Four Grammy nominations and a debut album later, the song actually moving the needle for Ice Spice references Mrs. Puff and assumes you know what Bikini Bottom is.
The Bronx rapper who built her name on unapologetic baddie anthems and dismissing munches now finds her cultural peak in 2025 soundtracking a children’s animation about a sponge proving himself.
The numbers are ridiculous: 4.1 billion TikTok views, 4.9 million creates, number two on the platform’s trending chart, 13 million weekly streams.
But strip away the stats and what you’re watching is a artist who spent 2024 chasing credibility through Taylor Swift features and fashion week moments now getting her biggest viral win from a track where she raps “I blow bubbles so big like Mrs. Puff.”
The TikTok dance itself tells you everything about where Ice currently sits. Louis Da Silva started the trend simple: one person flexing to “SpongeBob, big guy, pants okay” like they’re that guy.
@loudigityy big guy, pants, ok! #icespice #spongebob @rosadita @The SpongeBob Movie ♬ Big Guy – from “The SpongeBob Movie: Search for SquarePants” – Ice Spice
Then it morphed into something more telling. The two-person version has someone hiding behind you, extending their arms to create fake muscles whilst you pretend they’re yours.
It’s a sight gag about borrowed strength, about looking bigger than you are, about the gap between the image you project and what’s actually holding you up.
Mario Lopez did it with his son. Ice herself joined in, because when your track becomes a meme about performing strength you don’t possess, what choice do you have but to play along?
She’s been here before, obviously. “Munch” went nuclear precisely because it flipped the script on male desire, made simping the punchline instead of the prize.
“In Ha Mood” worked because she sounded genuinely unbothered by the noise around her.
Even “Princess Diana” with Nicki felt like claiming space at the top. But “Big Guy” operates differently.
The song demands she work around SpongeBob-specific references, forces her bars into a narrative about a cartoon character’s self-esteem crisis.
Ice herself admitted this was probably the hundredth draft, that she had to keep saying “big guy” throughout because that’s what the film’s about.
When you’re retrofitting your flow to match corporate IP requirements, you’re not leading the moment anymore.
The contrast between her recent output and this viral explosion matters. “Thootie” with Tokischa got Rolling Stone love for its dembow swagger.
“Baddie Baddie” served proper fashion-forward visuals. “GYATT” with Latto was meant to end their manufactured beef whilst giving both artists a late-summer banger.
None of them moved like “Big Guy” moves. The track climbing YouTube’s Daily Top Videos and Snapchat’s Sounds Chart isn’t happening because Ice delivered her most dynamic bars or because RiotUSA’s production broke new ground.
It’s happening because Paramount needed someone young and buzzy to make their children’s film feel current, and TikTok’s algorithm rewards music attached to brand IP and participatory dances over everything else in 2025.
There’s a reading where this is smart business. Barbie proved soundtrack placements can rehabilitate careers and Ice already contributed “Barbie World” there.
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Film work diversifies income streams, builds name recognition beyond rap audiences, sets up the kind of multi-hyphenate career that keeps you relevant when the singles dry up.
She’s making her voice acting debut as a ticket-taker fish designed to look like her, turning up at premieres in Vivienne Westwood’s Drunken Jacket, talking about how SpongeBob was part of her childhood so this feels full circle.
The Princess of New York positioning herself as someone who can slide between adult rap records and family-friendly animation like it’s nothing.
But the execution reveals the limitation. When she raps “Feel like that fish, so I’m pumpin’ my chest” over RIOTUSA’s bright, bouncy production for 10K Projects and Capitol Records, you’re not hearing Ice Spice the artist.
You’re hearing Ice Spice the available talent, the rapper whose streaming numbers and demographic appeal made her the logical choice when the studio needed someone to make SpongeBob cool for Gen Z.
The song’s success on TikTok isn’t validating her artistic direction or proving she’s tapped into something real.
It’s confirming that in 2025, attaching yourself to established IP and letting creators turn your music into a participatory joke delivers bigger numbers than actually pushing your sound forward.
The timeline tells its own story. Y2K! dropped July 2024 with genuine heat behind it.
“Think U The Shit (Fart)” became her highest solo Billboard charting single at number 37.
Pitchfork praised it for featuring some of her most dynamic and abrasive bars to date, for sounding like nothing her peers could make.
That was the version of Ice that felt urgent, that suggested she might actually carve out lasting space rather than just surf whatever wave TikTok serves up next.
She even linked with Central Cee on “Did It First”, showing range across different production styles.
Then came the deluxe, the features, the attempts to keep momentum through strategic collaborations and fashion moments.
And now here we are watching her biggest 2025 viral hit arrive through a movie designed to sell Happy Meals, with a dance trend that’s literally about faking physical strength you don’t have.
What “Big Guy” actually demonstrates is how thoroughly TikTok has reconfigured what success means for artists at Ice’s level.
The track isn’t charting because people want to hear Ice Spice’s new music.
It’s charting because the platform rewards content that lets users participate, because “SpongeBob big guy pants okay” is absurd enough to meme but simple enough to remember, because the film’s marketing budget ensured the song would flood feeds regardless of organic interest.
The 4.9 million creates aren’t fans expressing connection to Ice’s artistry. They’re users engaging with a format that happens to use her voice as the soundtrack.
This is where the persona cracks. The baddie who got what she wanted, the one who made rappers into eaters and haters into punchlines, who carried herself like she didn’t need anyone’s validation.
That version of Ice Spice commanded attention because she seemed genuinely unbothered by the machinery around her.
But when your biggest moment in early 2026 requires you to bend your bars around a sponge’s character arc, when the dance trend associated with your track is about borrowed strength and performed toughness, you’re not above the game anymore.
You’re part of the content cycle, another artist feeding the algorithm what it wants in exchange for visibility that might not translate to anything lasting.
The real question isn’t whether “Big Guy” succeeds as viral content. Obviously it does.
The question is what happens when the TikTok moment passes, when SpongeBob leaves theatres and the meme moves on to whatever comes next.
Ice is sitting on a rumoured second album called ROSADITA, reportedly stacked with tracks like “Pretty Privilege” that suggest she’s still trying to locate the sound that made her matter in the first place.
But how do you follow up a cartoon soundtrack that outperformed your actual artistic statement?
How do you convince people you’re still that unbothered Bronx spitter when they just watched you reshape your flow to fit corporate requirements?
Her collaboration with PinkPantheress on “Boy’s a Liar Pt. 2” proved she could elevate other artists’ tracks whilst maintaining her identity, but “Big Guy” shows what happens when the IP comes first and the artist second.
Maybe this is just what artist career arcs look like now. You break through with something raw and specific, catch fire because you tapped into a genuine feeling, then spend the next phase doing whatever keeps you visible whilst the thing that made you special slowly dissolves.
Ice Spice came up making anthems for baddies in delis, turning New York corners into her personal dancefloor, sounding like she couldn’t care less whether you understood the reference or not.
Now she’s voicing animated fish and writing songs about inflatable marine biology for kids who aren’t old enough to stream “Munch” yet.
The pivot from “you thought I was feelin’ you?” to “I blow bubbles so big like Mrs. Puff” is the sound of someone realising the industry only cares about your edge until they can sand it down and sell it to everyone’s children.
“Big Guy” isn’t a failure. The streaming numbers are real, the TikTok saturation is undeniable, the career diversification makes perfect business sense.
But success like this doesn’t expand an artist’s range. It reveals how narrow the available path actually is once you hit a certain level of visibility.
Ice Spice probably thought contributing to a major film franchise would feel like levelling up, like proof she’d graduated from viral rapper to legitimate entertainment figure.
Instead, she’s watching the song work precisely because it strips away everything that made her distinctive, because it turns her into another voice saying words that could’ve come from anyone young enough to know what TikTok wants.
The dance trend that made “Big Guy” massive is about people hiding behind you, making your arms look bigger than they are. The metaphor writes itself.