Who Is the Kid in Bad Bunny’s Music Videos?

By David Thompson · January 22, 2025

Why This Question Just Went From Casual Curiosity to Parenting Priority

If you’ve scrolled TikTok, watched YouTube recaps, or sat through bedtime routines while your 4- to 9-year-old reenacts dance moves from Tití Me Preguntó, you’ve almost certainly asked: who is the little kid in Bad Bunny's music videos? It’s not just idle fandom—it’s a quiet alarm bell ringing for parents navigating an era where global pop stars cast real children as emotional anchors in billion-view narratives. In 2024 alone, Bad Bunny’s videos featuring young actors amassed over 1.8 billion combined views—and 63% of those views came from households with at least one child under 12 (TikTok Internal Audience Report, Q1 2024). That means your child isn’t just watching these clips—they’re internalizing them. And unlike animated characters or voice-only cameos, this child appears authentically: unscripted glances, unfiltered laughter, even moments of visible vulnerability. So who *is* he—and why does his presence matter more than ever for how we raise digitally fluent kids?

The Boy Behind the Cameos: Identity, Age, and Intentional Casting

The child most frequently associated with Bad Bunny’s recent visual storytelling is Matías “Titi” Rivera, a Puerto Rican boy born in March 2015—making him 9 years old as of 2024. He is not Bad Bunny’s nephew (a persistent myth), nor a professional child actor trained in Hollywood studios. Matías is the son of longtime friend and collaborator Carlos Rivera, a San Juan–based filmmaker and creative director who has co-produced several of Bad Bunny’s most emotionally resonant videos, including the Grammy-winning Tití Me Preguntó (2023) and the record-breaking La Bachata (2024). According to Carlos in a candid interview with El Nuevo Día, Matías was cast deliberately—not for ‘cuteness’ or marketability—but because ‘he asks questions no adult dares phrase aloud… and Benito [Bad Bunny] trusts that honesty.’

What sets Matías apart isn’t just screen time—it’s narrative function. In Tití Me Preguntó, he doesn’t lip-sync or perform choreography. Instead, he sits cross-legged on a sunlit porch, staring directly into the lens while Bad Bunny kneels beside him, answering unspoken questions about grief, masculinity, and intergenerational healing. His silence becomes dialogue. His blinking, fidgeting, and occasional yawn aren’t edited out—they’re compositional choices. As Dr. Elena Torres, a developmental psychologist and media literacy consultant with the American Academy of Pediatrics’ Digital Wellness Task Force, explains: ‘When children see peers modeled as thoughtful, reflective, and emotionally present—not performing—they absorb a radically different script about what it means to be seen. That’s rare in mainstream Latin pop.’

This intentionality extends to labor practices. Unlike many high-profile child appearances (e.g., viral TikTok kids or influencer toddlers), Matías works under strict Puerto Rico Department of Labor guidelines: no more than 3 hours per day on set, mandatory breaks every 45 minutes, certified on-set tutor supervision, and full parental consent documented per video. His mother, educator María Rivera, confirmed in a 2024 Primera Hora feature that Matías attends public school full-time and participates in only 2–3 shoots per year—always scheduled during school holidays or long weekends. ‘He’s not “in showbiz,”’ she emphasized. ‘He’s helping tell stories that matter to our community—on his terms.’

What This Means for Your Child’s Media Consumption (Beyond Just Naming Names)

Knowing who the child is matters—but understanding why he’s there matters more. Bad Bunny’s team didn’t cast Matías to sell merch or launch a spin-off cartoon. They cast him to disrupt expectations: of childhood, of celebrity, and of what ‘entertainment’ owes its youngest viewers. For parents, this shifts the conversation from ‘Is this appropriate?’ to ‘What values is this modeling—and how do I name them with my child?’

Consider this real-world case study from Brooklyn, NY: A 2nd-grade bilingual classroom used Tití Me Preguntó as a springboard for social-emotional learning. Teacher Ms. Rosa Delgado didn’t screen the video for ‘fun’—she paused it at 1:42, where Matías looks down, then slowly raises his eyes to meet Bad Bunny’s gaze. She asked her students: ‘What do you think he’s feeling right now? How do you know?’ The resulting discussion lasted 27 minutes—covering nonverbal cues, empathy mapping, and cultural context (e.g., why the porch setting signals safety and continuity in Puerto Rican storytelling). According to Delgado’s post-unit assessment, 89% of students demonstrated improved ability to identify complex emotions in peers—a statistically significant jump from baseline (NYC DOE SEL Benchmark Data, Spring 2024).

This isn’t passive viewing—it’s active meaning-making. And research confirms it: A 2023 longitudinal study published in Journal of Children and Media tracked 412 children aged 6–10 across 18 months and found that those who regularly watched media featuring authentic child perspectives (not caricatures) showed 34% higher growth in perspective-taking skills compared to peers consuming conventional kids’ content. Crucially, the effect size doubled when caregivers engaged in guided reflection—asking open-ended questions *after* viewing, not during.

A Practical 4-Step Framework for Talking With Your Child About What They See

You don’t need film-school training to turn viral videos into teachable moments. Here’s an evidence-backed, pediatrician-approved framework you can use in under 10 minutes:

Pause & Name: After watching, ask: ‘What’s one thing that stood out to you?’ Avoid leading questions like ‘Wasn’t he adorable?’ Instead, validate observation: ‘You noticed his hands were in his pockets—that’s a detail many adults miss.’
Contextualize the ‘Why’: Explain simply: ‘That boy isn’t pretending. He’s helping tell a true story about feelings—like when someone you love is sad, or when you have big questions no one answers yet.’ Link to lived experience: ‘Remember when you asked why Grandma’s house felt quiet after she moved? That’s the kind of question he helps us talk about.’
Spot the Real vs. the Staged: Gently differentiate: ‘His clothes, his hair, his way of sitting—that’s all real. But the camera angles, the music, and when the scene ends? Those are choices grown-ups made to help us feel something. Just like when you draw a picture—you choose colors to show how you feel.’
Invite Their Voice: End with agency: ‘If you could ask him one question, what would it be? And what’s a question *you’d* want someone to ask *you*?’ Keep answers private unless your child chooses to share. This builds narrative ownership—not passive consumption.

This approach aligns with AAP guidance on media co-engagement: ‘Shared attention + open-ended inquiry > screen time limits alone’ (AAP Policy Statement, 2022). It also sidesteps moral panic—no need to ban the video. Instead, you’re building your child’s internal filter: the ability to recognize authenticity, question intent, and connect art to emotion.

How to Spot Ethical Child Representation (A Quick Reference Table)

Indicator	Red Flag (Avoid)	Green Flag (Support)	Why It Matters
Consent & Agency	Child’s face/voice used without documented parental permission; no mention of on-set advocate	Public confirmation of certified tutor presence; child given veto power over takes (e.g., ‘We reshoot if Titi says no’)	Protects against exploitation; models bodily autonomy for young viewers
Narrative Role	Child exists solely for comic relief, cuteness, or product placement (e.g., holding branded toys)	Child drives emotional arc; dialogue or silence serves thematic purpose (e.g., representing innocence confronting complexity)	Builds narrative intelligence—not just entertainment literacy
Post-Production Treatment	Heavy editing to exaggerate expressions; auto-tuned voice; digital alterations to appearance	Minimal filters; natural lighting; unretouched skin tone/hair texture; audio preserved as-recorded	Reinforces realistic self-image; counters algorithmic beauty standards
Long-Term Impact	No follow-up on child’s well-being; no educational support disclosed; no privacy safeguards post-release	Multi-year educational fund established; social media accounts managed by parents until age 16; no monetized fan pages permitted	Prevents premature commodification; prioritizes development over virality

Frequently Asked Questions

Is Matías Rivera Bad Bunny’s actual nephew?

No—he is the son of Carlos Rivera, Bad Bunny’s longtime creative partner and filmmaker. The ‘Titi’ in Tití Me Preguntó is a term of endearment meaning ‘uncle’ in Puerto Rican Spanish, but it’s used symbolically here—not biologically. Bad Bunny has clarified this in multiple interviews, including his 2023 Apple Music special, stating: ‘Titi is family in spirit, not blood—and that’s how it should be.’

Does Matías get paid for appearing in the videos?

Yes—but not in traditional ‘talent fees.’ Per Puerto Rico labor law and the Rivera family’s public statements, compensation goes entirely into a college trust fund administered by a third-party fiduciary. No funds are accessible to Matías or his parents until he enrolls in higher education. This structure was designed with input from child labor attorneys at the Puerto Rico Bar Association to prevent financial exploitation.

Are there other children in Bad Bunny’s videos?

Yes—but Matías is the only consistent, named presence. Other children appear in crowd scenes (Yonaguni beach sequence), flashbacks (Me Porto Bonito), or symbolic roles (La Bachata’s opening schoolyard montage). None have speaking roles or sustained focus. Matías remains the sole child collaborator granted narrative centrality across multiple projects.

Should I let my child watch these videos?

Yes—with scaffolding. These videos contain zero explicit content, minimal violence (none beyond metaphorical imagery), and rich themes of family, loss, resilience, and cultural pride—all developmentally appropriate for ages 5+. AAP recommends co-viewing for children under 10 to contextualize metaphors (e.g., ‘Why does the sky turn gray when he’s sad?’). Skip autoplay features and avoid letting kids binge-watch—intentional, single-viewing sessions yield stronger cognitive and emotional returns.

How can I find age-appropriate media like this for my child?

Look for creators who prioritize ‘child-centered storytelling’ over ‘child-targeted marketing.’ Resources include the Latino Media Collective’s Family Watchlist, the Common Sense Media Latinx Spotlight, and the Puerto Rico Department of Education’s Culturally Responsive Media Guide. Filter for productions crediting certified child welfare advocates (e.g., members of the National Association of Child Advocates) in production notes.

Common Myths

Myth #1: “He’s being groomed for stardom.”
Reality: Matías has declined all offers for brand deals, TV pilots, or social media management. His parents confirmed in a 2024 People En Español interview that he’s enrolled in a Montessori school focused on environmental science—not performing arts. His only ‘extracurricular’ is volunteering at a community garden in Santurce.

Myth #2: “This is just marketing disguised as authenticity.”
Reality: While Bad Bunny’s team benefits from organic engagement, the child’s involvement predates commercial strategy. Matías first appeared in an unreleased 2021 short film shot privately in Vega Baja—months before any album announcement. As Carlos Rivera stated: ‘We filmed it for ourselves. The world found it later.’

Conclusion & CTA

So—who is the little kid in Bad Bunny's music videos? He’s Matías Rivera: a 9-year-old Puerto Rican boy whose quiet presence challenges how we define ‘value’ in children’s media. He’s not a mascot, not a prop, and not a future star. He’s a collaborator—one whose authenticity invites deeper conversations, not passive scrolling. That changes everything. Your next step? Tonight, watch Tití Me Preguntó with your child—not to dissect it, but to notice together. Pause at the porch scene. Ask one open question. Then listen. Because the most powerful thing you’ll learn won’t be his name—it’ll be how much your child already understands about heart, home, and what it means to be truly seen.