One Bad Bunny

When I was young I used to wonder what prompted adults to what seemed like overnight become oblivious to Pop Culture. I would eyeball the moms coming out of the grocery store while waiting for my mother in the car and wonder why they all donned hairstyles that no longer moved - why they didn’t know the words to every song on the radio and why they wore polyester of any kind. "When did they stop caring about what was going on?” I thought wearing my silver octagonal sunglasses sitting in my hot pant shorts and red white and blue tube top, allowing my hair to air-dry because finally wavy hair was “in.”

Last week I read that presidential candidates are courting pop stars in a last ditch effort to swing the states they need to win, and Bad Bunny the Latino pop star for you fellow clueless individuals was named as a could-be major factor in determining the outcome of our presidential election. I’m not sure what disturbed me most; that pop stars are being leveraged (and yes I know the other one), that anyone with the name Bad Bunny could play a crucial role in preserving our democracy or that I didn’t know who Bad Bunny was? Had I entered the zone of none moving hair?

We now pledge our allegiance to the Pop Culture of America, with attention being drawn and consideration given like whipped cream on an already decadent dessert. We give it up to these cultural influencers - these cool kid policy makers - the ultimate purveyors of youth and relevancy. It's no wonder that 50+ women are aware of Bad Bunny, have hair that moves and watch more Tik Tok videos than their daughters, in an unconscious effort to avoid committing irrelevant suicide.

I realize now that you have to be privileged to stay abreast of Pop Culture. You have to have spare time - time away from your demanding job...or two - children who are not suffering from the ills brought on by Pop Culture, and you have to care about fleeting trends, and feeding distractions - like big lips and big butts, reality housewives, counterfeit rose ceremonies, and getting voted out and off of everything. You have to be so comatose that you sit through endless commercials for the big reveal of redundant home makeovers with the same French doors, kitchen island and home sweet home wall hanging. You have to love Disney's G-rated franchises that find a way to flatten every complex theme so it can fit on a Pocahontas lunchbox and a Star Wars Christmas toy. You have to basically stop growing up, and become the equivalent of a stunned adolescent, still grappling with your parent's divorce.

This is not a yearning for some nostalgic better Pop Culture. It is what it is - our moment. I mean Fred Segal jeans and Lost in Space were not exactly revelations, but we knew where to leave them; on an over-priced clothing rack on Melrose and a Wednesday evening time slot. Perhaps this is a yearning for a better Culture from which Pop can be derived - where some Pop transcends to art, and becomes worthy of our attention, so our hair can keep moving and we can keep caring about what's really going on.