The Super Bowl Safe Space for Fragile Stupids

 

"Because I do know this… Bad Bunny doesn’t scare you because he’s successful—he scares you because he didn’t crawl, didn’t beg, didn’t audition for your approval, and didn’t flatten himself into something small, obedient, and flavorless enough for your brittle, toothless worldview to gum without choking. He’s out here selling out stadiums so large they look like military installations from space, bending global culture around his voice while you’re still arguing with strangers online about whether deodorant is a government plot.

Every record he breaks, every show he headlines, feels like a breach of contract because you were sold a lie—that your whiteness was a passport, a guarantee, a permanent starring role. He doesn’t look like you. He doesn’t talk like you. And you won’t see “yourself” on that stage, which offends you deeply, because it exposes the bullshit promise you keep being sold every single day.

And oh the goddamn irony of all of this. Oh, the soul-satisfying schadenfreude—of watching you finally choke on the very fragility you spent years mocking in everyone else.

All that time you laughed, sneered, and spat about “safe spaces,” ridiculed anyone who flinched at cruelty, treated empathy like a contagious rash you could shame people out of. And now here you are, whining for emotional daycare because a man singing on television rattled your delicate little sense of entitlement."

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The Super Bowl Safe Space for Fragile Stupids