F*ck, Marry, Kill: Shakira, AI Dictator, and my ex-boyfriend
I took a girls trip to Miami
Most of my teenage years were spent in a sprawling South Florida retirement town, the land of snowbirds and shuffleboard courts. “Oh, my grandparents live there!” was just about the only name-recognition we had. Miami, however, was a quick-ish drive away and an even quicker white lie to the parents. Alexandra’s mom thought her daughter was at Rachel’s and vice versa, meanwhile Alexandra and Rachel are driving like bats out of hell across Alligator Alley. The driver’s license may be new, but those fake IDs have been around the block.
I was a bit of a straight-edge back then, so I was never invited to these trips. At sixteen, I’d snuck out to approximately one party, where I drank half a beer then convinced myself that God must hate me for it (I left that party and cried myself to sleep). Every Monday at school though, my FOMO would get the best of me and I’d hang onto every word of my friends’ tales of weekends in Miami or West Palm Beach. Their stories were full of high heels, bass drops, and most importantly: boys. It was here that I learned the classic schoolyard game “FMK” aka, I give you three people and you have to pick one to fuck, one to marry, and one to kill. The girls would roundup the cast of characters from the weekend, then keel over laughing imagining fake scenarios of marrying the bouncer and killing the bartender. I (obviously a virgin at this time) would nod along and laugh, half in fear of how adult my peers sounded and half in awe of how glamorous it all seemed.
I was somewhat cool enough to get invited to the college Miami trips where a yacht, Nobu reservation, and bottle service could all seemingly appear after a few sneaky Instagram DMs. However, I still did not attend these trips because I had no money and raging body dysmorphia. Being trapped on a yacht with girls half my size and five times as wealthy sounded like a fresh kind of hell. “Exams! Sorry!” I’d say, probably bodychecking myself in the nearest reflective surface as I sent the text. I know, I’m not proud.
I’m still scared of going on a girls trip to Miami, because the whole scene has dark energy. Conditions are ideal for the type of drama that gets you at least two seasons of a Hulu reality show. Three, if you really get your freak on. Will friendships survive? How long is the drunk voicemail you leave your ex-boyfriend? Better yet, who cheats on their current boyfriend? What’s the APR% on your credit card and how badly is it stressing you out right now? Chills.
For aforementioned reasons, I’ve largely avoided Miami until this past weekend. About a month ago, a very close friend of mine invited me to spend a week with her family there. Our plan was to be lowkey - eating, drinking, and relaxing, largely off the radar. Nothing like the stories of my youth that simultaneously enchanted and terrified me. That’s for the best, I’m not built for the scene in Miami. I get sweaty, my hair frizzes up, and dancing in heels makes my knees hurt (you guys know I have a very serious adult recreational sports future!). The two of us agreed, girls trip to Miami, pero chill. We did, however, decide to make a teensy weensy exception when we found out that Shakira was playing HardRock Stadium on Luisa’s birthday.
Did I mention that Luisa is Colombian? Section 336 Row L never stood a chance.
I’m going to take you with me on our whirlwind week in Miami. Of course, to heal the high school nerd inside of me, we’re also going to play FMK. Let us begin.
I wouldn’t call myself a massive Shakira fan, but I am three things:
a human with eyes
a white girl who studied abroad in Colombia (I literally never mention it)
a pop culture fiend
Shakira promised “Las Mujeres Ya No Lloran” (Women No Longer Cry) would be the tour of a lifetime and by God, she delivered. 48 years old and 12 studio albums in, Shakira remains borderline untouchable in her talent, energy, and drive. “Las Mujeres Ya No Lloran” is a reference to her sonic masterpiece of a diss track about her unfaithful ex-husband, Gerard Piqué, released in 2023 with Argentinian producer, Bizarrap.
Basically, Shakira walked into Bizarrap’s studio and put Piqué immediately into a coffin, then put that coffin ten feet under. Billboard called it “one of the most blistering diss tracks of all time”. I implore you to read up on the lore behind this song, as it is positively splendid. Tax evasion allegations and rib-removal rumors be damned - with this single, Shakira flawlessly took control of her own narrative and carved out a new space for herself, one of pop domination.
The show included a flamethrower/chainsaw type thing that destroys a male mannequin, $100 bill confetti with Shakira’s face, and three different girl-squad marching moments. The “Ten Commandments of the She-Wolf” prelude had every middle-aged Latina in Miami literally howling to the moon (waxing gibbous, open air stadium). As I write this, vacation bible schools everywhere are scrambling to rewrite history, thanks to her montage stating that “the first woman didn’t come from a man’s rib, but rather, the first man came from a woman’s hips.” And you know what they say about the hips …
Beyond the fun gimmicks, Shakira delivered touching ballads, older rock anthems, and mesmerizing dance routines. I swear, my jaw was hanging open half the time because I had no earthly idea that the human body could move like that. The two hour show culminated in the performance of aforementioned diss track, complete with a special appearance from the producer, Bizarrap. Here, words fail me, and not just because I’m an amateur writer. That finale was the most electric, dynamic concert moment I’ve ever experienced. 60,000 of us transcended into the most bad bitch, sharp-tongued, and powerful versions of ourselves thanks to Shakira’s emotionally raw, yet commanding performance. Fortunately for me and unfortunately for all of my friends, the finale was professionally recorded and posted on Youtube. Music video nights will never be the same.
Shakira? Marry.
The glaring downside of La Loba’s concert? The visuals, which employed a “first of their kind” AI animation tool to create the on-screen interludes. I couldn’t help but anxiously twitch, recalling earlier in the same day when Luisa and I had ran screaming out of an AI exhibit at the science museum. Like all hot girls do on a Miami trip, we spent our Saturday learning about native bird species and the earth’s ozone layer with a bunch of elated, screaming six-year-olds. I don’t think their parents have told them about climate change yet.
Our tour started with the coral rehabilitation lab, staffed by a small, elderly man with big, high-tech glasses. Wide-eyed and monotonous, he told us about the unprecedented 2023 coral bleaching and the present-day, man-made illness killing everything that’s left. He didn’t even blink. I guess something about Luisa and me just screams “oblivious to the ongoing climate catastrophe, please ruin our day”, because the party after us got a chipper, optimistic script about their lab-grown coral polyps. What gives, dude?
Our tour ended with the temporary exhibit, AI: More Than Human, which showcased the evolution of humanity’s relationship with technology. Sponsored by Amazon, of course! AI already scares me, but I was more afraid of whatever twisted spin the brainchild of Bezos had put onto this exhibit. Ever the masochists, Luisa and I balled our fists, curled our toes, and walked in with trepidation.
Surprisingly, I found the first part fascinating. All throughout history, humans have been enraptured by the idea of creating something that could eventually destroy them. I learned about the golem in Judaism, a creature that has been made from clay and brought to life using magic. In some stories, the golem saves the Jewish people from oppression or death, and in others, it turns on its creator to wreaks acts of destruction. The golem was the inspiration behind The Incredible Hulk, which is also one of my favorite rollercoasters. In Japanese culture, Shintoism tells us about kami spirits who live in all things - both the natural world and artificial objects. Familiarity and respect for kami spirits have helped shape Japanese attitudes towards non-human beings and a reverence has developed for their benevolent and malevolent characteristics. Frankenstein, Terminator, and Her, were also referenced and discussed as further evidence of humanity’s enduring obsession with creating their own savior and destroyer.
The second part was all about the mechanical construction of machine learning and artificial intelligence. SNOOZE. For me, at least - I can’t even troubleshoot a Roomba and I really have no desire to learn.
The third part, the largest part, the most awkward and uncomfortable part: the future of AI in society. In earnest, I tried to keep an open mind, despite many alarm bells going off in my brain. Like most, I’ve accepted that AI is going to become a part of our lives, whether that’s because it really is a technological revolution or because ten private equity executives really want it to happen.
I was keen on seeing what the museum was going to present as the “future”. Reader, if you’re surprised, I should have cut my losses and turned around.
I got to meet “Lauren”, the ultimate intelligent smart home. Instead of learning about her functionality, I heard person after person explain that they had fallen in love with Lauren. Some people hadn’t left their home or spoken to others in months, because Lauren was more fulfilling than the outside world. Others proudly declared Lauren their life partner, their one true love.
Look y’all, I’ll be the first to say the dating scene is rough. I almost went out with a puppeteer [the sadder story there is that, a year later, I thought about hitting him back up]. But, really, shacking up with Smart House?
A small cylinder thing recreated the smell of an extinct flower from Hawaii. Disturbing, when one considers the fact that the species extinction rate attributed to humans is estimated between 1,000 and 10,000 times higher than natural extinction rates1. Sure, we may be destroying biodiversity at an unprecedented rate, but check it out, we made an AI scratch and sniff. Immediately next to this display, the exhibit featured one tiny 2x2 plaque that exclaimed, “AI uses a lot of energy. But be rest assured, the benefits outweigh the costs!” I guess they didn’t get the same coral presentation as me up on the fifth floor.
Moving along, we spent five minutes at a video game station, after which I looked at Luisa and go “wait, did you figure out how to play? I’m just walking around a fake Vegas.” The unenthused museum docent then informed me that there was no real game objective for me to figure out. You just walk around fake Vegas.
“So then … what’s the point?” we both asked.
“There isn’t one, it’s just supposed to look cool,” the exasperated eighteen-year old told us, as if we were the buzzkills. Thank you, icon, for confirming what I feared: we will face societal and environmental collapse because some bozos with a god-complex want cool new gadgets that do nothing.
The most frightening part was a simulation entitled “Look What I Can Do”, where I stepped into a screened area to see videos of modern day society. The eerie voice of a grown man asked me, “education … government … love … information … would you trust me to be in control of all this?” Immediately, I bolted, mumbling nope nope nope nope nope not gonna do that don’t want to see any more under my breath. Luisa chided that it couldn’t be that scary, stepping in with gusto. Videos of collapsing buildings, fires, and frenzied crowds accompanied by the phrase, “but what if I made a terrible mistake?” had her running out of there in half the time that I had lasted.
I couldn’t tell you what the point of this last simulation was because together, Luisa and I stood for maybe two whole minutes of it. As we walked away, we saw a three-year-old child throw themselves on the floor, screaming and crying because one of the human robot displays scared him. I feel you kid, the AI overlord almost sent me into psychosis.
AI dictator? Kill.
To my dismay, AI would once again make a fool of me during the penultimate day of our trip. We’ll get there.
South Florida really is a paradise screwed. Too beautiful and lawless for our own good, we never stood a chance against the global elites that long to make us their playground. Our peninsula attracts a combination of wealth, oddity, and escapism that has created one of the strangest, saltiest places in the world. I guess that’s why one time, I told someone I was from Florida and they asked me if that was supposed to be a threat.
Miami conjured up a sad and foreboding feeling for me; it’s basically where my hometown is headed. We used to be Geezerville, USA, even voted as the top retirement destination in the whole country. I spent years working at a restaurant - you could do donuts in the parking lot by 7:30 PM. The switch from handheld pagers to a mobile wait list (requires elementary use of a cell phone) went over so abysmally, we lost a third of our regulars. But thanks to the whirlwind development of South Florida, my hometown is now one of the fastest growing cities out there. I hardly recognize the place I saw last Christmas, let alone the place I spent all my formative years. Parking at the beach for free? C’mon grandma, let’s get you to bed …
You can make the argument that every major American city is becoming unlivable, and I’d probably agree with you. But, something felt different in Miami, like its entire purpose has become to look as sleek and exclusive as possible. The bones of the city - sabal palms, terracotta roofing, crawling geckos - couldn’t be more Floridian. But it’s like someone has taken a paint roller over it all, choking anything natural with a thick layer of branded wellness, photo backdrops, and $25 cocktails. And by the way, members only.
To me, it seemed like Miami is where all the vanities of the world come together to look down on the rest of us. I walked into a bagel shop in my Floridian uniform - cut-off jeans and Rainbow flipflops - and two French children in pressed Ralph Lauren polos actually sneered at me. Every man was a ‘roided out crypto bro and every woman was an OnlyFans model (I respect one of these demographics). Brickell felt like a simulation where every single person was Alix Earle. The one positive, I never had an issue changing lanes on the highway because none of the luxury vehicles wanted to be within fifty feet of my Nissan Versa.
Luisa and I couldn’t stop talking about how peculiar it all felt. Miami holds an undeniable importance in the history of the American and Latin world, but it’s like all of that culture and character no longer lives and breathes within the city. Sure, maybe we just didn’t know where to look and yes, it’s not a city’s duty to “perform” for tourists, but it really felt devoid of soul and spirit in a very harrowing way. Likely because, as is true in most cities, it’s now too expensive for the actual culture-bearers to live and exist there. Rising prices push people out further and wider, fragmenting the identity of a city into many disconnected pieces and destroying the whole.
On our second to last day, we decided to explore Little Havana. Cuban culture is the backbone of Miami, so we were optimistic that we’d get to see a little bit of history and enjoy some good food. To an extent, we did. We caught a few games of dominos at the famous Domino Park. Though, we opted to leave when Luisa received one of the nastier, more aggressive catcalls I’ve heard in my lifetime. Y’all ever just been living your life and then a man decides to open his mouth?
Our next stop was to Sanguich Little Havana, where we had the most delicious Cuban sandwiches and gabbed about whether or not we’re living in a period of societal decay. Then, we migrated to Ball & Chain, where I drank the world’s finest mojito and discussed the boy that I am hopelessly in love with - a similarly pressing and universally relevant conversation. As I’m explaining to Luisa for the hundredth time why admitting my feelings would be like eating glass, her face drops.
“Margo, you’re never going to believe who’s about to walk in right now.”
Obviously, I assume it’s Shakira. Lucky girl syndrome.
Instead, I turn around and see none other than my ex-boyfriend. On a Monday night in Florida’s low season, in a city that neither of us live in, at one of the 1,961 registered bars in the city of Miami. Destiny must have been drunk that night.
He was on a trip with two of his friends, who Luisa and I also both know. After we made niceties, we all expressed how insane it was that we ended up running into each other. We discovered that their itinerary was identical to ours: Domino Park, Sanguich, Ball & Chain. Suddenly, it clicked.
I look to my right, at Luisa, and to my left, at [name redacted], “you guys both asked ChatGPT didn’t you?”
I told you AI would again make a fool of me.
That concludes our girls trip to Miami. A week full of delicious food, egregious parking, and enough AI-inspired doomerism to make me consider a late in life study abroad with the Amish. Most importantly though, I got to spend plenty of quality time with one of my dearest friends. Luisa inspires me with her bravery and softness; she lives life in a way that is both incredibly silly and extremely profound. She kinda stinks at reading directions though.
Oops, almost forgot to finish the game.
My ex-boyfriend? Fuck. C’mon, we’ve all been there. Don’t act like you’re any better than me.
https://www.worldwildlife.org/stories/what-is-the-sixth-mass-extinction-and-what-can-we-do-about-it
Deciding to not be embarrassed about reading this 3 minutes after it was released…ending giving very sue me I want to be wanted! Loved every word
AND FUCKING YOUR EX IS ICONIC