Earlier this month, a wave of tourists from the continental US began visiting Puerto Rico for the chance to see Bad Bunny. This would not be that remarkable – plenty of people go overseas for concerts, as tickets often go for much less than in the US (any dedicated Swiftie will tell you it was much cheaper to see her in Mexico City than, say, LA) – if not for the fact that Bad Bunny, born Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio, planned ahead for an influx of outsiders to the island. The first nine dates of his landmark 30-show residency at San Juan’s Coliseo de Puerto Rico were reserved exclusively for island residents, who had to present proof of residency at one of nine locations, primarily agricultural markets. Only afterward could anyone from the outside attend the Puerto Rican superstar’s show, No Me Quiero Ir de Aquí (I Don’t Want to Leave Here), a three-hour magnum opus of Boricua pride in support of his new album Debí Tirar Más Fotos (I Should Have Taken More Pictures).
In the nearly 10 years since Bad Bunny broke containment on Soundcloud, he has made defiance of norms and expectations a personal rule. From donning drag in the Yo Perreo Sola video, to seamlessly blending genres old and new, to his refusal to sing or conduct press in English – even his appearances on Saturday Night Live, one of several forays into English media, kept Spanish as the default – Martínez has thrillingly redefined what it looks like to be a global superstar. His residency in San Juan, the triumphant opening salvo of a world tour that will entirely skip the mainland US, is not just the latest bucked model but, I’d argue, the best use of megastardom in recent memory, an application of generational celebrity that unites potent symbolism with actual material change.
