Halloween 2025 has already delivered its share of spectacle—from AI-generated ghoul influencers to celebrity look-alike contests—but one unassuming teen from Brooklyn has stolen the spotlight with a tribute so spot-on, it’s got the internet in a chokehold. Meet Jamal “Jay” Thompson, a 15-year-old high school sophomore whose homemade homage to The Notorious B.I.G. has racked up over 12 million views on TikTok in under 48 hours. Dressed head-to-toe in ’90s hip-hop finery—a red flannel shirt layered under a Coogi sweater, baggy Timberlands, a Kangol hat tilted just so, and a gold chain that screams “Hypnotize”—Jay didn’t just dress up; he channeled the King of New York with a swagger that would make Biggie proud. What started as a family project in his mom’s Crown Heights kitchen has exploded into a viral phenomenon, sparking debates on cultural legacy, the timeless cool of East Coast rap, and why this kid’s got the makings of a meme legend. As Jay quips in his now-iconic video, “It was all a dream… to not look basic on All Hallows’ Eve.”

The origin story is pure Brooklyn grit meets viral serendipity. Jay, a self-proclaimed “old soul” who discovered Biggie through his dad’s scratched-up copy of Ready to Die, spent weeks scavenging thrift stores and eBay for authentic pieces. The crowning touch? A custom crown of kings airbrushed on a plain white tee, nodding to Biggie’s regal moniker. On October 31, amid the candy chaos of his neighborhood block party, Jay’s cousin filmed him freestyling to “Juicy” on the stoop, complete with exaggerated mic drops and a peace sign that could’ve been ripped from the ’96 Vibe cover shoot. “I wanted to honor the GOAT, not mock him,” Jay told local reporters, his braces flashing under streetlights. “Biggie was about rising from nothing—kinda like me, dodging homework and dreaming big.” Uploaded at midnight with the caption “Big Poppa in training 👑 #NotoriousBIG #HalloweenVibes #BrooklynBorn,” the clip hit the algorithm jackpot, blending nostalgic hooks with Gen Z flair.

By dawn, the video was everywhere. TikTok’s For You Page crowned it with duets from influencers recreating the look, while X users flooded #BiggieHalloween with side-by-side comparisons to archival footage of Big Smalls himself. “This kid just revived ’90s fashion without trying,” one user tweeted, amassing 50K likes. Instagram Reels followed suit, with fashion accounts like @VintageHipHop dissecting the outfit: the oversized proportions echoing Biggie’s XXL frame, the subtle nods to his Pac beef via a prop “East Coast” sign. Even legacy media piled on—The New York Times’ Styles section ran a quick-hit piece titled “The Teen Who Made Biggie Bigger,” while Hot 97 spun it into a radio segment interviewing Jay live from his bedroom. Beyoncé’s team, ever vigilant on cultural cues, reposted a clip with fire emojis, drawing parallels to her and Jay-Z’s own iconic 2017 Biggie-Lil’ Kim couple’s costume. “Full circle moment,” Jay commented, his follower count spiking to 250K overnight.

What elevates this beyond your standard spooky-season scroll is the resonance. In an era where Halloween trends lean heavily into pop culture quickies—think Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour variants or that inescapable “Brat Summer” Charli XCX wave—Jay’s choice feels refreshingly rooted. The Notorious B.I.G., born Christopher Wallace in 1972, wasn’t just a rapper; he was a poet of the streets, weaving tales of Bed-Stuy hustles into platinum anthems that outsold expectations. His 1994 debut album dropped like a Molotov cocktail on the charts, blending soul samples with razor-sharp bars that captured the raw pulse of Black America. Tragically gunned down at 24 in a Los Angeles drive-by—still unsolved, still seething—Biggie’s legacy endures through biopics like 2009’s Notorious and endless remixes. For Jay, a Black teen navigating post-pandemic public schools and the weight of generational expectations, slipping into Biggie’s skin was therapeutic. “He made it okay to be vulnerable and victorious at the same time,” Jay shared in a follow-up TikTok, vulnerability cracking his voice as he rapped lines from “Suicidal Thoughts.” It’s that authenticity—the unfiltered joy of a kid spitting bars in oversized sweats—that’s hooked viewers, turning passive likes into fervent shares.

The ripple effects are as electric as a Bad Boy Records beat drop. Fashion brands are scrambling: Timberland announced a limited “Biggie Edition” boot drop, while Urban Outfitters restocked Coogi replicas faster than you can say “supply chain.” DIY tutorials exploded on Pinterest, with tutorials on “Affordable Biggie Glow-Ups” pulling in crafty parents and nostalgic millennials. Jay’s school, PS 282, even declared a “Spirit Week” extension, encouraging Biggie-inspired outfits that doubled as a crash course in hip-hop history. But it’s the cultural conversations that pack the real punch. On podcasts like The Breakfast Club, Charlamagne tha God hailed Jay as “the future of homage,” praising how his costume sidesteps caricature for celebration. Critics, however, nitpick: some X threads call it “appropriation lite,” arguing a white kid in cornrows would get canceled, while Jay’s take earns applause. “Nah, this is reclamation,” one defender fired back. “Biggie was for the culture—full stop.” The debate underscores Halloween’s tightrope: fun vs. fetishization, tribute vs. tokenism.

For Jay’s family, the whirlwind is equal parts surreal and grounding. His mom, Tanya Thompson, a nurse who’s juggled double shifts since Jay’s dad passed in 2020, beamed in a family vlog: “I sewed that crown myself—proud don’t cover it.” His little sister, 10-year-old Mia, joined the fun as Lil’ Kim in a pint-sized fur ensemble, their sibling duet video hitting 3 million views. Tanya’s plea amid the frenzy? “Keep it positive—Biggie’s memory deserves that.” Jay, ever the teen sage, has fielded brand deals but stays humble, donating a chunk of his newfound merch proceeds to Bed-Stuy youth programs. “Viral’s cool, but impact’s forever,” he posted, quoting Biggie’s own line from “Sky’s the Limit.”

As November creeps in and jack-o’-lanterns wilt, Jay’s Biggie moment lingers like a classic track on repeat. It’s a reminder that the best costumes aren’t about perfection—they’re about presence, about slipping into a legend’s shoes and strutting your truth. In a year where headlines scream division, this Brooklyn boy’s bold nod to hip-hop royalty has united feeds in applause, proving that sometimes, the simplest tribute packs the biggest punch. Will Jay drop a mixtape next? Launch a fashion line? Only time—and maybe a sequel costume—will tell. For now, the streets of Crown Heights hum a little louder, echoing with the ghost of Big Poppa and the promise of a kid who’s ready to carry the crown.