By: Gabriela Yareliz
I will never forget a funny friend who told me proudly that he had seen a Puerto Rican artist’s music video. “The one with the women in the bikinis dancing,” he told me. “You are going to have to narrow it down,” I told him. “That is basically every music video.”
I had an internal cringe in that moment. This is how I felt about last night’s halftime.
Leading up to last night, we all heard a lot of commentary about the Bad Bunny halftime show. I was at a law firm event from hell (more on that later), where I heard some women saying they didn’t understand why a non-American was chosen to perform. I laughed with snippy cynicism and showed restraint.
The commentary around it being in Spanish didn’t bother me. Listen, these past few years, the halftime show feels about as matched to the audience as the new Cracker Barrel CEO to the brand. I don’t think the entertainment is well-matched to this specific sport’s audience. You can argue otherwise. If this was the World Cup halftime, I would feel it more on brand— but whatever. This wouldn’t be the first or last year where the show and spectacle turns off viewers. That was not a matter of concern to me. It was just part of a decade long pattern.
I think the part that disappoints me is that this is what people equate to my culture, which is rich and hard working and beyond what was on display. I have little respect for women twerking and literally showing ass (for lack of a better way to put it) and saying that their feminism is found in twerking alone (yo perreo sola), in touching themselves and promiscuity. I am not into lyrics about a man with many women or where he has placed his penis lately.
It is weird to me that we take the most toxic elements of our culture (they are not relationally healthy; they actually damage families and self-dignity), and we celebrate them as if they are liberation.
It is wild to me that women in my culture (I see them on socials) who say they hate men and show 90% of the skin on their body praise this when it’s the exact thing they claim they despise in their delusional brand of feminism.
A Hispanic or Latin man that I have admiration for— someone like Erwin McManus. A man of one wife, a writer, philosopher and futurist. A man who teaches the world to think and seek the eternal. A man who uplifts women and surrounds himself with them (fully clothed). That is a man worth celebrating and admiring.
Our culture can have class. It doesn’t have to be ghetto or urban or caserio music because not all of us act like we are from the projects. For those of us in professional fields, the spectacle last night doesn’t help elevate us or get us respect from those around us. This is about as helpful as mob culture was to Italians. I am more than just a sexual object. I like to think I actually have a brain, and it’s more interesting than my breasts— I promise.
It’s a show I wanted to be proud of but couldn’t be. A lot of important messages were drowned out by the debaucherous party.
It has its audience; I am not it. Yo no perreo.
GABRIELA YARELIZ 