The internet is frothing. This time, over Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce’s engagement, a spectacle reminding us how celebrities function as wish machines. Us normies ride shotgun, living vicariously through the highest peaks and, at times, the lowest valleys, making up for our own grayscale lives.
But, while Taylor and Travis are about as mainstream as you can get, in the 1990s there was a celebrity couple who catered for the eccentrics, misfits, and outsiders.
I remind you of a steamy time in 1998, when Chicago Bulls star Dennis Rodman married actor, model, and general celebrity Carmen Electra. It was 7am in Vegas. Neon still buzzing. Rodman in sunglasses. Electra in sequins. Chapel of the Flowers. Just nine days later: an annulment. Rodman’s call. His reason? “Unsound mind.” They reconciled but in April 1999 Electra filed for divorce, ending the relationship for good. That chaotic yet brief union affirmed that celebrity love affairs need not be prosaic archetypes. They can be bizarre for those who didn’t see themselves in Disney endings.
With Electra, Rodman met his match: a brunette sex symbol with a devoted coterie met the goth NBA hooper who loved Pearl Jam and Lurex crop tops, personifying the grunge era.
“With Carmen, it was different. It was nice to be with someone waiting for the right time, right place, right time,” Rodman explained. He expanded on one of their dates: “She was there four or five days, sleeping in my house, in my bed, and we never made love. It was something unreal.”
It’s difficult to overstate how omnipresent Electra was in the 1990s. She embodied the decade’s “extreme” media era, when desire and image were pushed to excess. She starred in Baywatch, hosted MTV’s Singled Out, and graced men’s magazines that made her a pop-culture archetype.
Rodman, meanwhile, wasn’t conventionally handsome. He was bullied as a kid, pierced and dyed as an adult, but his look gave weirdos hope that they, too, could be desired. Kelce is a perfect jawline and a salon haircut. Rodman is neon hair, piercings, gender-bending fashion, a middle finger to the idea that desirability required conformity.
And there’s another layer worth naming. Swift and Kelce represent a very white, very anodyne version of American romance. By contrast, Rodman and Electra were an interracial couple at a time when that still rattled tabloids and provoked coded backlash. Their visibility mattered in the 1990s, a reminder that pop culture could bend not just gender and fashion codes but also racial ones.
They whipped the media into a frenzy with their overt PDAs and lusty provocation. Much of this was chronicled in The Last Dance, which documented Michael Jordan’s quest for a sixth NBA title with the Bulls. In a documentary about the most competitive player and the most controversial dynasty of all time, Rodman’s antics stole focus. Especially the story about how Jordan himself had to arrive in Las Vegas, and pull Rodman’s naked ass out of bed and back to practice during the 1998 NBA finals, while Electra hid in horror behind the couch. Electra later admitted the couple had sex in nearly every room of the Bulls’ practice facility. The Marquis de Sade would have surely worn a Rodman jersey.
“To hang out in a gay bar or put on a sequined halter top makes me feel like a total person and not just a one-dimensional man,” Rodman once said. Ironic to some, he has been a role model for boys and men who never fit within the confines of traditional masculinity.
So it was destined to be combustible when Rodman first crossed paths with Electra in early 1998 at a West Hollywood nightclub he wandered into while the Bulls were in LA to play the Lakers. A friend brought Electra to the bar, a quick introduction, a minute of small talk, and then she was gone. Rodman shrugged it off: “Carmen Electra was another beautiful woman in a long line of beautiful women,” he said of their first meeting.
But in the early morning hours, she reappeared. This time, she stuck around, and the two stayed up until nearly dawn. Rodman later said that in those few hours, he began to see a real, unexpected connection.
A year later, things had disintegrated. On an episode of Oprah Winfrey’s show, Electra looked back on her marriage to Rodman, which came shortly after she lost her mother and sister in the space of a few weeks.
“People couldn’t understand why I loved him because he had a reputation for being a bad boy,” she said. “What I saw in the beginning was this gentle giant that was in a lot of pain – so in a way we understood each other.” She added: “When it was good, it was amazing. And when it was bad, it was the worst.”
The contrast with Taylor and Travis is stark: their engagement is a 2025 fairytale for the algorithm. Electra, and Rodman, far less conventional figures, were granted far less grace.
Swift has had her share of public romances: Joe Jonas, Harry Styles, Tom Hiddleston, Joe Alwyn, Matty Healy, and others. Each relationship fueled endless headlines, but crucially, her cultural image was never fundamentally tarnished by her dating history. Nor should it have been. On the other hand, Electra was routinely cast as reckless or degraded for her choices, her desirability weaponized against her. The double standard is glaring: what is framed as a romantic odyssey for one woman became, for another, a scarlet letter.
By 1999, the volatility spilled over. Rodman and Electra were arrested after an alleged domestic altercation, though the charges were eventually dropped.
Before his whirlwind marriage to Electra, Rodman had dated other well-known figures: Madonna, model Alicia Douvall, actor Vivica A Fox and, at one point, even himself. In 1996, Rodman showed up to a New York City signing for his book, Bad As I Wanna Be, in a full bridal gown, complete with veil, horse-drawn carriage, and escorted by female usherettes in tuxedos. He declared he was “bisexual and married to myself,” a stunt that scandalized and fascinated the press.
It’s little wonder: where Swift and Kelce’s engagement photos were sweet but bland, Rodman sought to stir things up. He had always enjoyed eschewing gender norms, not just by wearing women’s underwear and make-up, but by marrying himself in a performance art piece to rival Vito Acconci or Chris Burden. Rodman in a veil. Rodman in heels. Rodman as bride, groom, spectacle. Call it dada. Call it punk. Call it the wedding of the century. Rodman has always shown a level of self-awareness in his appearance. “When you put yourself in a woman’s shoes and look at what she has to put up with, it’s not a pretty picture,” he once said.
What could have been dismissed as a publicity gimmick felt closer to provocation. Rodman was queering the idea of marriage and selfhood in front of the world. “A lot of people are scared of me, because I bring out feelings and ideas that they’d prefer to keep hidden,” he said.
As is the case with Electra – a talented dancer who has been active in numerous charities – – there are many sides to Rodman. He was a prolific writer. “I think crying is beautiful,” he said in 1997’s Walk on the Wild Side. While most NBA legends have written books, Rodman wrote like a punk Arthur Rimbaud – incendiary and impossible to domesticate. Five memoirs, each one wilder than the last: speaking about his sexuality in a way that was, and still mostly is, inconceivable for a male sports star. “Have I ever given a blowjob, or received one from a man, or had anal sex with a dude? NOT YET.” Followed by: “Would I care about his dick size? Hell yeah, I would!” Rodman writes like a man sprinting out of bounds, falling into the crowd, still holding the ball.
Swifties have been waiting years for Taylor to find her dream man. Good for them and better for her, she has. As expected, Rodman has dated many women since Electra. He has been married three times, has three children, including soccer star Trinity Rodman, and has been with rapper Yella Yella since 2022. Electra has been married and divorced since Rodman. If they found their happy ending, they did so on their own terms.
Swift and Kelce’s engagement a ready-made narrative of America’s prom queen meeting her gridiron hero. Rodman and Electra were never that simple. Their relationship burned fast and left behind something more inchoate: a reminder that love stories need not conform to marketable templates. For one witchy, neon-lit year in the late 90s, they proved that misfits and mall goths, freaks and romantics, can have our moment; our myth, not theirs.