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Tag: identity

  • Jay Wheeler’s Abuela Helped Make Him One of Reggaetón’s Most Romantic Voices – POPSUGAR Australia

    Jay Wheeler’s Abuela Helped Make Him One of Reggaetón’s Most Romantic Voices – POPSUGAR Australia

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    For many of us, our relationship with our grandparents can serve as a bridge to the past, often linking our crucial developmental years with the wisdom and customs of the generations that came before us. For Jay Wheeler, the connection he shares with his grandmother, Clara Luz, is something he cherishes. It has helped mold him into the man and artist he is today.

    “One of the most beautiful treasures I have in my life is my abuela,” Wheeler says. “She’s a person that loves to go out, who loves to party, and I’m lucky to still have her with me and have her healthy.”

    But along with being the life of the party, his grandmother has helped instill many of the values that guide the singer – who’s been hard at work ushering in a new brand of romantiqueo with his albums “Emociones” and “Emociones 1.5.”

    “She taught me to be respectful, to always be empathetic to people, and to have a healthy fear of God. I’m a person who believes very strongly in God, thanks to her,” the singer says, adding that she also taught him to “just be loving with the world.”

    That caring disposition is something that comes across in his music and his interactions with fans and the media. Wheeler once mentioned that he tries not to wear sunglasses because he wants his fans to be able to see his eyes. On the musical front, DJ Nelson’s protege is in high demand to bring old-school crooner vibes to the new wave of trap and reggaetón. His latest offering, “Musica Bueno Para Días Malos,” is a futuristic ride through the ups and downs of love. However, the singer recently found the opportunity to tackle a different genre when he released a cover of the classic song “Piel Canela.“

    “I was actually really nervous because I know it’s a classic, that it’s something that you don’t want to mess up,” he says. “So, my intention was never to make a better version or anything like that. My intention was just to make my version of a classic song – one that reminds me of my grandmother. “

    The opportunity to cover the song came about as part of a collaboration with McDonald’s. The fast food giant is hard at work promoting their new “Grandma McFlurry” and offering fans a chance to meet the reggaetonero to sweeten an already sweet deal. For Wheeler, however, not only does he get to cover a timeless classic, but he also gets to honor his abuelita, who he also credits with helping cultivate his love for music through her own passion for song and dance.

    “My grandmother always wanted to be a singer . . . and that inspired me. From a very young age, she instilled [that desire] in me. And she always wanted to be famous,” Wheeler laughs. “[To this day,] if you give her a stage and microphone, she’ll dance and sing.”

    The singer recalls a childhood video of him and his abuela singing and dancing like two superstars. Fast-forward to today, and Wheeler is on track to be just that – the McDonald’s campaign a testament to his rising star and marketability. As part of the marketing campaign for the Grandma McFlurry, Wheeler and his grandmother got the chance to film a commercial together, advertising the new snack and the TikTok competition that goes along with it. So his abuelita is finally getting her time in the limelight.

    So, what’s next for Wheeler and Grandma Clara Luz? Wheeler is currently on tour, and his next stop is a concert performance at The Theatre at Madison Square Garden, where he’ll cycle through his repertoire of reggaetón hits and trap bangers the week after Puerto Rican Weekend. But while cantando urbano is his bread and butter, the singer hasn’t ruled out further experimentation with classic genres.

    “I’m open to doing anything when it comes to music. There’s no limit. I’m always going to challenge myself to do everything,” Wheeler says.

    “Obviously, not everything is going to suit me, but I’ll always try,” he adds. “I’m very open to everything, to doing rock music, classic music, whatever. I’m always going to try and give it my touch – my best shot.”

    Along with switching up genres every now and again, the singer has also been known to collaborate with his wife and fellow singer, Zhamira Zambrano. So, maybe a duet with his abuelita will also be in the cards sometime in the future. Whatever he chooses to tackle next, his grandmother will be there, looking on with pride, knowing that her passion was the push toward the bright future Wheeler is currently living.

    Miguel Machado is a journalist with expertise in the intersection of Latine identity and culture. He does everything from exclusive interviews with Latin music artists to opinion pieces on issues that are relevant to the community, personal essays tied to his Latinidad, and thought pieces and features relating to Puerto Rico and Puerto Rican culture.

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    Miguel machado

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  • Rauw Alejandro and Peso Pluma Are Taking the Stage at Gov Ball — and It’s About Time

    Rauw Alejandro and Peso Pluma Are Taking the Stage at Gov Ball — and It’s About Time

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    Rauw Alejandro and Peso Pluma are set to take the stage at the 2024 Governor’s Ball in NYC between June 7 and 9. While Becky G and J Balvin performed at the music festival in 2022 and 2021, respectively, this year marks the first time that two Latin music acts are headlining on separate days. And it’s about time.

    Since the 1940s and ’50s, when cha cha and mambo took the US by storm, the mass appeal of Latin music has been undeniable. With its mix of West African and Spanish rhythms, the music is inherently danceable, which no doubt has helped genres like salsa and reggaetón break down the language barrier. You don’t need to know what Bad Bunny‘s saying to be able to move to the beat. And yet, for a long time, Latin and African artists could only be found at music festivals that catered to those demographics specifically. This is no longer the case, as major music festivals have recently started including more Latin acts in their lineups.

    In 2023, Bad Bunny became the first Spanish-language artist to headline Coachella, where Eladio Carrión and Anuel AA also appeared. That same year, iLe, PJ Sin Suela, and Los Rivera Destino performed at the SXSW Music Festival. In 2024, Coachella doubled down on the Latin acts, inviting both Peso Pluma and J. Balvin. And the trend doesn’t seem to be stopping.

    But why has it taken so long for major festivals to get the message that our music is so fire? Back in the 1970s, the Fania All-Stars proved that music sung entirely in Spanish can have global appeal. The reggaetón boom of the early 2000s became a cultural phenomenon that saw the genre play on both English and Spanish-language radio. So what gives? Well, I have a simple hypothesis: money.

    It’s no secret that Latin music has grown exponentially over the past decade, outpacing the overall growth of the music industry by a wide margin. While made for our communities, our music is no longer limited to them. I remember when I was a kid, watching all the new reggaetón videos would drop on mun2. Now, I go on YouTube, and all the latest music videos have English subtitles. It goes to show how far we’ve come when it comes to making commercially viable music. But more than that, having Latin and African headliners at major festivals taps into the power of the communities behind them, introducing some much-needed sazón. Not only does it bring in a more diverse audience to the festival scene, but given the current state of live music, it also grows these artists’ audiences while pumping up lagging ticket sales.

    Both Jennifer Lopez and Bad Bunny were trending recently due to lower-than-expected ticket sales. So, no, Latin artists aren’t immune to overall industry trends. Back in April, Coachella also made headlines for decreasing ticket sales. But I wonder if bringing Latin artists to music festivals might just solve the issue.

    Touring is inherently expensive. For successful artists to tour, they must invest a lot of money in visual effects, travel logistics, crew, and more. It’s part of the reason bigger artists are limited to perform at arenas and stadiums that pack 30,000-plus fans and charge exorbitant prices for tickets. The way festivals are set up, however, while the initial ticket prices might be higher, music lovers get multiple nights and experience multiple acts for the cost. This immediately expands the target audience and offsets the cost of the show. Latin and African artists get to perform in front of a mixed crowd of both die-hard fans and newcomers who are more open than ever to receiving their music, increasing the value of their brand without having to incur all the costs of putting on the show themselves. It’s a win-win for everybody.

    But apart from the monetary incentives, what Latin and African artists really bring to music festivals is unrivaled energy. Our cultures are predicated on all-night parties and dancing. Look at what Bad Bunny and Burna Boy did in their respective Grammy performances. Combining traditional cultural elements and instrumentation, catchy lyrics and melodies is a winning formula that our musical genres have perfected over decades. The result? A sound guaranteed to turn even the stuffiest festival atmosphere into a full-on vibe. I can only hope that the inclusion of these artists isn’t solely a fad, but a sign of greater diversity to come.

    Miguel Machado is a journalist with expertise in the intersection of Latine identity and culture. He does everything from exclusive interviews with Latin music artists to opinion pieces on issues that are relevant to the community, personal essays tied to his Latinidad, and thought pieces and features relating to Puerto Rico and Puerto Rican culture.

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    Miguel Machado

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  • The Never-Ending Trolling of Jennifer Lopez Is Deeply Rooted in Misogyny

    The Never-Ending Trolling of Jennifer Lopez Is Deeply Rooted in Misogyny

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    Jennifer Lopez‘s illustrious career in music and film has once again taken a backseat to her love life. Despite her blockbuster hits, platinum-selling albums, sold-out tours, and a Las Vegas residency, the Latina megastar continues to be chastised about her romantic relationships. Front and center today is her marriage to Ben Affleck, with various opinions and rumors swirling on social media. But all the chatter points to one thing: blatant misogyny from internet trolls and the media that places the blame on Lopez for her failed relationships. From the divorce rumors to the cancellation of her tour, Lopez is being kicked while she’s down, and the public seems thirsty for it.

    Today’s headlines paint a one-sided picture of Affleck navigating a tumultuous marriage to an overly ambitious, workaholic diva who can’t seem to get love right. These biased narratives seem to be one reason why Lopez released her film “This Is Me…Now” and its accompanying album by the same name, as well as the documentary that shows the behind-the-scenes of it all, “The Greatest Love Story Never Told.” Still, she can’t seem to break through the noise, the trolling, and the harassment bestowed upon her.

    On June 5, Lopez addressed the situation to fans via her On The JLo newsletter, where she wrote: “It may seem like there’s a lot of negativity out in the world right now . . . but don’t let the voices of a few drown out that there is soooo much love out there. Thank you, thank you, thank you!! I love you all so much.”

    Let’s be clear: Lopez is being put through the wringer about her love life for two reasons. First off, she’s a woman — a powerful woman at that — and the second reason is because she’s Latina. The machismo culture is toxic and exists widely throughout Latin America and here in the United States. One 2022 study found higher rates of sexism among Latinos in the US and concluded that the reinforcement of the machismo narrative in the media is a misleading reproduction of harmful stereotypes against Latines. In other words, when the Latine community jumps to bashing J Lo, it leaves the door wide open for anyone else to join the bandwagon, forgetting that behind the hate is a woman, a mother, and someone who has never denied how much she loves love.

    When gossip about her relationships prevails, it obscures Lopez’s triumphant success story. Lopez was able to obtain the American dream ten-fold. Still, instead of being continuously celebrated for this, all the attention is focused on things going awry in her love life. The public discourse always seems to harp on what she did wrong. Maybe she didn’t pay enough attention to her man, or her career demands strained their relationship. Or maybe her global fame was overshadowing poor, poor Ben. Let’s be real: if Lopez were a man, Latine or not, would this still be the case?

    It’s not just Lopez. Take legendary actress and EGOT Rita Moreno, a Puerto Rican actress who was married to Leonard Gordon for 45 years until his death in 2010. But before that, Moreno was scrutinized for her love affairs with Hollywood royalty like Marlon Brando and music superstars like Elvis Presley.

    So, what are we telling little girls, Latine and otherwise, about being ambitious and successful? It’s similar to America Ferrera’s speech in “Barbie.” A woman can be successful but not too successful. She can shine like the brightest star as long as she isn’t blinding him or leaving him in the shadows. She can be strong but not appear stronger than her man in public. She can love herself, but not too much, because it will appear like diva-ish, self-centered behavior.

    The greatest love story Lopez never told is how much she has had to love herself through very public relationships and the breakups everyone seems to be waiting for. After all, how could a woman choose her career over love, right?

    Zayda Rivera is a POPSUGAR contributor. She has been a professional writer for more than 20 years. Z is a certified Reiki Master Teacher, yoga and Zumba instructor, mindfulness and meditation guide, tarot reader, and spiritual mentor.

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    Zayda Rivera

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  • Aventura’s Reunion Tour Beautifully Captures How Far Bachata Has Come

    Aventura’s Reunion Tour Beautifully Captures How Far Bachata Has Come

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    On June 4, Aventura — the timeless bachata band that consists of Romeo Santos, Henry Santos, Lenny Santos, and Max Santos — hit the stage at the Prudential Center in Newark, NJ, as part of their reunion tour Cerrando Ciclos. They had already performed at the venue two nights in a row, as well as played a show at Madison Square Garden on May 23. With an audience filled with mostly Dominicans — many of them proudly waving their flags — it was remarkable to see how a genre that was once associated with the bars and brothels of lower-income neighborhoods in the countryside of the Dominican Republic has become such a global phenomenon. And it was Aventura, a boy band formed by four Dominican teenagers in the 1990s, that would completely revolutionize bachata beyond what any of them could have originally envisioned.

    In February, Romeo Santos announced that he was reuniting with the group for the second time for the Cerrando Ciclos tour, which kicked off on May 1 in Sacramento, CA. The group had last joined forces in 2020, right before the Coronavirus pandemic hit for their Immortal Tour. According to Billboard, it grossed $25.8 million. And while Tuesday evening was far from their last tour performance in the tri-state area, the group really gave their all, exciting the crowd with some of their biggest hits: “Dile al Amor,” “Un Beso,” “Todavía Me Amas,” and their 2021 single with Bad Bunny, “Volví.” They closed the show with a guest appearance from Judy Santos for “Obsesión.”

    It took a while for bachata to become a global sensation, but today, even non-Latin music artists like The Weeknd are dipping their toes in the genre.

    In the late 1980s, the genre became more widely accepted across the island thanks to bachata legend Blas Durán and even more so after the release of Juan Luis Guerra’s “Bachata Rosa” album in 1992. Bachata made its way to the East Coast of the US in the mid-1990s thanks to artists like Luis Vargas, Anthony Santos, Raulín Rodriguez, Frank Reyes, and Zacarias Ferreira — all artists Romeo Santos would eventually go on to collaborate with. But the reality is that bachata wouldn’t be as mainstream as it is today if it wasn’t for Aventura and its members’ brilliant ability to modernize the genre to cross over to an American market.

    It’s fair to assume that this is likely the group’s last reunion rodeo, given that they’ve been around since 1996 when they went by Los Tinellers. It was the first time a music artist or group broke the rules of bachata and infused its sounds with R&B, pop, hip-hop, and reggae — bringing a genre once referred to as bolero campesino into the mainstream market. On Tuesday night, I felt the emotion and immensity of all that as I watched a group I’ve been listening to since junior high school light up an entire arena filled with fans who shouted the lyrics to every song performed so loudly that at one point I thought my ears were going to pop.

    As I looked around a sold-out stadium, all I could see were numerous Latin American flags waving, with the Dominican community clearly showing up. Every now and then, I’d notice a non-Latine in the crowd singing the Spanish lyrics and swaying their hips back and forth to bachata’s basic side-to-side step. But Romeo addressed the audience entirely in Spanish and even gave a few shoutouts to all the Dominicans present, especially those who have been loyal fans since the band’s earliest days.

    Bachata has come a long way since its inception in the barrios of the DR, and nothing brings me more joy than to see how long it has managed to survive — thanks to now-legends who still prioritize the Dominican community’s devoted support.

    Johanna Ferreira is the content director for PS Juntos. With more than 10 years of experience, Johanna focuses on how intersectional identities are a central part of Latine culture. Previously, she spent close to three years as the deputy editor at HipLatina, and she has freelanced for numerous outlets including Refinery29, Oprah magazine, Allure, InStyle, and Well+Good. She has also moderated and spoken on numerous panels on Latine identity.

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  • The Sympathizer’s best dual identity trick was its last one

    The Sympathizer’s best dual identity trick was its last one

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    The Sympathizer is full of twists and turns — and why wouldn’t it be? It’s a show (based on a book of the same name by Viet Thanh Nguyen) that follows a Viet Cong double agent from the end of the Vietnam War to life as a refugee in America as he works to secure the Viet Cong’s victory. All the while, the show wrestles with themes of self and identity, as filtered through The Captain (Hoa Xuande), said double agent; his Vietnamese community in 1970s Los Angeles; and the variety of white men he works for (all played by Robert Downey Jr.).

    In the final episode, we finally catch up with The Captain’s present-day story in a reeducation camp in Vietnam, led by the shadowy Commissar, who’s been demanding the Captain’s story be written out in exacting detail. It’s no surprise that the true name of the Commissar — another figure defined by his title more than himself — would be another surprise in the plot. But, like any unveiling of true identity in The Sympathizer, it’s more a twist of the knife than anything else.

    [Ed. note: The rest of this post contains spoilers for the end of The Sympathizer. This post also has some mentions of sexual assault.]

    Photo: Hopper Stone/HBO

    In the final episode, the Captain finds out the Commissar is in fact his friend Mẫn, now scarred from napalm strikes during the fall of Saigon. Worse yet, this old friend/prison camp supervisor is still going to torture him for information.

    It’s a tough way for the Captain to find out that his visions of Mẫn — alone in an office and highly decorated, leading the bright future for Vietnam — weren’t accurate. Throughout the show, the Captain’s reflections were a neat framing device and something he saw as mostly a formality, the one thing standing between him and the bright future of Communist Vietnam he had fought so hard for. Now, staring him in the face, is the cold reality of what his struggle has culminated in. It’s all in keeping with the way The Sympathizer has been using the Captain’s imaginative visions as specters of his subjective (and warped) point of view.

    “The ghosts really pertain to his consciousness, his conscience about his actions,” Xuande told Polygon. “The Captain’s journey is really about trying to survive, trying to weave his way out, and trying to never be found out, and, obviously, toeing the line between his allegiances.”

    In that light, his vision with Mẫn isn’t all that different from his visions of Sonny or the Major; they’re all, as Xuande puts it, an expression of “the trauma that he’s been hiding from.” They’re a startling way for the Captain to realize that his actions have been more about finding any means to survive than about following his communist ideals, or fighting for a better Vietnam.

    “When they come back to haunt and remind him about the very things he’s been neglecting in his memory, it’s a reminder for him that everything that he believes and thought he was doing for the cause might not actually be right.”

    This is an idea that The Sympathizer underlines again and again with the Captain’s character: Nothing about his life is straightforward or neat, and none of it went the way he planned. Even as he seems to confess to Sonny or carry out the general’s orders to kill him, the Captain is acting for his own reasons, rather than purely “the cause.”

    Mẫn (Duy Nguyễn) answering a phone and checking around him in a still from The Sympathizer

    Photo: Hopper Stone/HBO

    Such corruption of idealistic impulses is something Mẫn also knows all too well, seemingly disillusioned with the state of the country at the same time he does his job. He is, as his dual character names speak to, a different person now, much harder than he was as a spy under American imperialism. But (much like Downey Jr.’s parade of white authority figures) Duy Nguyễn wanted to make sure you could see the connective tissue between every version of Mẫn.

    “To develop this character, I had to really dig deep: What is Mẫn? How does he talk? How does he move? How does he act around his friend, or does he act alone with just the Captain?” Nguyễn says. “He’s the dentist, so he’s very still; he has to be precise. And he’s intellectual, so he has to stay upright. The way he talks is clear — so those are the parts I keep.

    “[In episode 7], he is so damaged, but he still wants to keep the presence in front of his friends. He just wants to try to be the same person his friend saw the last time.”

    Which is crucial; all of episode 7 — and the crux of The Sympathizer’s final turn — comes down to how Mẫn’s turn plays. He is the single person, the crucial vector point, around which the Captain’s story gets suddenly jerked back, calling his bluffs and calling out all his perspective gaps. Like the Captain, he is a study of dualities: a person and a rank; loyal to the cause, yet wary; a ghost from the past and a vision of the brave new fractured and corrupted world. After filtering so much of the narrative — and, with it, the war, its aftershocks, and all the complexities contained within those — through the Captain’s identity, Mẫn is the only one who can match and cut through the noise of the story the Captain has been telling himself.

    And the truth is at once infinitely more complex and far simpler than he was prepared to believe. Through his torture, the Captain finally reconciles with some of the worst things he did for the war, going all the way back to one of the earliest scenes of the show (that we now know was actually the rape of a fellow Communist agent). He has to accept who he is and where he comes from. And he has to accept that nothing about his trauma and suffering has necessarily fixed his nation. All that hardship might’ve just borne more pain — or, worse, indifference to pain. As the sexually assaulted Communist agent tells him, after all her years in the war and the camp, “nothing can disappoint” her now.

    In the end, it’s Mẫn who gets the Captain (and Bon) free of the camp, back on a boat headed for the ol’ U.S. of A. It once again makes him a study in conflict; after so many years of loving (and trying to hate) that place, it might be his salvation after all. As the Captain looks back on Vietnam, he now sees a nation of ghosts — more clearly than ever.

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    Zosha Millman

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  • Jennifer Lopez Is the Ultimate Latina Rom-Com Queen

    Jennifer Lopez Is the Ultimate Latina Rom-Com Queen

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    Jennifer Lopez’s life and career have taken the world on an unforgettable roller-coaster ride. We’ve witnessed the ups, downs, and unexpected twists in between. She may not always be a favorite among critics, but Lopez has continued to produce films through her company Nuyorican Productions, elevating herself to celeb royalty. As she juggles the many crowns she wears, one that deserves the spotlight is her role in essentially being our first Latina rom-com queen.

    Sure, some of her earlier films, like 2002’s “Maid in Manhattan,” were criticized for perpetuating Latina stereotypes (and 2003’s “Gigli,” which she costarred in with Ben Affleck, was chewed up and spit out by film critics for just not being funny). But despite the naysayers, Lopez has never given up her spot as a rom-com star. The 2005 romantic comedy “Monster-in-Law,” which she stars in alongside Jane Fonda, followed those less desirable films and became one of her highest-grossing films to date.

    Lopez is to the 2000s what Meg Ryan is to the 1980s and ’90s. Her comedic timing is always on point, and mixing it with her vulnerability has created a recipe for success in the rom-com genre. From 2001’s “The Wedding Planner,” which grossed $94 million worldwide, to 2004’s “Shall We Dance?” which brought in $170 million at the box office, and recent films like 2022’s “Marry Me,” which racked up $50 million, Lopez has continued to solidify herself as a rom-com queen. Other Latina actors have dipped their toe in the genre and done well: think Salma Hayek in 1997’s “Fools Rush In” alongside Matthew Perry, and Eva Mendes in 2005’s “Hitch” alongside Will Smith. However, the Puerto Rican actor continues to stretch the bounds of the rom-com characters she portrays. In one role, she’s struggling with a difficult mother-in-law, and in the next, she’s toting guns and combat boots, as she did in 2022’s “Shotgun Wedding.”

    The 54-year-old multitalented star doesn’t wait for the opportunities to come either — she creates them for herself. She recently dropped $20 million to produce 2024’s “This Is Me… Now: A Love Story,” an Amazon original showcase that coincided with her first studio album in a decade. Through breathtaking choreography, star-studded cameos, awe-inspiring costumes, and scene changes, Lopez takes viewers on a journey through her love life, a hot topic in the public eye for years. And, of course, she throws in some comedy with her therapist, who is played by longtime friend and fellow Bronx native Fat Joe. Despite the harsh criticism and low ratings, the musical film was important for Lopez to detail her love life in her own way, not the media’s.

    Overall, Lopez has brought in approximately $1 billion in gross revenue for her rom-com films. She is staking her claim in an arena that lacks Latine representation by a long shot. In 2019, the USC Annenberg Inclusion Initiative released a report that showed the low percentages of Latine contribution on camera and behind the scenes. In partnership with Eva Longoria’s UnbeliEVAble Entertainment, the report found that only seven percent of films from 2019 featured a lead or colead Hispanic/Latino actor.

    In other words, Lopez — for more than 20 years — has carved out representation where Latinas are nearly nonexistent. While the critics may lay on her heavily and unapologetically, we cannot deny that when it comes to rom-coms, she’s doing it bigger and better than any other Latina actor. She is laughing all the way to the bank and slowly and steadily bumping up those insultingly low percentages. There’s no doubt that Lopez has rewritten history and solidified a path in film that other Latina actors are sure to follow.

    Zayda Rivera is a POPSUGAR contributor. She has been a professional writer for more than 20 years. Z is a Reiki Master Teacher, a yoga and Zumba instructor, a mindfulness and meditation guide, a tarot reader, and a spiritual mentor.

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  • Aida Rodriguez: Unpacking My Childhood Traumas Through Comedy Is Cathartic

    Aida Rodriguez: Unpacking My Childhood Traumas Through Comedy Is Cathartic

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    Aida Rodriguez is a Puerto Rican and Dominican comedian, actor, and writer. In 2019, she had her own half-hour special on Netflix’s hit comedy series “They Ready,” executive-produced by Tiffany Haddish and Wanda Sykes. In November 2021, she released her first-hour stand-up special “Fighting Words,” which premiered on Max, and in October 2023, Rodriguez released her memoir “Legitimate Kid.”

    For Mental Health Awareness Month, we asked Latine comedians we admire how comedy has supported them in overcoming trauma and confronting life’s most significant challenges. Read the pieces here.

    I’ve always viewed comedy as a coping mechanism for people who are in lower economic situations or just dealing with very hard circumstances. In the words of Kevin Hart: “Laugh at my pain.” My upbringing was no different. I didn’t really engage in comedy as much when I was younger because I was a very shy and timid kid. But humor was always around me, and I learned at a very young age the power of laughter.

    My grandmother was a very funny woman. She had this amazing ability to present heavy topics like poverty and even death in ways that were humorous. At first, I used to think it was insensitive, but I quickly learned that it was just a coping mechanism and a way to make things digestible because life was already hard enough. Growing up, I saw it all. There was poverty. There was violence. There were drugs, adultery, and misogyny. For some people, laughter was the only tool they had to navigate all that.

    It was at school that I really started to find my comedic voice. Comedy became my way of surviving bullies and mean people. It became my armor and way of protecting myself from the kids who were clearly going through stuff at home but needed to poke fun at others to feel better about themselves. Instead of being confrontational or volatile, I was just funny.

    My grandmother and mother heavily influenced my comedy and sense of humor. They were naturally funny women. My mom is a very confrontational woman. She would get into it with the other women in the building or in the neighborhood, and would always come out winning because she knew how to shut people down with her words — and oftentimes, the things she said were just straight-up funny. My grandmother was always so witty with it. It’s funny when I hear people say that women aren’t funny, or I’ll occasionally hear Latino men say they don’t really like women comedians, and then you hear them tell their stories. They’re always talking about how hilarious their grandmothers or their mothers are. Latinas are really the comedians in the family. A lot of us are naturally funny — it’s in our blood.

    I started watching stand-up comedy when I was little. My uncle used to listen to Richard Pryor. That was my first introduction to stand-up comedy. I loved Johnny Carson, and I loved “I Love Lucy.” I used to watch El Chavo and La Chilindrina with my grandmother. In Miami, they had a show called “Qué Pasa USA.” It was a show about a Cuban family, and the grandmother on the show was one of the funniest people I’ve ever seen. I started appreciating humor and experienced the relief it provided at a relatively young age. But it was not until later in my life that I realized I wanted to do this for a living.

    Comedy came after acting. I was a model for years, and I moved to LA in 2000 to become an actor. I started doing stand-up in 2008. I had gone out for brunch to celebrate a friend’s birthday, and she asked us to roast her. I roasted her, and a friend there said, “Oh, you should be doing stand-up. You’re naturally funny.” He gave me the address and information to an open mic, and I went and did it, and I never stopped.

    Once I started performing at open mics, I started noticing how healing comedy was — not just for the audience but also for me. I didn’t really start with observational humor. I went straight to the wound. My first jokes were about my modeling career and becoming anorexic. I addressed difficult things I had experienced in my own life, and it helped me heal from those experiences while also making folks who could relate feel seen.

    My work became cathartic when I started writing material about my childhood. People would approach me after my sets and say, “Oh my god. Thank you. I’ve never seen a version of myself or a reflection of myself.” My childhood started to influence so much of my material that it became like therapy for me. I started unpacking and healing from many traumas I experienced growing up, eventually inspiring me to write my memoir, “Legitimate Kid.” It made me realize how much our stories matter, and we shouldn’t belittle them because white America is telling us they don’t matter. That is what has kept the fuel going for me.

    Making jokes about my family, my neighborhood, and the hard things I experienced growing up has allowed others to see themselves in my stories. In terms of my own healing, that relatability was part of it. It was seeing that I wasn’t alone and that there are others who also didn’t grow up having their fathers in their lives. It was the first time I started to feel proud of where I came from, and it helped me work through some of the stuff I was dealing with. Even with the jokes about my mom, many people would come up to me and tell me their mom was the same way. In many ways, it’s also healed my relationship with my mom because performing and having people heal through my words contributes to my own healing.

    As a Latina, we’re raised with this mentality that you don’t share the family’s business. So, while I initially had my hesitations, they approved every joke I’ve ever told about the family before it made it to the stage. I always make sure that they’re cool with it. I was especially careful when it came to my mom and my daughter because sexism and misogyny, especially in our communities, are rampant and real, and people love to demonize women. So, I was always very leery about presenting them in a way where it would take off on its own, and people would talk shit.

    Making jokes about the things I experienced growing up has also allowed me to see the beauty in my upbringing. It wasn’t all dark, and it wasn’t all bad. When I started doing stand-up, I used to hear all the time people say things like, “All these Black and Latino comedians talk about is their lives in the hood, food stamps, and being broke.” You would hear that from white comics how our comedy wasn’t “elevated.” But I never allowed them to push me into a corner where I felt like I had to emulate them to be of value because a lot of people do. At the beginning of my career, I definitely saw that there was a lot of pressure placed on comedians of color not to perpetuate stereotypes, but the truth is that some of our relatives are hood. Some of our relatives did behave a certain way, and there’s nothing wrong with that, and that’s not just exclusive to people of color — there are white people like that as well.

    Comedy brings us all together. There’s a connective tissue there, especially in a community with so much diversity. Through humor, we can find each other and find relatability. People loved when George Lopez talked about his grandmother because that’s something many of us have in common. Comedy also works as a universal language. Even if we’re not from the same culture, everybody laughs because it has this connective tissue. Comedy connects people of all backgrounds and walks of life through laughter.

    — As told to Johanna Ferreira

    Johanna Ferreira is the content director for POPSUGAR Juntos. With more than 10 years of experience, Johanna focuses on how intersectional identities are a central part of Latine culture. Previously, she spent close to three years as the deputy editor at HipLatina, and she has freelanced for numerous outlets including Refinery29, O Magazine, Allure, InStyle, and Well+Good. She has also moderated and spoken on numerous panels on Latine identity.

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    Aida Rodriguez

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  • Sasha Merci: How Comedy Has Helped Me Navigate Depression

    Sasha Merci: How Comedy Has Helped Me Navigate Depression

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    For Mental Health Awareness Month, we asked Latine comedians and creators we admire how comedy has supported them in overcoming trauma and confronting life’s most significant challenges. Read the pieces here.

    One of the things I love about comedy is how it fuses my personality with my purpose. I was diagnosed with depression when I was 14 years old, a time when I began comparing my life to that of my high school peers and quickly noticed the differences. At the time, most of my peers had never experienced significant loss like I had. While they were preoccupied with clothes, gossip, and pop culture, I was grappling with thoughts of death. This numbness to ordinary concerns led me into a deep existential crisis.

    My struggle with depression was triggered early on by the loss of several family members, including my mother and my grandmother. Processing these losses took years of therapy. Working as a comedian has allowed me to piece together memories like a puzzle to grasp my life’s bigger picture. Every time I unravel the layers of my experiences, I discover the humor embedded within them.

    As a young girl, I didn’t know that my biological mother had passed away; I was told to call my grandmother Mama. Although there was a photograph of another woman on the mantle who resembled me, my grandmother would deflect the question whenever I inquired about her. She was a master at making me feel valued and special and was always ready to listen to me chatter, calling me her little Cotorra.

    I’m not sure if I had a natural sense of humor, but my grandmother certainly saw a big personality in me and nurtured it. I would gauge her reactions and laughter to adjust my storytelling. Whenever we had visitors, she would prompt me with, “Sasha, ven acá, dile lo que me dijiste!” signaling it was showtime. I remember lighting up the room for the first time, mimicking characters and celebrities from television, thinking all of America was the glamorous Hollywood, unlike my birthplace in the Bronx, NY.

    My grandmother passed away from colon cancer shortly after we relocated from DR’s capital, Santo Domingo, to New York. It was around this time that I finally learned about my late biological mother. Transitioning from being a light in the room to feeling like the elephant in the room, I moved in with my father, his wife, and their children. I was starkly reminded that I was the product of an affair. In that household, I learned to wield my humor for survival, to defuse tensions, and often made myself the butt of jokes during one of the most emotionally isolating periods of my life.

    In high school, I struggled to fit in because of the amount of loss I experienced at a young age. I felt envious of not having a nuclear family. It was a constant reminder to me of what I was missing. At a young age, I deeply felt my mortality, knowing that no matter how much I prayed, my loved ones would never come back. Not many of my peers at the time could relate to it. As a result, I began to disassociate from my reality and used humor as a way to entertain others to distract myself from my pain. This only worked until I realized I was the only one not laughing. I started to find my true comedic voice after discovering comedy on YouTube. It became a coping mechanism and was a turning point for me. At 15, I immersed myself in all forms of comedy — movies, stand-ups, and sitcoms. Stand-up comedy, in particular, taught me that pain had a rightful place in the world.

    Now, I view my family dynamics as a sitcom, typical of many immigrant American families with strong hierarchies. We use humor as a form of microaggression, being indirectly direct about contentious topics like gender and politics. Our disagreements are not reasons to disconnect but opportunities to engage with the chaos and find the humor in all of it.

    Comedy became a therapeutic tool when I started using it to express myself through hyperbole, sarcasm, and similes, building a community that helped me combat depression during tough times. Comedy allows for relatability. Feeling like someone understands your origin can often aid in healing. In 2015, I used Instagram to share my stories and perspectives while offering comedic relief to my followers. After being on the platform for a short period of time, my content started to go viral and helped launch my career as a comedian and actress.

    Comedy is an essential space for Latines, especially immigrants and their descendants. It allows us to narrate our stories, celebrate our dual identities, and confront the challenges of navigating two worlds. It reflects our resilience, capacity to find joy amid adversity, and relentless pursuit of visibility and understanding in a society that often sidelines our voices.

    Today, I see the good and bad moments in life as material, which inspires me to write down thoughts and ideas. Managing my mental health involves a delicate balance of honoring my cultural and familial roots alongside my personal aspirations. Protecting your peace is vital, but not when you isolate yourself in a bubble. Humor lives in my everyday life; it is found in the mundane, pain, and unexpected. I encourage others to lean into it; it might inspire your next piece of material. A good comedian is disarming, relatable, and provocative, and I am committed to being all these things.

    Comedy has taught me to cherish my life and eschew comparisons, for comparison is the thief of joy, and it’s hard to feel depressed when one lives in gratitude.

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    Sasha Merci

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  • Gina Brillon: The Loss of My Grandmother Pushed Me to Pursue Comedy

    Gina Brillon: The Loss of My Grandmother Pushed Me to Pursue Comedy

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    Gina Brillon is a Puerto Rican actress, stand-up comedian, writer, and mom born and raised in the Bronx. In 2012, she became the first and only Latina winner of NBC’s Stand Up for Diversity Showcase. She went on to release comedy specials on NuvoTV, HBO, and Amazon Prime. She has appeared on “The View,” “Late Night With Seth Meyers,” and “Jimmy Kimmel Live,” and was the first Latina comedian to be a finalist in season 16 of “America’s Got Talent.”

    For Mental Health Awareness Month, we asked Latine comedians and creators we admire how comedy has supported them in overcoming trauma and confronting life’s most significant challenges. Read the pieces here.

    We don’t talk enough about the healing powers of humor. The old saying, “laughter is the best medicine,” as cliché as it may be, actually has a lot of truth to it. I learned about the power of laughter at a relatively young age. In Latino families, we often use humor to heal from traumas and hardships. It helps us get through so much. At home, we made jokes about everything from the government, cheese we ate, to the broke, kid games we played. I greatly touched on this in my Amazon Prime special, “The Floor is Lava.”

    My childhood was good but came with its fair share of struggles. Money troubles were real, and I remember us being on food stamps at one point. We had our challenging times, but we somehow always managed to find opportunities to laugh about it. It was one of those, “if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry” type situations. But it wasn’t until I lost my grandmother that I realized the momentary relief a good laugh can bring, even in the face of loss and grief.

    I say this all the time, but my grandmother is the entire reason why I decided to pursue a career as a stand-up comedian. I was probably around the age of 8 or 9 when I realized I had a gift for making people laugh. It was also around that age that it really hit me how healing laughter could be. Once I realized I could make someone laugh, it became a mission to make those around me laugh because I loved the joy I got out of it. My grandmother was the first grown-up in the family who noticed I was funny. She would tell my mom things like, “Your daughter is talented. She’s going to be on TV one day,” and I slowly started to believe her.

    For a while, I kept the jokes for the family. I was this crazy, funny kid at home, but I was much more reserved whenever I was in public. As a kid, I was self-conscious because I was the chubby, funny girl. So, if I didn’t know you like that, I wouldn’t attempt to make you laugh because I was already too insecure. In fact, peers and schoolmates who knew me growing up were surprised when I became a stand-up comedian. They always thought I was funny, but they also thought I was shy because I was growing up. I was never the class clown. But I was the kid who was always quick with a joke. If I saw a joke somewhere, I would say it quickly before anyone else could say it first.

    My grandma was probably one of the toughest women I’ve ever met — to this day. This was my grandma on my maternal side. She lived with us and passed away when I was 16, but a large chunk of my childhood was spent around this woman whom I absolutely adored. She came to New York from Puerto Rico and never really learned English like that, but the English she managed to learn was from watching “I Love Lucy.” That’s when I started understanding how much my grandma appreciated comedic relief. Once I learned that, I made it a point always to crack her up.

    My grandmother wasn’t an easy woman to make laugh. She was tough, and she was serious. She also hated pranks. But she loved silliness. Something about silliness allowed her to soften and fully bring down her guard — regardless of what she was going through at the time. I started to study her sense of humor and provided her with the silliness I knew she enjoyed. When my grandmother laughed, she laughed with her entire being. She exuded absolute joy — it brought out another side of her that I appreciated at a young age. That became our biggest way of connecting — making her laugh.

    But when I was around 11, my grandmother’s health began to decline. She would get cuts and bruises randomly. She started experiencing body aches more often. I knew she wasn’t the same when I started noticing my mom had to shower her daily. That was hard for me because I grew up seeing this strong woman who never wanted to be a burden finding herself in such a vulnerable place. I almost didn’t know how to connect with her anymore. My siblings were quick to help in taking care of her physically, but I was never comfortable doing that. It was hard for me to witness her at her weakest.

    During that time, I realized that the best medicine I had to offer her was laughter. On her hardest days, I made sure to make her laugh, and she constantly encouraged me to make a career out of it one day. My grandma was my first comedy audience and the first person who really believed in me, so when she passed, I told God that I would pursue a career in comedy.

    I knew it was coming because I never heard the fear in this woman’s voice like that before. I remember thinking to myself, this is it. My mom told me to go to bed, but I couldn’t. I asked if I could go to the bathroom, and as soon as I walked in there, I opened the window, fell to my knees, and started to pray. I remember the first words out of my mouth were, “God, I know tonight you’re taking my grandma.” I told God that from that moment on, any time I make somebody laugh, it would be in honor of my grandmother. And if I ever do anything in comedy, it will always be for her. The next morning, she was gone.

    It was a hard season for my family — particularly my mom. It took a while before it felt appropriate, but I slowly started to use humor to help myself and the rest of the family get through it. Even at the funeral, as difficult as it was, there were little moments where the family would joke and roast each other, and it was healing. We allowed ourselves to grieve and to cry. But we also found opportunities to laugh and smile in memory of my grandmother.

    To this day, every single time I step on stage, I think of my grandmother. I literally feel her energy with me every time. I can feel her in the room watching me. I’m always like, “Did you see that, grandma? Did you see what I just did? Did you like it?”

    Every milestone has been dedicated to her, from my first 20-minute special for HBO’s “Entre Nos” to when I did my first one-hour special “Pacifically Speaking,” my Amazon Prime special “The Floor Is Lava,” to even when I was on “America’s Got Talent.” My sister, who is really big into the spiritual side of things, always tells me that my grandma is always with me. I believe that we all have a counsel of people who are meant to look after us in this life, and I believe we choose them. I chose my grandmother, and I chose George Carlin — my favorite comedian growing up. I really believe he’s part of the souls watching over me to the point where every time I walk into Gotham Comedy Club, I give a salute to his photo.

    Not only has comedy gotten me through every difficult circumstance I’ve experienced in this life, from heartache to loss, but it has also helped me find myself. It transformed a young, insecure girl into the most confident she has ever been. It gave me the ability to connect with people, the first one being my grandmother. Comedy has allowed me to help others heal because of the way it has helped me heal in my own ways. It is my longest relationship in this life and my most cherished one.

    — As told to Johanna Ferreira

    Johanna Ferreira is the content director for POPSUGAR Juntos. With more than 10 years of experience, Johanna focuses on how intersectional identities are a central part of Latine culture. Previously, she spent close to three years as the deputy editor at HipLatina, and she has freelanced for numerous outlets including Refinery29, O Magazine, Allure, InStyle, and Well+Good. She has also moderated and spoken on numerous panels on Latine identity.

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    Gina Brillon

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  • Fabrizio Copano Is Using Comedy to Address Political Wounds

    Fabrizio Copano Is Using Comedy to Address Political Wounds

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    Catalina Kulczar
    Catalina Kulczar

    For Mental Health Awareness Month, we asked Latine comedians and creators we admire how comedy has supported them in overcoming trauma and confronting life’s most significant challenges. Read the pieces here.

    Fabrizio Copano, a rising star in the world of stand-up comedy, isn’t your typical Latine comic. His journey, shaped by his Chilean upbringing under a pos-dictatorship and his subsequent disillusionment with the American Dream, fuels a unique comedic perspective that tackles serious political and cultural themes.

    Copano’s early life in Chile was marked by the tail-end of political turmoil. Growing up, he witnessed firsthand the harsh repercussions of Augusto Pinochet’s dictatorship, a period characterized by repression, human rights abuses, and a stifling political climate. This experience undoubtedly contrasts the idealized image of the US he received through the media.

    “Chile is very Americanized in certain ways, and we look up [to] the US,” Copano says. “The culture shock was when I figured out that we are ahead of the US in so many ways because we have already lived through many of the traumas that the US is just now confronting.”

    When Copano realized America is “just as messy,” it allowed him to view Americans from a more humanistic lens. “The system isn’t as perfect as it pretends to be. I now use this idea in my stand-up, that we’re ahead of the US — we are from the future,” Copano says.

    Indeed, Copano uses comedy to explore the disillusionment that sets in when the romanticized American dream confronts America’s often harsh realities. Copano weaves jokes about America’s obsession with individualism clashing with the collectivist values instilled in him during his Chilean upbringing.

    Unlike many US-born Latine comics who mine humor from the shared experience of navigating American life as a minority, Copano offers a fresh perspective. He injects Chilean history, culture, and political sensibilities into his routines, creating a richer and more nuanced portrayal of the Latine experience.

    Catalina Kulczar

    “A comedian can touch a nerve of [what’s going on in] society. Through laughter, you can open yourself a little bit more to think or view things in a certain way that the comedian is proposing. You can take advantage of the chaos,” he says. “That’s why I like putting little nuggets of my point of view. I think we Latinos are the future. We’re everywhere, but at the same time, we’re always [portrayed as] the victim in a very narrow way that is not the reality.”

    Copano’s achievement as the first South American comedian to land a Netflix special is a testament to his talent and perseverance. But paving this path wasn’t easy. He faced challenges, including limited spaces for comedic exposure or the pressure to conform to stereotypical expectations of Latino humor. However, his success has paved the way for future Latin American comedians, demonstrating the global appeal of their unique perspectives.

    When Netflix approached him for his special “Solo pienso en mi,” which was released in 2017, he wanted his comedy to resonate with viewers no matter where they were from.

    “I have to make comedy travel,” Copano says. “Then doing comedy in English was another layer of a challenge — how do you connect with people who have nothing to do with you and figure out things that are universal or so personal that you bring them to your world and they can connect through their own lens?”

    Copano’s US touring stand-up show “Baby Coup” tackles the concerning resurgence of fascism worldwide. He recognizes the power of humor to disarm audiences and makes complex political issues more accessible. Laughter can create a sense of connection, allowing him to plant critical seeds while keeping the audience engaged. He uses satire to expose the manipulative tactics of fascist leaders and employs dark humor to highlight the dangers of complacency in the face of rising authoritarianism.

    Catalina Kulczar

    “Funny things are universal — misery is everywhere, so you can find the funny things in misery,” Copano says. “Through trauma and experience, you can still see the scars, but if you can find a funny way to talk about these topics and bring it back, you kind of refresh people’s memories and reflect on how absurd it is.”

    Copano looks forward to taping his first-ever hour-long special in English this summer.

    “It’s kind of about my first years in the US, the cultural clash, the disappointments, but also all of the things that were great,” Copano explains.

    Copano’s comedy reminds us that humor can be a powerful tool for sparking dialogue and challenging the status quo. Particularly in Latine communities, humor tends to play a vital role when it comes to survival. It serves as a coping mechanism for dealing with difficult circumstances, a way to bond over shared experiences, and a tool for challenging authority.

    Copano’s unique point of view not only offers valuable lessons but also shows us how to confront darkness with laughter, find strength in shared experiences, and perhaps even inspire change, one joke at a time.

    “I just try to give this perspective that while many Latinos are victims of wrongdoings from our own governments, we are also humans,” he says. “We have our own thoughts, we are super smart, driven, we know what we want, and we know what the US needs now and can be very useful when democracy is in danger.”

    Kimmy Dole is a contributor for PS Juntos known for her sharp insights and compelling storytelling. An entertainment enthusiast, Kimmy immerses herself in the glitz of the industry, delivering a captivating blend of celebrity interviews, insights from industry experts, and the latest pop culture trends. Her work offers readers a genuine and relatable perspective, especially when exploring the complexities of relationships.

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    Kimmy Dole

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  • How the “Lo Que Pasa en Casa” Mentality Held Me Back From My Comedic Voice

    How the “Lo Que Pasa en Casa” Mentality Held Me Back From My Comedic Voice

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    For Mental Health Awareness Month, we asked Latine comedians and creators we admire how comedy has supported them in overcoming trauma and confronting life’s most significant challenges. Read the pieces here.

    There’s a cultural maxim within Latinidad that’s always left me a bit unsettled: “Lo que pasa en casa se queda en casa.” It means what happens at home stays at home — aka loyalty above everything.

    Growing up in a subjectively funny family taught me invaluable lessons about the power of humor and its role as a survival tool, especially during challenging times. In my Ecuadorian immigrant family, our main coping mechanism was finding solace in humor amid chaos. But there was always a boundary, an invisible line to how far we could share drawn by the “lo que pasa en la casa” mentality — the notion that certain things should never leave the confines of our home. It became clear to me early on that this mentality stemmed from a desire to maintain appearances, protect the family’s reputation, and uphold the value of privacy.

    The “lo que pasa en la casa” mentality always felt like a type of silencing or secrecy that prohibited many of my tías, tíos, cousins, and older siblings from seeking out things like therapy. It was also an invisible shackle placed around my artistry before it began. Some may argue that “lo que pasa en casa” is all about “privacy” or “protection,” but it’s a double-edged sword. There are situations where it’s crucial (say, if someone in the family wins the lottery and you don’t want everyone coming out of the woodwork for a piece of the pie). In those cases, it’s about protection. But for me, the weighty subtext that demands allegiance rears its ugly head when “lo que pasa en casa” is presented as privacy. It’s always bugged me how Latine culture seems to value what other people think more than the actual truth. It’s all about “el qué dirán!” — the fear of what other people will say — which is something that haunts me as a creative person. And trust me, after over a decade as a social-first writer and producer, I figure I can’t be alone in that.

    As a comedic storyteller and griot who has utilized the internet as a personal testing ground, much like how a stand-up comic utilizes the stage, I’ve often felt the weight of this mentality bearing down on me. Although most of my content initially focused on pop culture and comedic rants, covering everything from J Lo’s relationship drama to New York City characters, my pivot into personal perspectives was much easier for me in concept than in practice. It was convenient to start with truths that always painted my family in the best light — for example, a story of how my mother’s fearless determination helped me get a rhinoplasty at the age of 3 to stop childhood bullying.

    Tiptoeing around the easier stories with a hint of realness was second nature to me; it’s how I navigated the world throughout my formative years, never truly being allowed to admit how hard things were economically, how violent my father was towards my mother, or eventually how hostile one of my sisters would become toward me. Although my mother refused to let us share the truth with teachers, friends, or even extended family, I was fortunate that her strength and wisdom decided to sign us up for family counseling when I was around 6. Unfortunately, by then, my sisters were so entrenched with the fear and consequences of “lo que pasa en casa” that they refused to talk until they stopped attending altogether.

    As the youngest who longed to be understood, I toughed it out. Still, I spent years perfecting the art of omission to ensure my mother would never have to face her greatest fear in “me las van a quitar,” a phrase that translates to “they’re going to take them away from me.” For 13 years, I’d spend my therapy sessions feeling mentally limited to how real I could be, which ultimately prolonged my healing and creativity.

    Still, my first therapist must’ve seen I was struggling behind untold truths and advised my mother to sign me up for acting lessons. In the theater, I found the first creative outlet for my pain. The words on the page were never mine, but the emotions were, and for many years, that was enough. I eventually yearned to tell my stories, but the fear of exposing others through telling my truth kept me from exploring.

    There are many different types of comedic griots: stand-ups and sketch artists, to name a few. The one I always admired most was the solo performer. I have always been a longtime fan of one-man show icons like John Leguizamo. But he’s also paid the price — and validated my “lo que pasa en casa” worries when I learned his father nearly sued him for defamation of character because of his impressions of his dysfunctional family in his 1998 show “Freak.”

    The internet has been my most notable outlet for creativity, but I’m finally ready to explore more. As a result, I’ve recently decided to challenge and nurture my inner artist. The notion of “lo que pasa en la casa” has confined me to staying on the surface of my truths, but the tides are changing. I think one of the best examples of someone who leaned into her truth is Mayan Lopez, co-creator of “Lopez vs. Lopez,” with her willingness to reveal parts of her family that are arguably private matters. Her choice to do a whole series dubbed “Why do my divorced parents still act like they’re married?” led her to get greenlit by a studio. She told The Los Angeles Times, “Culturally, yeah, we don’t air that stuff out. But that’s part of some of the issues within our community — the generational trauma and the machismo aren’t addressed.”

    It’s easy to say her content went viral with much help from her recognizably famous father. Still, it was the behind-the-curtain take only she had the right and bravery to share, along with her father’s support, that helped her challenge the “lo que pasa en casa” mentality. In the series, Lopez tackles themes of abandonment and daddy issues in a way that renegotiates the narrative of “the united Latine family.”

    Given that we’re a wonderfully diverse community, it’s time we prove that Latines are not a monolith. Some of us have darkness, awkwardness, rawness, realness, and unfamiliar stories that need to be told to give our community its true, varied humanity and help us all heal through laughter. Our art will expand when we, as artists, embrace our messiness.

    So here I am, at a crossroads, throwing caution to the wind and ready to share some unfavorable stories with the world. I’m learning, and inviting others to challenge the “lo que pasa en la casa” mentality with me. My “content” is developing into monologues with no limitations. I’ve returned to the theater, and this time, I’ll tell my true stories. I’ve taken some risks, cracking jokes about stuff like being the daughter of a dad who advocated for my mom’s failed abortion to skip out on his responsibilities. While I recognize that many family members and bystanders will judge my choices, I must honor my truth, even if it ruffles a few feathers.

    I’ll always start with respecting others’ humanity and fallibility. Culture and family are important, but so is my right to share my story. Some of us use humor to hide our darkness, but we can’t be afraid to let our bold truths shine through. So, what if people don’t get me? Those who resonate with my story are the ones I make comedy for.

    Honestly, I think you get to choose what you keep private. Humor is personal, but we’re moving into an age where authenticity is essential. And comedic storytelling isn’t a one-size-fits-all deal. I’m a true believer that creativity is in all of us, but some of us keep it locked up behind secrets we’re forced to keep. Art flourishes when it’s relatable and healing, regardless of how it’s perceived. It’s not about putting on a front; it’s about embracing the truth, about having the guts to challenge the norms that “lo que pasa en casa” throws at us to keep everyone else comfortable. And hey, sure, “lo que pasa en casa” has its place, but it’s time to kick that custom to the curb. It’s not all bad – it’s like a coin with two sides – but man, that “el que diran!” part! It’s one of the many things that’s holding us back as a community.

    Katherine G. Mendoza is a seasoned Ecuadorian American writer and producer, boasting more than a decade of expertise in social-first storytelling. Her work has graced the pages and screens of renowned publications and media outlets including PS, The New York Times, Entertainment Weekly, Variety, Univision, Telemundo, Huffington Post, and Uproxx.

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    Katherine G. Mendoza

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  • How Erik Rivera Uses Comedy to Heal and Help Others

    How Erik Rivera Uses Comedy to Heal and Help Others

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    For Mental Health Awareness Month, we asked Latine comedians and creators we admire how comedy has supported them in overcoming trauma and confronting life’s most significant challenges. Read the pieces here.

    Erik Rivera’s life is good. Joining our Zoom session from his Los Angeles home, the writer, actor, and comedian is all smiles beneath a worn baseball cap. Maybe it’s that sunny weather Angelinos are always bragging about. Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s worked hard to achieve what he has now: a respectable career, a stable marriage, and two wonderful boys. Either way, the contrast between where he once was and his current status isn’t lost on him, even if it is lost on his kids.

    “My kids have no idea how good they have it,” the comic says with a laugh.

    Growing up as the child of a Puerto Rican father and Guatemalan mother in New Rochelle, NY, Rivera knows the value of a dollar all too well. He spent his younger years navigating between his parents’ immigrant sensibilities and the pressures of American life. Unsurprisingly, that dichotomy is something that Rivera has been able to mine for comedic gold, incorporating it into his stand-up along with other aspects of his life, like his interracial marriage and what it’s really like raising two boys. But, despite a lifelong love for stand-up, comedy as a career wasn’t something that Rivera saw in the cards.

    “When you come from immigrant parents, you don’t know that that’s a career. You’re hammered into the usual, like doctor, lawyer, and told, ‘Do something that’s consistent and brings in consistent money,’” Rivera says. So Rivera planned to attend Pace University to pursue a degree in communications. Then 9/11 happened.

    “[After 9/11], they reopened [the school] because they had been using the campus as a triage center. And I remember going back, and it was just this eerie feeling. There was soot everywhere. We’re watching trucks bring debris out daily. Kids were just not feeling comfortable,” Rivera recalls.

    In an attempt to escape the morbid atmosphere, Rivera and a friend went to a comedy club, which they were shocked to find packed.

    “People wanted to forget,” the comedian says plainly. Then, the idea came to him to organize a comedy night on campus and give his fellow students the opportunity to come together and heal through laughter.

    “Stand-up comedy is such a pure art form . . . no matter what you’re going through in your day, you come out to a show, and for an hour and a half, those problems you have, you leave them at the door, and you have a good time,” Rivera says. “Yeah, they’ll still be there [when you leave], but you get to relax and release.”

    But while helping others through their trauma by organizing comedy shows was great, a part of Rivera wanted more. As a kid, he’d seen John Leguizamo’s “Mambo Mouth,” which immediately sparked something in him. Here was somebody from his culture, talking about things he could relate to. Now, as an adult, organizing stand-up nights and rubbing elbows with comedians, he has had the chance to tell his own story and use it to help people come to terms with theirs.

    “I remember there was one night sitting [at a comedy show], and it was the first time I saw how the rabbit was pulled out of the hat. Like, I saw the setup, I saw the punchline, I saw how the guy was leading the audience one way and playing with their emotions of feeling frustrated, of anger, and releasing it with laughter,” he says.”I was like, ‘I think I can do this.’”

    A month later, he was onstage at a club called Hamburger Harry’s in Times Square. For most of us, the thought of just jumping into the deep end like that would be unfathomable. But for Rivera, it’s what makes stand-up special. It’s not just about telling jokes, but about putting yourself out there — exposing your pain and hardships in service of the audience.

    “Look, you can get up there and write jokes; there are amazing joke writers out there,” Rivera says. “But [the real connection comes] from the vulnerability. Yeah, we find it through stereotypes, but there’s also that vulnerability of ‘hey, this is happening to me,’ and people can relate to that.”

    For him, comedy is an outlet, a way to explore certain aspects of his life that aren’t always neat or pretty, whether it’s his mother-in-law suggesting having a Mexican mariachi band for Rivera’s rehearsal dinner or making a point to keep the fridge stocked with guacamole just for him. Exploring these issues on stage allows him not only to process them in a healthy way, but also take the audience on the journey with him.

    This is why stand-up comedy has traditionally been such a path to success for oppressed or marginalized communities. Our hardships can make for a good laugh that helps lighten the load we carry. But channeling that pain can be tricky. Rivera admits he’s made the mistake of trying to explore certain traumas before the wounds have fully healed — specifically, his father’s passing from Parkinson’s disease.

    “I’m not gonna lie to you, when I first started doing that story on stage, it was dicey. I wasn’t ready to start talking about it,” he says.

    But then something beautiful happened. The more Rivera worked on the material, the more he refined the story about his father, and the more people started coming up to him after his shows to thank him and tell him they were going through something similar.

    “Anytime you’re going through something, you feel like, ‘I’m the only one going through this.’ We’re all going through it; it’s just that nobody talks about it,” he says.

    For this reason, writing has become a part of Rivera’s healing process. Even if he hasn’t gotten the distance from what he’s going through, even if he can’t see the funny just yet or isn’t ready to bring it to the stage, his mind is always working it over on the chance that someday he’ll be able to share it. He journals frequently, seeing it as a kind of “map” of how he gets through difficult times. The comedian also mentions the important role running plays in helping him process his thoughts.

    “Everybody should have some kind of quiet time or meditation or something to get you out of your own head and your own space,” Rivera says.

    Whether it’s working through material on stage or running in the fair weather of Los Angeles, Rivera has his. Throughout our conversation, he exudes a kind of self-assuredness that comes from working on his bits, which is actually him working on himself. Now, he’s ready for what comes next, even if it’s not necessarily comedy.

    “You always have to evolve, man,” he says.”You have to do everything, you have to write, you have to direct. The more tools you have in your toolbox, the harder it is for them to say no to you.”

    Rivera does all of that. During the pandemic, he wrote an animated show he’s looking to shop around in the future. And while he still loves comedy and shares that it will always be how he heals and helps others heal, he also admits that there are more ways to tell the stories that matter.

    “Having kids changed my perspective on everything,” he says. “Watching television and not seeing the representation there, where my kids aren’t even seeing themselves . . . now I’ve sort of pivoted to, let’s write these next TV projects so we can see ourselves there.”

    Rivera wants to see more than just the stereotypical Latine narratives about “border crossing trauma” or “we gotta save the taco shop.” He just wants to see regular shows about Latines as regular people with regular problems, working through those problems the same way he has and continues to do.

    “That’s my next goal in life, to make these shows that people can laugh at and watch together and vibe with and just happen to have Latinos in them,” he concludes.

    Miguel Machado is a journalist with expertise in the intersection of Latine identity and culture. He does everything from exclusive interviews with Latin music artists to opinion pieces on issues that are relevant to the community, personal essays tied to his Latinidad, and thought pieces and features relating to Puerto Rico and Puerto Rican culture.

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  • Ian Lara: Comedy Gave Me the Strength to Overcome My Mother’s Death

    Ian Lara: Comedy Gave Me the Strength to Overcome My Mother’s Death

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    Ian Lara is a Dominican American stand-up comedian from Queens, NY, who found internet success after his appearance on “Comedy Central Stand-Up Featuring,” which has garnered over 10 million views. Lara was a regular on “This Week at the Comedy Cellar” on Comedy Central and was featured in “Bring the Funny” on NBC. He made his late-night television debut on “The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon” in 2019, and in 2020, Lara performed his first 30-minute special for HBO Latino’s “Entre Nos: LA Meets NY.” In 2022, Lara’s half-hour special on Comedy Central, “Growing Shame,” aired in February, and his HBO special, “Ian Lara: Romantic Comedy,” was released in November on HBO Max.

    For Mental Health Awareness Month, we asked Latine comedians and creators we admire how comedy has supported them in overcoming trauma and confronting life’s most significant challenges. Read the pieces here.

    “El que anda corriendo llega cansado.”

    That’s a famous Dominican saying my mother always used to say, which translates to, “He who runs arrives tired.” These six simple words have guided my life and career as a stand-up comedian in many ways. This phrase alone taught me the importance of discipline, dedication, and doing things right — however long and hard the road is.

    It’s not lost on me how much of an influence my mom had on my career. For starters, she was probably one of the funniest individuals I knew. I had a relatively happy and healthy upbringing. I grew up in South Ozone Park, Queens, as the youngest of five, and I don’t recall a day that wasn’t filled with jokes and laughter. From my parents to my older siblings, someone always said something witty that had us all rolling. But often, it was my mom that provoked the big belly laughs. In many ways, my mom was the one who helped me appreciate the importance of comedic relief and how it can help us cope with some of the grim realities of life.

    I didn’t know it then, but growing up in a funny Dominican family prepared me for the life ahead of me. When you’re growing up, you just assume that’s the norm for everyone — until you go out into the world and see that it’s different for different people. But in my family, humor was everything. Everyone was funny. My uncles were funny. My aunts were funny, and my mom was always very funny.

    In fact, it wasn’t until I started pursuing a career in comedy that I realized there was this narrative within mainstream American comedy that women comics “weren’t funny.” I never heard anything like that growing up. I didn’t even know that was a thing because in my culture and in my family, everyone was funny — especially the women.

    Being the youngest, I didn’t even realize I was funny until I was in junior high school, and my friends and peers would point it out to me. As I got older, I became a fan of stand-up and realized maybe it was a thing I wanted to do. At first, I thought I would just do this as a hobby and pursue a career as a lawyer. But one thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was booking spots at comedy clubs throughout the week. There was something about providing comedic relief for individuals regardless of what they might be going through in their daily lives that really appealed to me. As cliché as it may sound, laughter really is the best medicine, and what I’d soon learn is that it’s not just medicine for those receiving it but also for the individual — in my case, as the comedian — making the jokes.

    Everything I grew up learning from my mom, from the importance of not taking shortcuts in life to the balance levity can bring, all prepared me for one of the hardest and darkest moments I would experience — losing her to cancer. My mom’s battle with cancer felt in many ways like an emotional rollercoaster of sorts. I first learned of her breast cancer diagnosis in May 2021, literally the day after Mother’s Day.

    I remember when she called me two weeks prior to tell me she had gone to the doctor, and they ran some tests. She did a mammogram, and the doctor saw something in her breasts, so he sent it out to the lab to see if it was cancer. On Mother’s Day, my mom was in Pennsylvania with my sister, and I drove out there to spend the day with her. The following day, she called to tell me that the doctor said the breast tissue came back cancerous. But initially, I wasn’t worried. My mom used to get mammograms pretty frequently. In fact, the only year she missed was 2020, when we were all on lockdown because of COVID. So, I was pretty sure that the cancer was likely in the early stages and still treatable.

    Anytime you hear about a cancer diagnosis, it’s never a good thing, but I did my research, and she was still only in stage one. Plus, I had an aunt who had previously been diagnosed with breast cancer, and they caught it and treated it during stage three. So, I stayed hopeful.

    Things took a turn for the worse when we learned in July that my mom also had stage four colon cancer that was spreading to her liver. When you learn that your mom is now struggling with a stage four cancer diagnosis that can result in death, it can be overwhelming, to say the least. But I’m a very even-keeled and practical person. I’m not quick to panic, even under hard circumstances. I quickly looked for solutions by diving into research. I read, watched videos, and asked doctors questions. I soon learned that even with stage four colon cancer, there is a window where it can be one of the few cancers at that stage that can still be curable. Once again, I remained hopeful.

    At this point, I had already been working as a professional stand-up comedian for about 10 years and had been offered to film a Comedy Central half-hour special in July 2021 while my mom was battling cancer. I was also preparing to film my HBO comedy special, “Romantic Comedy,” which was initially scheduled to be filmed in November 2021 but got pushed back to July 2022, eventually releasing on HBO in November 2022. My schedule during the daytime was just consumed with caring for my mom at the hospital, whose health was deteriorating week by week. It was just getting worse and worse, and the possibility of losing her to this disease was becoming more of a reality for me.

    My mom and I had a very playful relationship where we always joked together. She was one of the first individuals in my life to make me laugh, so I found a lot of joy in making her laugh, but as the cancer started to take over, she slowly started to lose her essence and, with it, her sense of humor. I held tight to the lessons she taught me over the years and allowed my stand-up and my ability to make others laugh serve as my medicine throughout those dark times.

    I’m very fortunate that what I do for a living provides me with so much happiness and satisfaction. Sometimes I’ll speak with friends or people I meet for the first time, and they’ll ask me what I do for fun, and I’m like, my career is my fun. I don’t go to the nightclubs. I don’t go out drinking. I don’t really go out on dates. I just really enjoy writing jokes and performing them for people. It gives me an extreme high that can probably only be compared to a drug high, with so many endorphins released.

    Watching someone you love so much get sick and ultimately pass away is literally the hardest thing I’ve ever had to experience in my life. The only thing that got me going and helped me get up from bed every morning during those dark days was my comedy. I relied on my stand-up at nighttime and preparing for those specials to bring me back up from those extreme lows. Even at the hospital, while my mom was sleeping, I would work on writing jokes and material.

    It’s impossible to laugh and make others laugh and still be sad. You just can’t feel both of those things simultaneously — they don’t go together. I believe that you can be in a pang of deep sadness or depression, and at least those few seconds or minutes that you’re laughing, you’re not sad for that time. I’ve always held comedy as the safest drug you can take. No one is ever going to tell you that you’re laughing too much.

    Before my mom got sick, my life seemed relatively easy. Growing up, I had a great childhood and a great family dynamic. So much so, I was reserved about the idea that maybe my life would always be great. Reality came knocking hard on my door when my mom got sick. It helped me realize that no one is immune to the trials and tribulations that come with life. Hardships are unavoidable. Comedy got me through that and carried me after her passing in October 2021. Even at her funeral, I experienced comedic relief. There were plenty of tears but also a lot of laughter. Humor just has a way of creeping in. You can’t keep it out. You can try as hard as you can — but sometimes, fighting off the laughs is impossible.

    Everyone has their shit that’s coming. That’s just part of being human. Nothing is as bad as you think it is — time heals everything. And nothing is as good as you think, either. Even now, having an HBO special, constantly on the road doing shows, and currently working on my new hour show, I still have my down days where I don’t feel particularly proud of where I’m at as a stand-up comedian. Maybe it’s just part of what comes with being an artist.

    But the second I hit the stage and hear the audience’s laughter, I’m automatically rejuvenated. Comedy keeps me grounded and pushes me forward in this life, regardless of the curve balls thrown my way. I don’t know how I’d be doing if I didn’t have this comedic outlet.

    — As told to Johanna Ferreira

    Johanna Ferreira is the content director for POPSUGAR Juntos. With more than 10 years of experience, Johanna focuses on how intersectional identities are a central part of Latine culture. Previously, she spent close to three years as the deputy editor at HipLatina, and she has freelanced for numerous outlets including Refinery29, O Magazine, Allure, InStyle, and Well+Good. She has also moderated and spoken on numerous panels on Latine identity.

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  • Nicki Nicole Says Rap Music Helped Her Get Out of Her Shell

    Nicki Nicole Says Rap Music Helped Her Get Out of Her Shell

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    It’s a drizzly Thursday afternoon in New York City, and Nicki Nicole has spent most of her day answering back-to-back interview questions from journalists. For someone who just concluded a tour between Latin America and Europe, not to mention nine sold-out shows at the Movistar Arena in Buenos Aires, where more than 100,000 fans were in attendance, you’d think she was ready to slow down. But hours before our conversation, she announced that her first US headlining tour would kick off next month in Mexico City. You can see the tunnel vision in her green eyes. Her fans, who have been by her side since day one, are what motivate her to keep going.

    The 23-year-old budding singer, rapper, and songwriter has cemented a name for herself in her native country of Argentina. Nicole Cucco prides herself on never sticking to just one genre when creating music; it helped define her place as a multidimensional creative keen on bridging the gap between singing and rapping.

    With the announcement of the US leg of her tour comes new music that does just that. Her first single of the year, “Ojos Verdes,” is a cumbia ballad inspired by personal situations she’s gone through, quite possibly alluding to her recent public breakup with Peso Pluma. The lyrics translate to: “But I brought out the best in you / And you realized it the day I left.”

    “Since I was a young girl, I’ve listened to cumbia and know so much about it. The only other time I’ve worked on a cumbia song before was with the [band] Angeles Azules,” she says. “Now I feel comfortable and prepared to make my own song, so this is me doing it on my own.”

    Nicole has come a far way in a short amount of time. Her 2019 debut album “Recuedros,” filled with sprinkles of pop, soulful R&B, and urbano tones, includes her standout single, “Wapo Traketero,” which she performed a couple of years later on “The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon” — making her the first Argentine artist to ever perform on the late-night show.

    Meanwhile, her 2021 sophomore studio album, “Parte de Mí,” plays around with reggaeton, hip-hop, and upbeat pop sounds, along with heavy collaborations from acts like Rauw Alejandro, Mora, and Mon Lafarte, just to name a few. “ALMA,” a self-exploration album that ties reggaeton, Latin R&B, and dark ballads all together, was nominated for “Best Urban Album” at the 2023 Latin Grammys.

    “The truth is, every album and every song I put out has really helped me to evolve my sound,” she says. “If you listen to my first and third albums, you can see the growth not only vocally but down to the overall concepts, even the way I express myself. I love when people can notice that evolution in my music.”

    Her fourth studio album is still a work in progress, but Nicole notes that the project’s overall concept is finished. “I don’t want to limit myself or rush the album. I’m always learning something new. Just being here in New York for a week, I made some incredible songs,” she says. “For this next project, when it comes to structure and melodies, there will be a lot of hip-hop, R&B, and rap — that will be the focus. Musically, though, aside from my next project, there will be many surprises that will come about this year.”

    Growing up, Nicole’s musical influences varied. She grew up listening to tango, cumbia, rock, and various genres. “Amy Winehouse, Christina Aguilera, Kendrick Lamar are some of the artists who have influenced my music. I’ve never worked on rock music as a solo artist, but that’s something I plan to explore as well,” she says.

    Nicole’s love for hip-hop began when she was 15, around the time she started attending freestyle battle competitions. She remembers being intrigued by “The Get Down,” the Netflix series that centers on the birth and rise of hip-hop in New York City, and wanting to learn more about the genre’s origins.

    “Before watching [the series], I knew somewhat of the history of hip-hop, but as I continued watching I wanted to learn more about this world, it really caught my attention,” Nicole says. “I started to listen to more rap music; I fell in love with it all. I was sad that there was only one season of the show.”

    At 17, a younger Nicki Nicole was joining in on freestyle competitions, which helped shape her wordplay today. Her favorite past and present rappers include Nuyorican rapper Hurricane G, Lauryn Hill, Ivy Queen, Nathy Peluso, and her sister, Sofía Gabanna. The rise of hip-hop culture in Argentina isn’t new; it’s been a movement for some time now. Nicole is grateful for El Quinto Escalón, dubbed Argentina’s most prominent rap competition, which was held from 2012 to 2017 in Buenos Aires. Duki, Paolo Londra, Milo J, and many others — each with their own style and essence — have all participated in the competition and are key players in the Argentine hip-hop scene today.

    As a white Argentine woman, Nicole understands that she occupies a space created and originated by Black folks — hip-hop is Black history. It was never hers to begin with, so as an outsider, it’s imperative for her to navigate it thoughtfully and avoid any appropriation of the culture.

    “This didn’t start out as my fight, and it’s easy for anyone to co-opt a space that they didn’t begin in, but I’ll never take ownership of a space I’m a guest in,” she says. “To know the origins of hip-hop is important, bringing visibility to things that went on in the culture in the past, and so many incredible rappers that make up these spaces, appropriating the space is something I don’t ever plan to do.”

    She says she also owes hip-hop and rap culture for helping her get out of her shell and shaping her ability to freestyle.

    “I feel like hip-hop, but mostly rap, taught me how to express myself when freestyling. Not just musically, but also it taught me how to get out of my shell because I used to be really shy,” she shares. “Everything I didn’t have the [courage] to say in person, I would say it in a freestyle, in a studio, in a battle, and I learned to express myself this way. And through freestyling, I learned how to socialize, and it also served me in my personal life in how to speak to people.”

    With so much music and talent coming out of Argentina — Cazzu, Emilia, Tiago PZK, Duki, Maria Becerra, and so many more — Nicki Nicole is proud of the greatness coming from her country.

    “I know that every single Argentine artist that is putting in the work right now really deserves all of the recognition,” she says. “I know a lot of them personally, so it makes me happy because I know all of the work and effort that goes behind it all, and I know that they do all of this because they dreamt it. It’s an honor to know them.”

    As Nicki Nicole prepares for her tour and plans her world domination, she is unphased by any outside noise — anything that comes between her work. Nothing can stop her, unless it’s an opportunity to get in the studio with the legendary Tego Calderon or electropop band Miranda, which she hopes will happen one day. What’s keeping her grounded is her family and friends, and enjoying what she does.

    “I’m really achieving everything I ever dreamed of, and that’s what keeps me going,” she says. “To be able to support my parents, to be able to spend time with the people I love, that’s the most important thing to me in this world of music.”

    Brenda Barrientos is a Peruvian American journalist and social strategist with more than seven years of experience. In addition to her work in social media, Brenda writes about music and culture, with a particular focus on Latine creators. In addition to PS, her writing has been published by Billboard, Byrdie, People en Español, Refinery29, Rolling Stone, and more.

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  • Revisiting Jennifer Lopez’s 2011 Album “Love?” and What It Signifies Today

    Revisiting Jennifer Lopez’s 2011 Album “Love?” and What It Signifies Today

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    As the anniversary of Jennifer Lopez’s sixth studio album “Love?” approaches, it’s a fitting time to reflect on this album’s significance within J Lo’s career, its impact on fans, and its continued relevance in light of her recent endeavors.

    Released on April 29, 2011, “Love?” came at a time when Lopez was already a multifaceted force in entertainment. Music, film, and fashion—she’d conquered them all. Yet, “Love?” transcended mere career markers. It delved into love, a theme central to Lopez’s personal narrative.

    This wasn’t just an album; it was a declaration. Through “Love?” Lopez explored her own quest for love and fulfillment. The title track, “(What Is) LOVE?” beautifully captures this yearning. Lopez laid bare her vulnerabilities through her music, creating an emotional connection with her audience. Take the poignant question — “Is this just a dream / Is this what it seems?” — which echoes a longing for validation, her desire to be someone’s girlfriend, and the fulfillment of romantic love.

    Fast forward to 2024. Lopez’s recent projects, including her latest album and musical film by the same name, “This Is Me… Now,” and the documentary “The Greatest Love Story Never Told,” were released on Amazon in March and offer a deeper look into her relationship with self-worth, love, and her ex-fiance turned husband, Ben Affleck.

    The documentary sheds light on the last two decades of Lopez’s personal life, including her struggles with self-love and the pressures of fame. Although the documentary has been arguably overshadowed by a viral clip where she references being from the Bronx, Lopez is still very raw about her emotions throughout the doc. She shares why she had been constantly searching for love and highlights her self-love journey. She also admits that her back-to-back marriages and relationships resulted from not being in a good place with herself.

    Similarly, her musical film underscores her journey toward self-acceptance and empowerment. In these works, Lopez confronts the need for validation head-on, emphasizing the importance of self-love and resilience.

    While “Love?” may not be Lopez’s biggest commercial success, its strength lies in its raw honesty. The album humanizes her, connecting listeners with her experiences and emotions. Debuting at number five on the US Billboard 200 chart, it holds immense significance in J Lo’s journey of love, self-love, and healing for a few key reasons. Produced while she was pregnant with her twins Emme and Max, “Love?” marked a period of introspection for Lopez and served as a platform for her to shed her usual glamorous image and expose her vulnerabilities.

    “Love?” explored Lopez’s own needs and desires but marked a crucial step in her journey towards self-love and understanding. She seemed to prioritize honesty over mainstream appeal, baring her insecurities and desires for love. The themes Lopez explored in “Love?” laid the groundwork for her recent documentary and self-love music video/album, echoing the messages of self-acceptance and resilience first seeded in this album.

    In many ways, the album served as a turning point for Lopez, allowing her to explore her inner world and pave the way for her continued growth and self-discovery. Despite all of Lopez’s accolades throughout her career, some still question her talents, as she openly shared in her 2022 documentary “Halftime.” Lopez’s achievements speak volumes. Her multifaceted success includes her influence on the Latine community, her role as a businesswoman, and her contributions to pop culture through film, music, fashion, and beauty.

    Ultimately, “Love?” is a testament to Lopez’s authenticity and resilience as an artist. It reminds us that even the most celebrated figures crave love and acceptance. As we celebrate the album’s anniversary, let’s appreciate its honesty, acknowledge its impact, and recognize J Lo’s continued significance as an artist and cultural icon.

    Kimmy Dole is a contributor for PS Juntos known for her sharp insights and compelling storytelling. An entertainment enthusiast, Kimmy immerses herself in the glitz of the industry, delivering a captivating blend of celebrity interviews, insights from industry experts, and the latest pop culture trends. Her work offers readers a genuine and relatable perspective, especially when exploring the complexities of relationships.

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  • Thalia’s “A Mucha Honra” Album Is a Love Letter to Música Mexicana

    Thalia’s “A Mucha Honra” Album Is a Love Letter to Música Mexicana

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    Throughout her illustrious career, Thalia has proudly represented Mexican culture through her music, iconic looks, and unforgettable performances. With música Mexicana going global, the Mexican pop icon is tapping into the sounds of her roots through her new album “A Mucha Honra,” where she pays homage to the music of her country while embracing the new wave of corridos.

    “This album is called ‘A Mucha Honra’ because, as a Mexican, it makes me so excited to sing this music,” she tells PS. “It’s in my DNA. I feel like with everything happening now with our music on a global level, it’s made us so proud. This is a celebration of our music and Mexican culture.”

    Thalia’s career spans five decades since she entered the scene in the ’80s as a member of the Mexican children’s group Timbiriche. In the ’90s, she launched her solo career, which took her worldwide, transforming her into a global artist. Among the many genres she’s explored as a top Latina pop star, Mexican rhythms like mariachi and ranchera have always been present in her biggest hits like the empowering “Piel Morena” or the sultry “Amor a la Mexicana.” Thalia credits her longevity to always changing with the times.

    “Follow your pulse,” she says. “Follow your intuition, which will soon guide you in learning different things about yourself. Sing different styles of music. Embrace things that will help you refresh your style and help you grow, change, and evolve. You have to dare yourself to take chances. I believe that’s always been a principle of my career.”

    “A Mucha Honra” isn’t Thalia’s first rodeo in the música Mexicana realm. In addition to her aforementioned hits, she also released a banda music album in 2001. “Thalia Con Banda: Grandes Éxitos” included her classics like “Arrasando,” “Entre el Mar y una Estrella,” and “María la del Barrio,” the theme song to one of her famous telenovelas, which was rerecorded in the banda style. Thalia shakes off the criticisms of people who overlook her past in the música Mexicana genre.

    “In my music, I’ve always sung with Mexican arrangements in different albums throughout my career,” she says. “It’s something that’s always been constant within my discography. I have a wonderful fan base. My Thali-familia are incredible for remembering things that we’ve done together. That’s beautiful because they have a strong connection with me. This isn’t something that I’m doing out of nowhere. I’ve always done it.”

    What is different about Thalia’s latest exploration of música Mexicana is that she’s taking on contemporary sounds. What has helped the genre go global is the rise of corridos tumbados, or the trap-infused take on the traditional Mexican corrido and sierreño. Corridos tumbados were first popularized in 2019 by Mexican singer Natanael Cano and his LA-based label Rancho Humilde. More Gen Z artists like his labelmates Junior H and Fuerza Regida and Mexican superstar Peso Pluma have pushed corridos tumbados to the top of the charts. Sierreño has also made waves thanks to the success of the Mexican American group Eslabon Armado. For “A Mucha Honra,” Thalia tapped Rancho Humilde founder Jimmy Humilde and Edgar Rodríguez, who has produced hits for this new generation of artists. She seamlessly blends sierreño and pop in the heartbreaking ballad “Bebé, Perdón.”

    “[Edgar] has the Yellow Room [recording studio] where all the música Mexicana stars have recorded,” she says. “This album was created at the center of the Mexican movement that’s taking over. It has that strong and intense essence of that movement and captures what Jimmy and Edgar do best. The songs and arrangements are spectacular.”

    Men largely dominate the música Mexicana scene. Though there have been patronas in the past, like the late Selena Quintanilla and Jenni Rivera, young women are still trying to break through in this latest movement. Thalia uses her platform to highlight those women in the genre, like Estilo Sin Limite’s Dania Valenzuela and Ángela Aguilar, the daughter of música Mexicana icon Pepe Aguilar. Thalia and Valenzuela tell their exes to get lost in the kiss-off corrido “Choro,” and Aguilar later joins her for the tequila-kissed love song “Troca.”

    “I love to be able to bring girl power to música Mexicana,” she says. “It’s beautiful to plant this seed and open that door so that more women can exist in this genre.”

    Música Mexicana also has a history of excluding the LGBTQ+ community, who make up a large part of Thalia’s fan base. When I tell her that queer fans are ready to put on their cowboy boots and sombreros to enjoy this album, she says with a laugh, “I love that!” She adds, “The message in my music has always been about love. It’s about unity. That’s what I’ve always wanted to share. It’s a celebration of life. If I can unite hearts through my music, that is the most beautiful gift to me as a singer and artist.”

    Thalia has continued to thrive over the years, thanks to her willingness to embrace different genres. She blended reggaeton and pop in the global hits “No Me Acuerdo” with Natti Natasha and “Desde Esa Noche” featuring Maluma, both of which have over a billion views on YouTube. She also looks to the past for inspiration, such as with her last album, “Thalia’s Mixtape,” where she revisited rock en español with the legends of that era. Now Thalia is adding corridos and sierreño to her música Mexicana palette.

    A surprise that all Thalia fans will love on “A Mucha Honra” is her new version of “Amor a la Mexicana.” She rerecorded the 1997 hit with a fiery corrido arrangement. Like throughout most of the album, Thalia digs deep to show off a more husky and soulful side to her voice. Nearly 30 years later, she still knows how to fiercely serve up love — Mexican style.

    “What more I could do to round out this full-circle moment was sing a song that’s a part of my stamp on music,” she says. “It’s what I’ve always been singing for — Mexico. It’s logical. When I finished recording that new version, I said, ‘Wow! That’s really me now.’”

    Lucas Villa is a Mexican American music journalist who covers pop and Latin music. Over 11 years, he has interviewed pop queens and Latin music superstars for places like PS, Allure, Elle, Rolling Stone, Billboard, MTV News, Paper, W Magazine, Vibe, and LGBTQ Nation.

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  • Julio Torres’s “Problemista” Shows the US Immigration System Is a Relentless Maze

    Julio Torres’s “Problemista” Shows the US Immigration System Is a Relentless Maze

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    We live in a society that insists if you work hard, you can probably achieve the goals you’ve set for yourself. But “Problemista,” the first feature film by writer and comedian Julio Torres, which is now in theaters worldwide, poses the question: is working hard always enough? Loosely based off of Torres’s own immigration experience, the film follows Alejandro, an aspiring toy designer from El Salvador struggling to make his dream a reality in New York City who loses his job and desperately needs to secure a sponsor to stay in the States. Even after taking a freelance assistant gig with an erratic art critic named Elizabeth (played by Tilda Swinton), Alejandro (played by Torres) finds himself in one of the most relentless and nightmarish mazes of American bureaucracy — the US immigration system.

    “I think that I’ve always been fascinated with how soulless and how isolating bureaucracy can be, and I think different people experience that differently,” Torres tells PS. “This is the way in which I experienced it. But the term ‘American dream’ wasn’t really a term I was thinking about when writing this. I just wrote something that I felt was true and that felt honest — emotionally honest.”

    Before his days writing “Saturday Night Live” skits, landing his first HBO standup comedy special “My Favorite Shapes,” and writing and starring in HBO’s “Los Espookys,” Torres, like his film’s protagonist, went through his own nightmarish immigration journey. He left his native country of El Salvador and moved to New York to pursue his dreams of being a filmmaker and enrolled in The New School, where he studied film writing. As an international student with no work visa, Torres relied on on-campus jobs or occasional, low-paying odd jobs he’d find on Craig’s List. The limitations that came with what he often refers to as the “invisible bureaucracy guardrails within the US immigration system” left him feeling hopeless and isolated.

    But Torres wants to make something clear to viewers — he didn’t create this film to fill a diversity quota or even with the intention of creating a film that represented the experience of a Central American immigrant (a narrative we don’t often, if ever, see). He created this film to simply mirror his own experiences.

    “It’s sort of what happens when different kinds of people get to make movies; you get to hear all these different kinds of stories,” he says. “It’s not like I set out and thought about, ‘What’s a list of interesting topics?’ This is just something very close to me, and I really honestly was not thinking about how universal or relatable or not relatable the movie would be. I just made it and felt it could go either way. But people seem to be connecting with it.”

    It’s a similar approach many other Latine actors, writers, and storytellers have been trying to take. They don’t want to take on roles or create films for the sake of representation. Writing films or shows or taking on roles marketed as “Latine” projects often comes with the pressure to represent an entire community and the risk of coming off as inauthentic. These days, Latine actors and storytellers are more interested in creating art that mirrors or speaks to their real-life experiences, with the hope that it resonates with audiences — regardless of their background.

    “Not just diversity like cosmetically — not just like for the poster,” Torres says. “Just diversity of thought. Diversity of opinion. Diversity of experience. Diversity of styles, too, because movies for the longest time or sometimes still feel like they’re all the same. And it’s because we’re abiding by the same rules. But different parts of the world tell stories in different ways and so I’ve actually been reflecting a lot about that . . . I feel like this movie is so full of stuff and it’s maybe because that’s a Latin American/Central American sensibility.”

    As someone who has experienced what it means to work hard and still hit a wall because of a broken system, Torres deeply relates to and empathizes with the frustration that comes with being an immigrant living in the States. If audiences take anything away from the film, he hopes it encourages both curiosity and empathy for folks in similar situations to Alejandro.

    “Sometimes I feel like I made the movie, and now people should open it like a little treasure chest and take whatever they like. And if they don’t like anything, they can go ahead and close the treasure chest,” he says. “But if I can be a drop in the bucket of just advocating for empathy and encouraging people to look at those around them and try to think about their perspective — not only would they gain some context in terms of where other people are coming from, but it would help make life feel a little less lonely.”

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    Johanna Ferreira

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  • Chuwi Is the Voice of a New Puerto Rican Generation

    Chuwi Is the Voice of a New Puerto Rican Generation

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    With a bassy voice and over a minimalist syncopated beat, Wilfredo “Willy” Aldarondo sings of lament. “The love of my life left for New York / my mom followed my aunt, to Florida they went/packing my bags, it’s my turn now / the plane landed, and no one clapped.”

    These are the opening lines of “Tierra,” the leading single off the Puerto Rican band Chuwi’s newest EP of the same title. Founded in 2020 in the northwestern coastal town of Isabela, Chuwi is composed of Willy, his sister Lorén Aldarondo, his brother Wester Aldarondo, and friend Adrián López. Describing the band’s sound is a challenge in and of itself. Are they Latin jazz, indie rock, urbano, tropical fusion, or something else altogether? The answer to all of those questions is “yes.”

    Over the past two years, the quartet’s popularity has grown among listeners and industry peers. Part of that reason is that they’ve seemingly filled an all-too-common role in Latin American music: a band whose music echoes the activist sentiment of its generation.

    “Tierra,” the song, makes unmistakable allusions to one of Puerto Rico’s most contemporary anxieties. In 2019, the Puerto Rican legislature passed Act 60, which codified generous tax breaks for foreign investors who move to the archipelago and establish themselves as residents.

    The result has led to what critics call a nationwide gentrification effort that has priced locals out of their own neighborhoods. Swaths of real estate have been bought and turned into short-term rental spaces, which has, in turn, provoked skyrocketing housing costs; meanwhile, benefits that proponents of the act promised have not come to fruition. Between this, 2017’s disastrous Hurricane María, and the one-two punch of earthquakes and a pandemic in 2020, the population decline has been swift and severe, causing even more dire effects.

    Chuwi’s lyrics resonate with Puerto Ricans who are dismayed by what is happening around them. Puerto Rico has a robust history of music groups wearing their political leanings on their sleeves. Groups like Fiel a La Vega, Cultura Profética, and El Hijo de Borikén followed the standard set by Argentina’s rock nacional and Chicano folk music, among other influences. Even reggaetón became known as “perreo combativo” during the 2019 protests on the island that forced then-governor Ricardo Rosselló to resign.

    But Chuwi is frank about how, despite appearances, they don’t consciously identify as an activist band, even if their songs tend to strike close to the zeitgeist of political talk on the island. Instead, the band sees themselves more as artists putting their emotions on the page rather than preaching a particular ideology. “We write about what weighs on us, and we’re using [music] as an outlet,” Willy says. “It’s how we started. We just wanted a way to express ourselves about the things that make us uncomfortable or the things we love.”

    Another track on the EP, the merengue-tinged “Mundi,” puts the listener in the tanned hide of the real Mundi. This African savannah elephant spent 35 years alone at the Dr. Juan A. Rivero Zoo of Puerto Rico, less than an hour away from Isabela in nearby Mayagüez. The elephant’s predicament became a cause célèbre amongst local animal rights activists, and Mundi was eventually relocated in 2023 to an elephant sanctuary in Georgia.

    For Chuwi, the song came to be because of their proximity to the zoo, which they recall visiting during field trips as youngsters. It also serves as a homage to a song their mother would often play: “Laika” by the Spanish ’80s pop band Mecano, about the Soviet space dog sent on a doomed solo mission to outer space in 1957.

    “We wanted the song to be factual, so we actually investigated [Mundi’s backstory] but at the same time, made it catchy, and if people pay attention to the lyrics, then they’ll also be emotionally devastated,” laughs Lorén, who is also the band’s regular lead singer.

    One of their most impressive songs is “Guerra,” a palo Dominicano that channels frenzied Afro-Caribbean rhythms, creating an auditory sensory experience that mimics the enveloping chaos of its namesake (“guerra” means “war”). While war has indeed been at the forefront of the news for the past seven months, this is another instance where their muse was working subconsciously.

    “We live in this world, we’re exposed to these things, we’re passionate about certain things in our personal lives, so musically [it bleeds in],” Lorén explains.

    Their eclectic style and earnestness have drawn the attention of larger acts. Grammy-winning producer Eduardo Cabra of the iconoclastic rap duo Calle 13 and artists like Buscabulla (“We call them mom and dad,” says Lorén) have advised them in their still nascent stage as a young band, for example.

    Seeing them live reveals another reason Chuwi has connected so much with audiences. Lorén’s voice mesmerizes as she croons and wails with honeyed tones, and Adrián’s percussion easily gets people’s blood pumping and emotions rising. In Lorén’s case, she digs into old teachings from her days singing in church to fully involve listeners with the show she and her bandmates put on.

    “I rely a lot on emotion in my performances. If I don’t feel it, the audience won’t feel it. In church, they taught us that when you sing something, you’re singing to God, and if people see your genuineness, then you’ll inspire them to sing to God, too,” she says. “If you’re vulnerable, they’ll be vulnerable as well. If I’m not authentic, then how can I expect the crowd to connect with the music we’re creating?”

    And while they hope their next projects, including a debut LP they’re already hard at work on, show off more of what they’re capable of lyrically and sonically, they’re not about to shy away from speaking from the heart, even if it might tag them as resistance artists.

    “I think it means our music is reaching people. That what we feel isn’t just among us,” Wester says. “Seeing people identify with it makes us feel we’re not alone. I’m fine with being perceived that way.”

    Juan J. Arroyo is a Puerto Rican freelance music journalist. Since 2018, he’s written for PS, Remezcla, Rolling Stone, and Pitchfork. His focus is on expanding the canvas of Latin stories and making Latin culture — especially Caribbean Latin culture — more visible in the mainstream.

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  • Camila Mendes on Why We Need More Latine Representation in Rom-Coms

    Camila Mendes on Why We Need More Latine Representation in Rom-Coms

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    A simple Google search of “the best rom-coms of all time” will take you down a nostalgic hole of ’90s and early-’00s movies like “10 Things I Hate About You,” “While You Were Sleeping,” and “P.S. I Love You.” These classics, among many others, have shaped how we view love on screen. But through these films, we’ve learned what love looks like through white protagonists; many BIPOC communities have failed to see themselves reflected. While we saw Latine actresses like Salma Hayek, Jennifer Lopez, and Christina Milian make their mark early on in romantic comedy movies (and through the years we’ve seen other Latinas sporadically take the lead, like Gina Rodriguez in “Someone Great”), for years the entertainment industry has undervalued and underrepresented Latine communities on screen and behind the camera.

    Camila Mendes is shifting that narrative. You likely recognize her from rom-coms like “Palm Springs,” “The Perfect Date,” and “The New Romantic” — and she’s starring in and serving as an an executive producer for the new rom-com film “Música,” which also stars and is directed by her boyfriend, Rudy Mancuso.

    “As much as we love rom-coms from the ’90s and early 2000s, things have changed, and that doesn’t mean that you have to like overtly make like a woke rom-com, but I think it’s more about just finding ways to make them more interesting and grounded to the experience of finding love today,” she says.

    Indeed, “Música” broadens what it means to be Latine on screen — with a much-needed depiction of the Brazilian American experience specifically. The film follows Mancuso’s character, also named Rudy, as he navigates the trials and tribulations of family life, romance, and career decisions — all while living with rhythmic synesthesia. This rare neurological condition causes one to experience more than one sense simultaneously.

    The film is based on Mancuso’s reality, where he turns to music as the solution to everything. It charts his own upbringing, and uses the Ironbound neighborhood of Newark, NJ, which is home to many Brazilians, as a backdrop.

    Mendes stars as Isabella, Rudy’s love interest. What makes her role in “Música” so special is the authenticity of her own cultural background as a Brazilian American. It’s also her first time taking on a role that allowed her to draw on her own heritage directly, and she even gets to speak Portuguese, in which she’s fluent.

    “It was an opportunity I had been waiting for my entire career, and I honestly wasn’t sure if I ever was going to get that opportunity,” Mendes says. “I thought I was going to have to create it myself. I had plans to [create something myself], but this project was ahead of the curve, and I was like, ‘What a dream come true to finally, you know, play my authentic culture instead of having to pretend to be a different [ethnicity other than my own].’”

    Mendes emphasizes the need to open up the way Latines are represented in these films, as well as the importance of centering Latines of all different backgrounds.

    “We’ve seen so many rom-coms and we’ve seen a lot of played-out scenarios, and I think it’s just nice to get a fresh take and bring in a cultural element that normally you don’t see in those rom-coms,” she says.

    “We’ve seen so many rom-coms and we’ve seen a lot of played-out scenarios, and I think it’s just nice to get a fresh take and bring in a cultural element that normally you don’t see in those rom-coms.”

    It’s clear that Hollywood continues to miss out on culturally specific elements when telling our stories. But true representation is more than just having us in these rooms; it’s about making sure the characters and scripts that are green-lit capture the nuances that truly make our communities what they are.

    “I just know that I have a responsibility to my culture that I gladly take, and I put it on myself because there aren’t many of us in Hollywood to tell that story that have the ability to get projects made,” Mendes says of her responsibility to amplify broader narratives of Brazilian culture on screen. “I’m going to use my power to that advantage and help get the industry to a place where this can be a more regular occurrence.”

    As she solidifies her place as a Brazilian American rom-com sensation, Mendes acknowledges there is still room for evolution when it comes to these films. And she wants to see Hollywood subvert the genre in new ways that are compelling.

    Still, Mendes can appreciate the legacy of rom-com classics. She can narrow her favorites down to two: “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days” and “Along Came Polly.” She feels the latter doesn’t get the credit it deserves. As for her all-time go-to Jennifer Lopez rom-com, the Latina OG of the films, she goes with 2001’s iconic “The Wedding Planner.”

    Coming off the heels of the release of “Música,” Mendes hasn’t found time yet to slow down. But running around with a packed schedule is what keeps her motivated.

    “Sometimes it’s a good thing, you know, when you’re staying busy through something like this, it keeps you in the moment. I think it’s easy to get carried away focusing on what people are saying and how they’re responding,” she says. “Even though, luckily for us, it’s all very positive — but there’s something really nice about just pushing through and carrying on with your life because there’s still more to do.”

    There is always something to do for Mendes; her latest work has included a partnership with the aperitivo beverage Aperol at Coachella. She says it was very special to bring to life.

    “Aperol spritz is a drink that my best friend and I always drank together. When [she and I] were roommates, we had a summer ritual where I would go grab an orange from the orange tree [in my backyard] and she would make us some Aperol spritzes,” she shares. “I associate the drink with that experience of spending quality time with my best friend.”

    Even though her best friend couldn’t attend Coachella with her this year, Mendes says she was there in spirit. Mendes, for her part, does plan to take a moment to slow down and take the success of “Música” in. And as the Latine community’s new rom-com queen, it seems fitting that she’s also able to celebrate the film’s success with her onscreen and real-life love interest, Mancuso.

    Brenda Barrientos is a Peruvian American journalist and social strategist with more than seven years of experience. In addition to her work in social media, Brenda writes about music and culture, with a particular focus on Latine creators. In addition to PS, her writing has been published by Billboard, Byrdie, People en Español, Refinery29, Rolling Stone, and more.

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  • Saraciea Fennell: “The Black Girl Survives in This One” Is the Representation I Didn’t See in Horror Books

    Saraciea Fennell: “The Black Girl Survives in This One” Is the Representation I Didn’t See in Horror Books

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    I’ve always been obsessed with horror. From childhood, when I bunked with my siblings and primas, we told each other spooky stories in the middle of the night to rock ourselves to sleep. Every evening we would take turns telling stories, and the stories seemed to get scarier and scarier. When it was my night to tell a story to the group, I knew I had to bring the best jump scares. I’d find myself spinning stories until my sisters’ and primas’ bodies would tense up in fear. I knew then that horror stories were something I could weave. There’s something about having fear knotted up in your belly; it’s like riding a roller coaster and waiting for the thrill of the drop.

    Horror has always been a part of my life, so it felt natural for me to work on a book like “The Black Girl Survives in This One.” My two brothers were obsessed with the genre and I was one of the youngest siblings, so it mostly fell on them to babysit me. As with most older siblings, my brothers lived to tease me. Everything was a joke or a moment to terrify. So it was natural for them to invite me to movie nights where we would watch films like “Candyman” (1992) featuring Tony Todd; “Child’s Play” (1988), where a white man uses voodoo to transfer his soul to a doll to escape the police; “Night of the Living Dead” (1968), directed by Bronx native George A. Romero; and “A Nightmare on Elm Street” (1984). While these movies scared the crap out of me, I found myself facing my fears head-on, to not only prove to my brothers that I could handle whatever they threw at me but to prove to myself that I could stare in the face of danger and survive.

    Once I overcame my fears, I instantly started to love the gore — the jump scares were my favorite too. I became obsessed with how the actors, the movie scores, and everything played into the fear of everything. Horror is a genre where we can explore the things that freak us out, that don’t make sense, and that play on our fears. I’ve always found courage in watching these movies, and when I discovered slashers and the “final girl,” I longed to be one.

    “The Black Girl Survives in This One” is an anthology collection of short horror stories, from ghost stories to zombie stories, from writers like Monica Brashears, Vincent Tirado, Zakiya Dalila Harris, Maika and Maritza Moulite, and others. It also includes a foreword written by the horror luminary Tananarive Due. There’s something for everyone in this book, and at the end, the main character — a Black girl — survives the horrors of the day. The bigger message we wanted to convey to readers, especially Black girls, is that despite the serious obstacles you may face in this life, you are strong enough to endure, survive, and still come out on top. We are not our fears, no matter how society might try to tell us otherwise.

    While I love the horror genre, it has not been kind or inclusionary for Black, Indigenous, Latine, and other people of color. So I was inspired to write myself into the genre, to pen a story that featured a Black Latina who is fierce and equally loves the horror genre. In my short story, “Cemetery Dance Party,” I pay homage to all of the folks who sparked my love for horror, from Michael Jackson’s famous hit song and music video “Thriller” to Romero’s “Night of the Living Dead.” It was the first movie where I saw a Black person survive the horror of the undead, only to be shot by a white person at the end. That scene stayed with me. It’s haunting to believe that as a Black person, you could escape zombies, but you can’t escape white supremacy.

    My first book, “Wild Tongues Can’t Be Tamed,” was a nonfiction anthology that examined diverse aspects of Latine identity, subverting myths and stereotypes about our cultures, and a dialogue on addiction, racism, and anti-Blackness within our community. It featured essays from bestselling and award-winning writers like Elizabeth Acevedo, Ingrid Rojas Contreras, Naima Coster, Natasha Diaz, Janel Martinez, and others. I was eager to continue the identity conversation and amplify Black voices across the diaspora. So it was an easy decision for me to want to tackle horror next, which has been so exclusionary for Black folks and people of color. After having a Zoom conversation with my coeditor of the anthology, Desiree S. Evans, we decided to center Black girls and have them be the “final girl” trope we’ve always wanted to see more of in cinema and books.

    The process was pretty similar to my experience with “Wild Tongues Can’t Be Tamed,” but this time, we thought it was important to host an open call to discover new voices in horror. It was amazing to receive so many submissions; there are a lot of talented writers out there just waiting for the publishing industry to give them the opportunity to tell our stories.

    Writing and editing “The Black Girl Survives in This One” was healing for my inner teen self, who went through so much in high school; at times it felt like I wouldn’t survive the pressure of making new friends, balancing schoolwork, and prepping for college courses. Writing my short story “Cemetery Dance Party” was very nostalgic because I got to write myself into a horror comedy story I always wanted to see. The story follows Alle, an Afro Latina from the Bronx who loves track but was recently injured and is healing so she can get back on the team and bring home the win for her squad. She’s also class president and tasked with hosting the senior class party. She decides to host it at the famous Woodlawn Cemetery, and well, it’s the perfect setting for chaos to ensue among teenagers with raging hormones and alcohol. Alle and her friends go through the gauntlet during the night, but she survives at the end, and that’s all that matters.

    This is such an important read for Black women — including Latina readers — because we never get to see ourselves in genres like this. Just look at how all of the best shows that represented us were canceled, from “Lovecraft Country” to “The Horrors of Dolores Roach.” Even though those shows were badass, networks still decided that nobody could relate to Leti in “Lovecraft” and Dolores, but the twist is we did, and we wanted more. I want readers to know that they matter; they belong in horror, and “The Black Girl Survives in This One” is only the beginning of us inserting ourselves in the genre to come out on top as the heroes we deserve to be and see ourselves as!

    Saraciea J. Fennell is a Black Brooklyn-born Honduran American writer from the Bronx. She is the editor and author of the anthologies “Wild Tongues Can’t Be Tamed” and “The Black Girl Survives in This One.” Her work centers on Black and Latine identity and has appeared on PS, Remezcla, Culturess, Refinery29, and Mitú.

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