Even though Eminem was born in '72 and had been entering rap battles since he was fourteen—that's 1986—and even formed a group and dropped an album in '88, his real rise to fame didn't happen until after 1997.
That year, he competed in the Rap Olympics in Los Angeles—not a real Olympics, just an underground event—and took second place. After that, a DJ introduced him to Dr. Dre.
Dre thought the guy had something, so he signed him and helped him release his second album, The Slim Shady LP, in 1999. With Dre backing him, the album skyrocketed up the Billboard charts and even won a Grammy.
That's when Eminem became a household name.
But no matter how good his numbers were, in the eyes of the mainstream, he was still... well, a piece of crap.
Because that breakout album was not only accused of plagiarism—it was also packed with songs about weed, sex, booze, murder... basically a checklist of "bad influence." Sure, that kind of thing was normal in hip-hop, but at least most rappers didn't go and trash their own moms, right?
Eminem did.
He actually wrote lyrics like:
"I just found out my mom does more dope than I do."
Thing is, his mom didn't do drugs.
That slander made her demand an apology—especially since his sudden fame got her fired.
Eminem refused, insisting he was just "telling the truth."
So, his mom sued him.
When the guy became famous by sacrificing his own mother, people on both sides of the color line were baffled.
White audiences were like: Why is this dirt bag popular?
Black audiences were like: How is this idiot still alive?
In the U.S., lots of people grow up without fathers, raised by single moms. So, yeah, if your mom really is messed up, calling her out is one thing—but if she isn't and you just drag her through the mud? That's just garbage behavior.
No one knew who exactly was supporting Eminem, but he blew up anyway. And once he realized that the more outrageous he got, the more attention and worship he received, he went all in.
So, for his third album, The Marshall Mathers LP, he doubled down—dissing everyone and everything.
He even got the Second Lady of the United States to publicly condemn him in a Senate hearing, calling for an industry-wide ban.
Didn't work.
Her failure only made him even more famous.
The flood of infamy thrilled him. He pushed it further. And then—he ran into a wall.
That wall's name was Mariah Carey.
It started in the summer of 2001. Mariah had just broken up with her boyfriend, and Eminem claimed he pitied her, comforted her... and, according to him, she fell for him so hard she wanted to marry him.
He bragged that she was so obsessed she'd fly out to see him even when busy, begging him to—well, you know.
When that story hit the press, Mariah went ballistic. She said she'd never even met the guy. And in 2001, everyone knew she was at war with her ex-husband, Sony boss Tommy Mottola, while also feuding with Virgin Records and Fox over Glitter. She was breaking down publicly, every step documented by the media.
So how would she even have time for a secret fling?
Eminem was obviously lying—and in the dirtiest way possible.
But he doubled down, calling her a liar and talking about their "relationship" in public. By May 2002, he even dissed her on his new album.
That sent Mariah into full rage mode—she fired back with a diss track of her own.
And suddenly, Eminem was the one embarrassed.
For one, he had only slipped digs at Mariah into a few lines here and there, while her entire song was a full-on assault—more hip-hop than his was. Fans started doubting his edge.
Worse, the industry and the public sided overwhelmingly with Mariah. Everyone trashed Eminem for his behavior. He went from rap rebel to outright clown.
No one in entertainment had ever lost a beef this hard.
From that day, he swore he'd make her pay.
And that's where his obsession with winning an Oscar came from—earning mainstream respect was his way of revenge.
In his mind, Mariah only got support because she was visible and palatable to the public, while hip-hop was treated like trash.
So, if the Oscars—the temple of "high art"—accepted him, then anyone who doubted him would just prove they didn't understand hip-hop.
That's why he thought the 2003 Academy Awards were his best shot at breaking into the mainstream.
No one, least of all him, expected that from the start, he'd never even have a chance to win.
And all of that—he blamed on one person.
Isabella Haywood.
"So, do we still get a shot at attacking Mariah this year?"
The next day, Eminem met with his manager Paul Rosenberg at Shady Records in L.A.—his personal label under Universal Music.
That's also why 8 Mile was financed by Universal; they were his home turf.
Paul said, "We can still go for the MTV Awards. Given our relationship with them, getting Best Male Actor should be easy. Plus, you can diss Mariah all you want on stage—MTV will love it. They thrive on drama. Free publicity."
Paul had known Em since '97 and produced his debut album. He fully supported the "infamous and unstoppable" strategy. As long as you kept stirring trouble, you'd stay in the spotlight—and the best part? It didn't cost a dime.
"Okay, got it," Eminem said.
Even though his Oscar dream was dead, he still had to hit back at Mariah. In hip-hop, reputation was everything. She'd made him lose face; not retaliating would mean the end of his credibility.
Then he stared intently at Paul. "You're sure Warner won't be at the MTV Awards?"
Paul blinked. "What? No. MTV belongs to Paramount. Warner's their rival. They won't show up."
He added, "Even if The Voice—that movie from last night—gets nominated, Warner would only push for Best Picture or Best Actress. You're up for Best Male Actor. No way they'd send Jude Law to take that from you."
Paul figured Eminem was just worried that The Voice's massive hype would dominate the show and overshadow him.
But that wasn't what Em was thinking at all.
He wasn't worried about the awards. He was thinking about her.
"Paul," he said, eyes glinting. "You think Isabella will attend MTV?"
Paul frowned. "What are you getting at?"
Em licked his lips, smiling. "She's huge right now. So what if I write a song... called Isabella the First?"
"And if she shows up, I'll perform it live—on MTV's global broadcast."
The real Isabella I was Queen of Castile—famous for founding the Spanish Empire, funding Columbus, and launching the Inquisition that targeted Jews for being 'too greedy.'
So yeah...
Even if there was a real Isabella I in history, Paul knew Eminem's version wouldn't be a tribute.
He'd clearly use it to go after this Isabella—Hollywood's new queen.
The moment he heard "the First," Paul could already see the song forming:
Em would call her the tyrant who destroyed Weinstein.
The one who made Oscar tremble.
The queen who ruled Hollywood with blood and cruelty.
Paul's face twisted. "What the hell, Em! Are you insane?"
"Warner and Disney just wiped out Harvey and Bob, and now you want to provoke them again?"
"Absolutely not! You cannot do this!"
"Why not, Paul? Give me one reason!"
The more Paul warned him off, the more hyped Eminem became. His grin turned manic.
"You're scared because she's protected by capital? So what? Everyone I've dissed had backing!"
"Britney Spears had it!"
"Will Smith had it!"
"Christina Aguilera had it!"
"They all did! And none of them could touch me!"
"Not even the biggest suits could stop me!"
"Because I am the Em-per-or!"
"And I've got my own capital!"
Paul pressed his temples. Yeah, Mariah had been right—Eminem was a lunatic. But also... he wasn't entirely wrong.
No one knew how he blew up overnight—but Paul did. Eminem's rise wasn't pure luck.
It was backed by capital.
And that capital's name was Universal.
More precisely: Edgar Bronfman Jr.
Anyone who pays attention to the American entertainment industry probably knows that little Edgar Bronfman Jr. was the heir to Seagram, the liquor empire — also known as the biggest rich-kid disaster on Earth. To get into showbiz, the genius sold off 25% of DuPont stock that his father had painstakingly acquired.
Then he bought Universal and PolyGram.
Since he knew nothing about entertainment — honestly, the man barely understood business — once he merged Universal and PolyGram, Bronfman Jr. realized the company's financial reports were a dumpster fire, teetering on the edge of bankruptcy.
To fix that, he ordered his subordinates to "save the company." So Doug Morris, the chairman of Universal Music, went hunting for numbers. Established artists had bargaining power and couldn't bring in big profits, so pushing new acts became the only way out. That's how Eminem was chosen.
And thus, the world first met the rapper who sacrificed his own mother for fame.
Eminem's explosive popularity didn't rescue the debt-ridden Universal, and Bronfman Jr. eventually sold the whole thing to Vivendi. Still, Eminem's rise earned Doug Morris the boss's trust — and after Vivendi merged with Universal, Morris stayed comfortably in his chairman's seat thanks to the backing of shareholder and vice chairman Bronfman Jr.
In short, Morris at Vivendi Universal was just like Barry Meyer at AOL Time Warner — their top goal wasn't to make the company profitable, but to hand their shareholders a good-looking financial statement. That was how they kept their jobs.
So, why could Eminem curse the heavens, the earth, and everyone in between? Because Universal and Doug Morris kept refilling his courage tank.
And the source of Doug Morris's power? Bronfman Sr. — the father. The man had long served as president of the World Jewish Congress.
Forget the Rothschilds of the current day — even if Steve Ross, the late patriarch of the Rothschild family, were still alive, he couldn't outmatch old Bronfman.
"But even so, you still can't diss Isabella!"
Rosenberg took a deep breath, his tone grave. "Listen, Em. Isabella isn't like the others. Aside from having ties to the Rothschilds, she's also close to J.K. Rowling. From what we've seen, she's even won the friendship of Steven Spielberg and Robert Iger. Each of those forces alone could shield you from fallout when you screw up — but what happens if they all move together?"
"Even old Mr. Bronfman wouldn't be able to save your ass!"
"If you really diss Isabella, J.K. Rowling could make sure your albums never sell in the UK — or even the whole Commonwealth!"
"The Rothschilds and Spielberg's father were both part of the World Jewish Congress. If those two families act together, they could tie old Bronfman's hands completely!"
"And once your protection's gone, Robert Iger could slap you clean off the planet!"
"You do know Iger came from ABC, right?"
"When Disney bought ABC, what was its full name? Metropolitan ABC! Every American knows Metropolitan ABC belonged to Berkshire Hathaway!"
"Robert Iger was hand-picked by Warren Buffett himself! Buffett still holds Disney shares! How do you think Iger had the guts to challenge Michael Eisner?"
"So—"
"Now—"
"Tell me—"
"Who exactly do you want to diss???"
Rosenberg jabbed a finger into Eminem's chest — thump, thump, thump.
Each jab drained more of the grin off Eminem's face. Under his friend's furious tirade, he finally pursed his lips, then suddenly laughed again.
With a clap of his hands, he said, "If I can't diss her, then I can't. Honestly, I was just thinking out loud."
"You'd better keep it that way!" Rosenberg shot him a glare, swung the door open, and stormed out.
The loud bang of the door echoed through the office.
Eminem's expression darkened. He ground his teeth, then smirked — an idea clearly brewing.
If his manager didn't want him to mess with Isabella, fine, he'd listen.
First, Rosenberg did have a point. For all his arrogance, Eminem wasn't stupid. When Dr. Dre had suggested he drop the N-word in his second album, Eminem refused — because he knew he was white. White rappers could play hip-hop, but they couldn't say that word without crossing into racism.
If he had that kind of awareness, then going head-to-head with a woman protected by multiple Hollywood powerhouses would just be suicidal.
Second, he figured if he couldn't insult Isabella directly, there were other ways.
Since the girl wrote songs, they could "speak through music."
She'd said she was releasing a new song, hadn't she? Then he'd pick it apart. Criticizing her track would still get him the clout — maybe even piggyback on the Harry Potter hype while he was at it.
And he didn't need to rush. His new album had only dropped last year, and the Mariah drama was still giving him plenty of attention. No need to jump to the next stepping stone yet.
Thinking that, he called for his assistant. "Get me a copy of Isabella's work."
But as soon as he said it, his assistant looked uneasy.
"Is there a problem?" Eminem frowned.
"Uh… yeah. There's a problem."
"What problem?"
"Isabella's music isn't out yet…"
"What?" Eminem blinked. "You mean her stuff still isn't released?"
"Yeah~" the assistant nodded, all hip-hop swagger.
"Why? Doesn't Warner want to make money?"
"Of course they do."
"So where's the record?"
"Four days from now."
"What do you mean?"
"Well… after Warner announced they'd be managing this year's Oscars, everyone knew what they were planning. They want Isabella to win her Oscar first, then drop the record. The release date's set for March 28 — that's this Friday, four days from now."