In a political climate marked by anti-LGBTQ+ legislation, xenophobia, and aggressive tactics by agencies like U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, cultural spaces that center queer love and Latino identity take on heightened political significance. In our modern world, social media is available within a finger’s reach. From celebrity relationships to trending television shows, pop culture is more accessible and influential than ever. But pop culture does not exist in a vacuum.
Especially in an era of constant digital consumption, it reflects who we are, and perhaps more importantly, who we are fighting to become. Therefore, the prominence of Heated Rivalry and a Super Bowl halftime performance by Bad Bunny reveal something important: mainstream American culture is far more diverse than nationalist rhetoric suggests.
‘Heated rivalry’ and the politics of masculinity
If you are a girl, know a girl, or simply exist on social media, chances are incredibly high that you have heard of Heated Rivalry. The show has taken the internet by storm with its two leading heartthrobs who somehow overcome a decade-long, doomed-to-fail situationship and ultimately fall in love. It has passion, angst, sports, yearning, and most importantly, queer visibility. A show like Heated Rivalry, which centers this love between two elite male hockey players, disrupts the long-standing assumption that men’s sports are incompatible with queerness. At a time when LGBTQ+ rights are increasingly politicized and demonized, queer visibility in traditionally masculine, heteronormative arenas matters.
Men’s hockey, like many male-dominated sports, has historically been associated with aggression, toughness, and emotional restraint. Such traits are often weaponized to police masculinity and assert dominance. Often, players attempt to undermine one another’s masculinity to get in their heads and throw off their performance. Within the show, Scott Hunter, who later comes out publicly as gay, reflects on hearing slurs used casually on and off the ice. That atmosphere is not a fictional exaggeration. It mirrors a broader sports culture that has long equated queerness with weakness.
By placing a same-sex love story at the center of this world, Heated Rivalry does more than create good television. It challenges the idea that vulnerability diminishes masculinity. In fact, the emotional intimacy between the characters makes them more secure, more grounded, and paradoxically stronger. The show reframes masculinity not as domination, but as self-acceptance. That visibility feels especially urgent right now.
Our current political climate has been increasingly defined by policy proposals consistent with “Project 2025.” If you haven’t heard, “Project 2025” is a 920-page document that essentially presents a step-by-step guide in dismantling our democracy and replacing it with a conservative, dictatorial government. Despite President Donald Trump’s denial of involvement with the document, as of February 2026, his administration has initiated or completed 53 percent of the domestic agenda. Some of the proposals that have already been brought about include rolling back federal protections for LGBTQ+ Americans, restructuring federal agencies to promote a narrowly defined vision of “family” centered on heterosexual marriage, and limiting the application of the Supreme Court’s ruling in Bostock v. Clayton that held Title VII’s sex discrimination protections applied to LGBTQ+ people.
In a moment when LGBTQ+ rights are openly contested at the federal level, a wildly popular show centered on queer love in one of the most hyper-masculine sports arenas imaginable is not solely entertainment. It is cultural resistance. It quietly asserts that queer people belong everywhere — including on the ice.
Bad Bunny and the politics of belonging
If Heated Rivalry challenges gender norms, Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl halftime show challenges nationalist ones. The return of Trump to the Oval Office has coincided with a resurgence of harsh immigration rhetoric and highly publicized enforcement crackdowns by ICE. We have a president who is actively constructing a false narrative: framing immigration as a crisis, racializing Latino identities as foreign, and treating English as the United States’ sole language. His entire platform contradicts the diversity of this country, and when we have such a high-profile figure meticulously building such harmful perspectives, it fuels a xenophobic, nationalist culture that damages the heart of our country.
However, on one of the largest stages in American entertainment, Bad Bunny performed largely in Spanish. That fact matters. Bad Bunny is from Puerto Rico, a U.S. territory whose residents are American citizens. And yet, Puerto Rican identity is often treated as external to the nation. In anticipation of his performance, some commentators, like FOX News host Tomi Lahren, insisted Bad Bunny is “not an American artist,” reinforcing a narrow definition of national identity that excludes millions of citizens. Even the U.S. Secretary of Homeland Security Kristi Noem threatened that ICE officers will be “all over” the Super Bowl, while another FOX News guest referred to the singer as a “crossdresser who doesn’t speak English.” Political rhetoric has repeatedly cast immigrants, and clearly even U.S. citizens of Latino descent, as threats to American identity. The criticism surrounding his performance underscores a larger cultural tension over who is permitted to represent the nation. That tension becomes even more striking when we consider the platform on which he performed.
The Super Bowl is more than a football game; it is a symbolic display of American identity broadcast to millions. For a Puerto Rican artist to headline that stage challenges the assumption that “American” means English-speaking and white. It demonstrates that American identity, despite what some extremist right-wing rhetoric may suggest, is multilingual, multicultural, and evolving.
At the end of his performance, Bad Bunny emphasized themes of unity and togetherness. With the slogan, “Together We Are America” woven into the football he carried through the field against a backdrop of various flags from nations across the Americas, the singer painted a picture of a united, inclusive continent, urged that “America” exists beyond the United States, and honored the diversity lying within it. The performance certainly acknowledged the endless backlash and racism that Bad Bunny endured for simply delivering entertainment to an audience, while also emphasizing the love and joy of one another in a world so incredibly defined by hate. He further asserts that Latinos are integral to the fabric of the United States, and American identity extends beyond physical borders or differences across language. This concept of togetherness is a stark contrast to the polarization that defines much of the political discourse in the United States today. In a moment when immigration raids dominate headlines and diversity is framed as a threat, a Spanish-language performance on a national stage signals something powerful. Diversity is not peripheral to America, but rather, it defines it.
so what do they both mean?
At their core, both of these cultural moments ask the same question: who gets to belong? Heated Rivalry expands who gets to belong in masculinity. Bad Bunny’s production expands who gets to belong in America. Political rhetoric today is constantly seeking to narrow definitions of gender, family, and nationality to exclude groups that have existed and contributed to our country for decades. Despite this, our culture continues to widen them. From queer love stories on the ice to Spanish lyrics echoing through a stadium watched by millions, these moments remind us that identity in North America is not shrinking. It is evolving. And that evolution, whether embraced or resisted, is deeply political.
It can be disheartening to watch the United States feel increasingly divided under the leadership of Donald Trump. The rhetoric is sharp. The policies are targeted. The headlines often feel heavy. For many young people, especially those who are queer, immigrants, or children of immigrants, the political climate can feel alienating. And yet, in the middle of this tension, our culture continues to tell a different story. We see queer love thriving in the most hyper-masculine arenas. We see harmony and the celebration of Puerto Rican culture during one of the most-watched events in the country. We see unity amidst politics that promote division. That contrast is not insignificant. It is hopeful. It suggests that while political narratives may attempt to restrict who belongs, cultural spaces are still expanding that definition in real time.