftime show and deliver one of the best — if not the best — and most culturally significant performances ever staged on the biggest platform in American entertainment.

In a space traditionally reserved for pop maximalism and crowd-pleasing medleys, Bad Bunny did something far riskier: he made the Super Bowl intimate. He didn’t walk onto the field to explain himself, nor did he pause to contextualize Puerto Rico’s history, translate his lyrics, or soften his imagery for mass consumption. He did, however, trust the stage's scale to handle complexity. Bad Bunny turned the halftime show into something closer to a living archive — a reminder that culture, when presented without apology, can speak louder than any speech ever could. His 13-minute set wasn’t built to explain, translate, or apologize for itself, but it trusted the audience to meet him where he stood — firmly rooted in Puerto Rico — and in doing so, redefined what a halftime show can communicate without ever stopping to deliver a speech.

Bad Bunny's Halftime Show Didn't Need A Translation

Bad Bunny was the first solo halftime performer to perform an entire set in Spanish; this alone was significant culturally, given the size of the audience. Reports suggest that over 135 million viewers watched the performance, making it one of the most-watched halftime shows in history. In contrast, during the same time period, a conservative, alternative event called the "All-American Halftime Show" presented an America that needed defending; Bad Bunny presented an America without the need for defense.

Sugar cane fields dominated the opening of the show; we didn't see loads of explosions or dueling video screens, but instead jíbaros wearing straw hats playing dominoes, piraguas being sold, and a casita that served as both the actual set piece and the symbolic focal point for the performance itself. It was also another nod to Puerto Rico and to his tour and residency.

The audience was given a sense of what makes Puerto Rico a real place, with substance, work, happiness, and unhealed scars. It helped people understand who we are. The show felt like a community of people in their own neighborhoods, with the casita, a couple actually getting married on the field, and celebrities who happened to be friends of Ocasio, such as Karol G, Pedro Pascal, Jessica Alba, and Cardi B, among plenty of others, blending into the audience instead of standing out from them. Celebrity was not presented as a spectacle; instead, it represented community as a celebration of life.

Bad Bunny used real-life events to show his point when he sang about politics and his song “El Apagón” (The Power Outage) which was about the negative effects of the devastating hurricanes in Puerto Rico and the state of the power grid after electricity was restored, but the impact of Hurricane Maria was evident from the images of exploding power lines and blackout conditions behind Bad Bunny. Ricky Martin’s appearance during “LO QUE LE PASÓ A HAWAii” (What Happened to Hawaii) referenced gentrification and modern-day colonialism, without making it an easily digested message.

Ocasio also brought along another guest that fans were hoping would take the stage with the Puerto Rican star: Lady Gaga, who came out during the live-wedding segment that was part of Bad Bunny's show, performing a salsa version of her song with Bruno Mars, "Die with a Smile." While her performance was the only one in English of the night, it felt less like a detour than a contrast that reminded us where Bad Bunny is now — in the international pop machine. Lady Gaga wore a blue gown featuring a flowering plant that represents Puerto Rico and performed in a way that did not overshadow Bad Bunny's narrative but instead complemented it.

What 'America' Means Depends on Who Gets to Say It

Near the end of the set, Bad Bunny spoke English, albeit briefly. “God bless America,” he said, before listing countries across North, Central, and South America, including Puerto Rico, Canada, and the United States. He held a football that read, “Together, We Are America,” and spiked it before launching into “DtMF.”

It was a simple gesture, but a pointed one. In the U.S., “America” is often treated as proprietary. Elsewhere, it’s continental. Bad Bunny didn’t argue the distinction; he embodied it. The flags that filled the stage weren’t there to intentionally provoke outrage but to assert belonging.

That assertion proved controversial in some corners. President Donald Trump called the show a “slap in the face,” while conservative pundits derided it as un-American before it even aired. Yet the numbers tell a different story; millions more chose Bad Bunny’s version of America over the alternative, not because it shouted louder, but because it felt fuller.

The Loudest Message in Bad Bunny's Halftime Show Was the One He Didn’t Say

Much of the pre-show speculation centered on whether Bad Bunny would directly address Trump, ICE, or immigration enforcement. He didn’t, and that restraint may be the most radical part of the performance. Instead of confrontation, he offered clarity; instead of outrage, he offered lineage — nodding to Daddy Yankee, Tego Calderón, Don Omar, and the artists who built reggaeton long before it was profitable to celebrate it. Instead of slogans, he closed with plena instruments, dancers, and the quiet insistence of survival: seguimos aquí (We're still here).

Bad Bunny didn’t ask to be accepted, and he didn’t explain why his culture belonged on that stage. He occupied it — comfortably, confidently, and on his own terms. He invited the rest of America — because Puerto Rico is part of America — to experience it. In such a short, energetic time, he reminded the world that representation doesn’t always come with raised fists or shouted demands; sometimes, it arrives as a party that refuses to end, a language that refuses to bend, and a truth that doesn’t need translating.

That boy who worked at Econo probably had no idea where he'd end up, but he made it to the world's biggest stage with a message and support behind him.