When Jake Paul publicly disparaged Bad Bunny ahead of his Super Bowl halftime performance and suggested he was a “fake American citizen” the comments landed with a familiar sting. Not because they were surprising, but because they echoed a long history of selective patriotism, cultural erasure, and hypocrisy aimed at Puerto Rico and its people.
What made the remarks especially jarring was not just what was said, but who said it.
Jake Paul currently lives in Puerto Rico — a choice he has openly linked to the island’s favorable tax incentives. He benefits directly from Puerto Rico’s status, profits from its infrastructure, and uses the island as a personal and professional base. Yet when Puerto Rican culture takes center stage on a global platform, he questions its legitimacy.
Puerto Rico is an unincorporated U.S. territory. Puerto Ricans are U.S. citizens. They serve in the U.S. military, contribute to the U.S. economy, and participate in American culture every day and do it all without full political representation.
Bad Bunny’s halftime show didn’t just celebrate Puerto Rico; it reflected the reality of what “America” actually looks like beyond the narrow, often exclusionary definitions pushed by mainstream narratives.
To dismiss Bad Bunny who is one of the most globally influential artists of this generation as somehow less American is not just inaccurate. It’s revealing.
It exposes how Americanness is often weaponized: expansive when it benefits outsiders, restrictive when it centers marginalized communities.
Jake Paul is far from the first wealthy mainland transplant to move to Puerto Rico for financial advantages. The island has become a hotspot for affluent outsiders seeking tax benefits unavailable to most residents. The continued colonization of the island has fueled rising costs of living, displacement, and increased pressure on local communities.
This is where the hypocrisy sharpens.
Paul benefits from Puerto Rico’s policies while many Puerto Ricans continue to live with economic precarity, limited political power, and the ongoing consequences of colonial rule. Yet instead of showing respect for the culture and people of the place he claims as home, he publicly undermines one of Puerto Rico’s most important cultural figures, exposing exactly where his allegiance ends.
He is precisely the kind of person Lo Que Le Pasó a Hawaii warns about: an active participant in modern-day colonization, extracting value from a culture and community while giving little to nothing in return. Paul’s property, located in the affluent neighborhood of Dorado, has reportedly obstructed access to the beach in a country where all beaches are public by law. It’s the very reality Bad Bunny warned of when he said, “Quieren quitarme el río y también la playa.”
Adding another layer to the contradiction: Jake Paul has, at times, embraced Puerto Rico as part of his public identity, including being announced as representing Puerto Rico during boxing events and going by the nickname El Gallo Dorado.
So which is it?
Is Puerto Rico a meaningful part of his identity, or merely a branding tool? Is it home, or a tax shelter? Is it worthy of pride, or only when it serves his narrative?
You cannot wear Puerto Rico when it suits you and reject Puerto Ricans when they take up space.
Bad Bunny’s halftime performance was not just entertainment. It was cultural affirmation. It named countries, displayed flags, and celebrated communities that are too often erased from global stages — including Puerto Rico.
The backlash to that visibility speaks volumes.
When marginalized cultures are celebrated loudly and unapologetically, discomfort follows. The criticism often masquerades as commentary on “quality” or “taste,” but underneath it lies a deeper resistance to seeing those cultures centered, respected, and normalized.
Bad Bunny didn’t ask for permission to represent his people. He didn’t dilute his identity to be palatable. And that, for some, was the real issue.
Jake Paul’s comments are not an isolated incident. They fit into a broader pattern where Puerto Rico is treated as a commodity rather than a community. The island is considered valuable for what it can offer outsiders, but dismissed when its people assert pride and visibility.
Calling out that pattern isn’t about celebrity drama. It’s about accountability.
If you live on the island, profit from it, and claim it when it elevates your brand, you should also respect its culture, its artists, and its people. Especially when they are being celebrated on the world’s biggest stages.
Bad Bunny’s global impact speaks for itself. What Jake Paul represents is the exact opposite: someone who profits from the island, flaunts it in branding, participates in its gentrification, and yet publicly mocks its culture and its people. That is not patriotism. That is exploitation.
He is exactly the kind of outsider Lo Que Pasó on Hawaii warns about: taking without honoring, claiming identity when convenient, and denying it when it challenges him. Bad Bunny didn’t have to prove he was “American.” Jake Paul, by contrast, proves every day that he only claims Puerto Rico when it serves him and refuses respect when it doesn’t.
The lesson is clear: visibility, pride, and cultural affirmation cannot be co-opted, silenced, or bought. Puerto Rico’s culture is bigger than any outsider’s agenda, and Bad Bunny showed the world exactly what that means.














