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  • Tell Me Más: Moffa Shares How Being Adopted Has Influenced His Identity and His Music

    Tell Me Más: Moffa Shares How Being Adopted Has Influenced His Identity and His Music

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    In our Q&A /feature series Tell Me Más, we ask some of our favorite Latine celebs to share some inside info about their lives and some of the ways they are prioritizing their mental health. This month, we spoke with reggaetón artist Moffa on how being adopted by his Puerto Rican parents impacted his music, identity and the way he navigates the world.

    It’s impossible to talk about rising acts of reggaetón in 2024 without mentioning Moffa. The 22-year-old Puerto Rican artist has seen his star power grow at lightspeed over the last two years. In 2022, he was one of the lucky three young acts — along with Alejo and Jotaerre — who teamed up with megastar Karol G on the hit song “Un Viaje,” where he was personally flown out to Colombia to work on the track. Since then, he’s been dropping music nonstop with bangers like “Bentley Remix,” “Sussy,” “DAMMN,” and “0 Millas,” all surpassing millions in combined streams. His versatile flow and catchy lyricism have made other artists flock to him as well, from established stars like Manuel Turizo and paopao to O.G.s like Ñengo Flow.

    On July 18th, Moffa’s debut album finally made its debut. Titled “Playground,” the project reflects his unbridled enthusiasm and curiosity. As he puts it: “Even as an adult, I still feel like a child in lots of ways,” which in part inspired the LP’s name. Not only are the feelings and experiences he explores over its tracks his own personal playground of emotions, but as an artist, so is the variety of sounds he experiments with. The recording studio, and life itself are both his playground.

    For a long time, Moffa has been a person who keeps his cards close to his chest, never delving too much into his personal life. While he’s hinted in the past at his roots, he’s never spoken out about his backstory in great detail.

    Though born and raised in Puerto Rico, he is, in fact, adopted. Moffa is the Afro-Latino son of a Brazilian mother and Dominican father. His mother tragically passed away when he was still an infant, and he and his twin sister were taken in by his Puerto Rican godparents, whom he now considers his parents in full.

    In an exclusive chat with PS, Moffa talks about what it felt like to learn he was adopted, the struggle to reconcile with family members from his biological parent’s side, if he’s ever questioned his identity, how he taps into his roots, and more.

    The following quotes have been translated, edited, and condensed for clarity.

    PS: Where were you born and raised?

    Moffa: I was born in Puerto Rico, in Bayamón. I was raised in the metro area, but I traveled a lot to Isabela and Aguada because my family was from there, from the west side [of the island.] We’d go every weekend or every other weekend, so that’s why I feel I was raised on both sides.

    PS: When did you find out you and your sister were adopted?

    Moffa: I’ve known since I was little. My biological mother passed away when I was nine months old, from cancer, and I never met my biological father. And so, once she passed, [my godparents] adopted us and became my parents.They were friends with my mom since they were kids. They were all friends together. It wasn’t something that was hidden from us, thank God. They let us know that, yeah, we’re adopted. And people would’ve asked us anyway once they saw my mom and dad because we’re not the same color at all [laughs]. It would be very hard to convince anyone they’re my biological parents.

    PS: You said you became aware you were adopted from an early age. How would you describe the way you and your sister were raised by your parents; did they make sure this knowledge never weighed on you or affected you?

    Moffa: I think they were always transparent and never hid anything from us, at all. They were always straightforward about our background and history — our roots. And if we ever wanted to travel to those places and get to know them, they would support us and in fact encourage us to explore all the corners and spaces of our family that we didn’t know.

    PS: I know children can be cruel; were you ever bullied as a child because you looked different from your parents? How did you manage that, if so?

    Moffa: I wasn’t bullied, actually. Here in Puerto Rico, I feel like that kind of discrimination exists, but it’s not as strong these days. I think we should all be aware we’re all the same. I’m not and never will be different just because I’m adopted or have a different family.

    PS: Do you know anything about your biological parent’s family now? Have you had any contact or interaction with them? If so, how does it make you feel?

    Moffa: To this day, my family from Brazil has always kept an eye on me. They write to me over DMs sometimes, but it’s hard to communicate because I don’t speak [Portuguese,] so I’m using [translator apps] to write them back.

    I haven’t mentioned this publicly before, but a few days ago, my biological father actually ‘liked’ one of my social media posts. And it was, like, “Oh shit” because I’ve never met him. […] I’ve heard I might have seven siblings on my father’s side. It’s a difficult situation. You don’t want to look down on that person because you [exist] because of them. But since there’s no relationship there — no affection, no love — then you don’t know how to react or what to do. [They say] “We’re here if you need anything,” but the feeling isn’t there. It’s strange.

    PS: Do you have any curiosity about meeting them or any of your extended family members from that side?

    Moffa: Ehhh… for me, you’re really focused on your own things, y’know? You discover all this stuff, which thankfully was revealed to me when I was much younger. But I haven’t had that curiosity because you sort of feel like you’re cheating on your present family — people who dedicated their lives to me, who gave me a roof over my head. I don’t have a problem meeting [them,] that would be actually cool, but my family also deserves some respect.

    PS: When it comes to your identity, what kind of conversations have you had with other people or with yourself, for that matter? Now that you’re older, is that something you’ve grappled with?

    Moffa: Unfortunately, I don’t know a lot about Brazilian culture. I do know a bit about the history, but I’ve never visited to get to know the country fully. Neither the Dominican Republic nor Brazil. But to me, I am Puerto Rican, just with Brazilian and Dominican blood. I have a ton of family in Brazil, but I’m clear about my identity.

    PS: The last few years have heated up the conversation around cultural appropriation, even amongst Hispanics and Latinos, and whether they can make songs in genres that are historically and culturally associated with specific countries. You’re in a unique spot where you kind of have a hall pass for multiple genres. Have you ever considered doing a Brazilian funk or Dominican dembow?

    Moffa: Last year, I came out with my first Brazilian funk, produced by Young Martino and Hokage. It’s called “TOKO,” and I remember thinking exactly that. Like, “Can I really do this? Am I allowed?” I never felt like, “Oh, this is my birthright, and I must do it,” y’know? I wanted to experiment with it, and I love that sound. I can’t wait to go to one of their carnivals. I think that’s one of my biggest goals, to be able to go to a carnival in Brazil. It’s not just one of Brazil’s most popular events, but it’s famous worldwide, too.

    PS: Since your parents knew your mother for so long, I’m sure they’ve talked to you about her. Is there anything about her personality you think you have? Have you thought about how your life might have been different if she’d raised you?

    Moffa: From what I’ve been told, if she were still here, I probably wouldn’t [have the success] I have now in music. Both because of resources available [to her,] but also her character. I probably wouldn’t be in music. I probably would have been raised to be more studious and work in something more “proper” like a doctor or engineer. I’m sure I could’ve followed my dreams, but I think it would’ve been more difficult.
    And also, she looked way more like my sister, [laughs]

    PS: There still seems to be a stigma or shock when people find out a person is adopted, in part because of this dated societal idea that “ideal” families conceive their children. I don’t agree with that; in my own case, my dad wasn’t my biological father, but he was my dad all the same. What would you tell people who find out they’re adopted — or anyone who, for any reason, feels like an “other” in their group?

    Moffa: Don’t pity yourself or feel different. You’re a normal person just like all the other people who achieved their dreams, and you can do the same thing. Sometimes, these things will come up in life, in your personal life, at work, or in conversation with people close to you, but you just have to engage with it head-on. Don’t feel bad about it. Be yourself, follow your dreams, and live your life as it’s happening. Don’t pretend it’s not real, of course, because it’s a part of you. But don’t hide it. Be proud of it, even. Don’t run from it.

    I’m happy and proud of where I came from. I don’t think being adopted puts me in a fence or anything. I’m a normal person, just like any other guy… I can do anything I want if I put my mind to it.

    PS: What have you learned about mental health that you apply today — not necessarily in regards to your identity, but even within your career? How do you manage anxiety and things of that nature? What advice have you received?

    Moffa: In this fast-moving industry, you have to stay grounded above all and be aware of your station in life. You [have to] be patient about what’s happening around you and not rush yourself. At times, I find myself asking thousands of questions in my head, but then I have to stop and center myself and my thoughts, and ease up. Sometimes, you simply have to shed tears to release all that anger or anxiety that we feel when faced with adversity in this world where there are many ups and downs. It helps to get it all out and not let emotions get the best of you.

    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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  • 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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  • Tell Me Más: Bodine Talks New Album “Quemo Lento” and Growing From Hardships

    Tell Me Más: Bodine Talks New Album “Quemo Lento” and Growing From Hardships

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    In the music video for her piano-driven interlude “Bambi,” Bodine poses in the middle of a dense forest, artistically garbed in assorted animal bones as she croons over the black and white footage with an ear-catching voice that straddles mezzo and alto ranges. The visual doubled as an announcement video for her sophomore EP, “Quemo Lento,” which dropped last month. Still, if anyone got the impression the project would hinge on somber instrumentals, her other tracks quickly proved them wrong. The follow-up singles “No Me Quiere Más Na’” and “Nalgaje” present a saucier and more liberated version of Bodine. But who is the real Bodine? Is it the contemplative, artsy soul hinted at in the first track, or the one who takes pride in homaging vedette Iris Chacón and singing catchy odes to booties? The answer is unsurprising to those who know her — she’s both.

    Born in Amsterdam, Bodine Koehler Peña and her family relocated to Puerto Rico when she was 8, and that’s where she spent her formative years. After a brief stint in a Catholic elementary school in Old San Juan, she enrolled in the Escuela Especializada en Ballet Julián E. Blanco. The institution offered an opportunity to learn both traditional courses and dance.

    “We trained from 7:30 in the morning until 11:30, and then took a shower, [ate] lunch, and had academics until 5,” she says. Bodine doesn’t hesitate to refer to herself as having been a “wild child” during her early teenage years, spurring her mother into finding another outlet for all that energy.

    “I never followed rules,” she says, slyly grinning. “And my mom was like, ‘Wow, I have to find things for her to do, to really keep her off the street.’ I was making too many friends too fast.”

    Her solution wasn’t far away: an old piano they had in the house often grabbed Bodine’s attention. “I would always sit down and play some disparates,” she laughs. Noting her interest in music, her mother got her formal piano classes at San Juan’s Department of Art and Culture. Soon after, her grandfather helped cover the costs of enrolling her at the Puerto Rico Conservatory of Music, where she eventually took courses in piano, songwriting, and opera singing.

    During this time, Bodine gained what she today calls a “survival instinct” that she’s harbored ever since. Her family relied primarily on public transportation, but the surplus of classes she was taking meant her days ended late. She and her mother would walk dimly lit streets and bridge underpasses to bus stops, often paying with coins they had scrounged up. Far from the façade of the carefree, impossibly beautiful model that came later, Bodine looks back at those days as tinged with uncertainty and worry. To hear her tell it, her ambitions were born from a desire to protect her family, whom she saw was sacrificing so much for her.

    “It was a necessity. The way it came to me, it was not even me really looking for it,” Bodine says. “I was just like, ‘I have to take care of my mom.’”

    Her most significant break came at the young age of 13 and resulted from a spur-of-the-moment decision. As she tells it, on an inspired whim, she walked into the Calle Loíza offices of notable Puerto Rican fashion designer Harry Robles and declared herself his next model. Her spunkiness and confidence impressed Robles, and the very next day, she had the gig. This was the first step on the path that led to her becoming Miss Puerto Rico and participating in Miss Universe 2012 in front of millions.

    While she tries not to dwell on her years as the reigning Miss Puerto Rico and her experiences afterward as a budding model in New York City, especially in light of the more upbeat and optimistic flavor of “Quemo Lento,” she shares that that phase of her career created an arc that has molded her into who she is today. She’s proud of the work, but readily admits she took the opportunity because of its benefits.

    “The reason I got in there was they told me, ‘Hey, you will get some money. You will get a car.’ And I needed [to pay for] school, I needed a car, I needed to buy books, I needed to help my family,” she says. What came after her participation in Miss Universe was another deck of cards, one that didn’t turn out in her favor. According to Bodine, these days, women who are successful in pageants go on to appear in TV shows or receive greater opportunities for their careers. But in her time, she says, “it wasn’t like that.”

    “I had to provide for my family, for myself, and so I had to leave and hustle.”

    She continues: “You finish, and then you’re like, ‘I need work, I need an income.’ So I had to go get that. I had to provide for my family, for myself, and so I had to leave and hustle.”

    Bodine doesn’t water down the disillusion she felt. “It was a lot. I had a lot of people around me [those days]. I had a lot of ‘friends’ around me. And the truth is I was 17, 18, 19 when all this happened,” she says. When she returned to fending for herself, reality became a cold splash in her face. “That’s when you know who your friends really are. I had no support. All my ‘friends’ were not my friends. And that gets really lonely. That was lonely, and very disappointing, and very heartbreaking.”

    The sometimes toxic negativity from the press and public that threatened to overshadow her reign was also disheartening. These days, she tackles it in a more holistic manner despite agreeing that the media’s hyper-focus on “messy” celebrities tends to be cruel.

    “It is cruel. And I think I just knew that it was part of the process. When you’re in the public eye, you need to understand that you just need to really be passionate about what you want in your life and speak to that, because no matter what, there’s always going to be negativity,” she says. “There’s always going to be people who try to push you down.”

    Even back then, Bodine was aware of the particular vitriol reserved for women, especially young women, who were scrutinized more than the average person and were given less leeway and grace to make mistakes. She’s thankful she got through it, and more so that there is accountability now that didn’t exist back then.

    “I think all women were in a situation where they were completely vulnerable. And hey, bad timing, I guess. I think today not everybody can say whatever they want about particular women,” she says. “Back then — this is before the #MeToo movement — you could say anything and everything. And I’m sure a lot of girls experienced that, not only in my world but in [other industries].”

    Her post-Miss stint as a model was also rocky and uphill at the start, owing to that same lack of support. “I didn’t know anybody. I had no agency. I applied [and] everyone said no to me. I applied to more than 20 agencies, from the most deep dungeon ones to the top. And they all said no,” she says.

    The situation became so dire it began to resemble an absurdist comedy at one point. “I remember I was so stressed that I had so much acne all over. I was so stressed I literally grew a beard,” she laughs. “I was so desperate for work that I went to the booker, and I’m like, ‘Listen to me. I need a job. I need to get booked. I’ll do anything. I could do [a] Proactiv campaign. I can do anything, I can do even Gillette.’”

    As fate would have it, she did eventually get signed, and steady work began to arrive. Still, the phantoms of her past and her survival instinct never went away. Twelve years and two albums later, Bodine looks back on what has led her to today with a mix of gratitude and melancholy. “Celos,” her underrated first EP, was imbued with a darker sound, even when it was trying to be a joint that could still pass as sensual and club-worthy. The reason for that is clear in hindsight.

    “It was a time I was really depressed,” she shares. “I was about to . . . stop being in the industry.” She ran into the same roadblocks that had pestered her for over a decade since her pageant days. Namely, people trying to box her into a persona that was nowhere close to who she felt she was. It’s a big reason she’s maintained being an independent artist so far.

    “I didn’t submit [to industry pressure],” she says. “So that project was born from a place of restarting all over.”

    She’s still striving to grow as an artist, and just as oysters create pearls from irritants that invade their system, Bodine sees everything she went through as a process that has made her more formidable than ever as a woman and a creative. She credits meditation as one of the most significant tools that helped her harness her experiences positively, saying she took it up early in her career because “there was a lot of waiting time” to indulge in it. But she also says she feels thankful for her art when it comes to shooting down any criticism or negativity.

    “I feel protected by music. I think that music, my work, will always talk for me,” she says. “Quemo Lento,” with its varied offering of genres and eclectic guest artists, tells the world that she’s feeling much more optimistic.

    “I’m in a good place — happy and really proud, and finally doing what I’ve actually wanted to do my whole life. I wish I were here before, but I just know it wasn’t my time yet,” she says. “I had to go through this whole thing to help my family and change my circumstances. And it was tough, but we’re here now.”

    It might’ve been a slow burn, but she’s made it and is ready for what’s next.

    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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  • Gabriela Berlingeri Is Focused on Self-Love — and Her Jewelry Line Celebrates That

    Gabriela Berlingeri Is Focused on Self-Love — and Her Jewelry Line Celebrates That

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    Even for those who seek to be the center of attention, the spotlight often comes with a heavy price. In a world where gossip rules much of the mediasphere, even non-celebrities can end up caught up in the maelstrom of intense public attention. Especially if they’re closely associated with someone famous and recognizable. Gabriela Berlingeri experienced that, and to a degree very few can relate to, during the time she dated one of the most famous people on the planet — Bad Bunny.

    The story of how Berlingeri and the Latin trap artist had a chance meeting and started up a relationship back in 2017 has become part of his lore. The two were together for several years and even collaborated on a handful of songs. She was even shouted out in “Acho PR,” a single off his latest album “Nadie Sabe Lo Que Va a Pasar Mañana.”

    The details of when and how the relationship ended have been kept close to their chests, in tune with what was already a highly private romance. And while media outlets have covered every last one of Bad Bunny’s moves in the last year, Berlingeri has immersed herself in her passion project — her jewelry line, DiciembreVeintinueve. Named after her birth date, the brand has also aided her in discovering new and healthy perspectives on self-love and life beyond a high-profile relationship.

    Raised all her life in the beachy Isla Verde neighborhood of Carolina, Puerto Rico, Berlingeri has always counted herself as close to nature. She describes her family as one filled with “creators,” a trait that she feels proud to follow.

    “My grandmother makes stained glass, my dad designed all his tattoos, plus he loves painting. My aunt is an architect. My family has been quite creative,” Berlingeri tells POPSUGAR. “The act of making something yourself, with your hands, is amazing.”

    In her case, Berlingeri gravitated toward jewelry. “Lots of people say they can’t sleep with their jewelry on, but I always sleep with them,” she says. “I wake up, and even if I’m not wearing anything else, I’ll have my jewelry on me.”

    Her interest only increased after she worked alongside a local jewelry designer and learned how to craft pieces herself. In 2019, she began to plant the seeds for what would eventually become DiciembreVeintinueve (or D29, as it’s also known). The brand launched in November 2020 following pandemic-related delays, and since then it’s churned out beautiful necklaces, bracelets, earrings, rings, and more, all made in-house by Berlingeri and her team using locally sourced materials.

    Berlingeri says she has long-term ideas for collections but prefers to be inspired in the moment when it comes to individual designs. When asked how she comes up with them, she says: “It’s very random. I’ll sit down, go over what pieces I have at hand, put on my AirPods, and start linking them together. It’s like building a puzzle.”

    This month D29 is releasing its Valentine’s Day collection with pieces such as the Nabelle “Unicorn” Necklace, and a two-piece “Thelma and Louise” Necklace to share between best friends. This year’s theme is dedicated to self-love, healthy friendships, and the important bond between one’s mind, body, and spirit when you begin to focus on you. Last July, they dropped the Rhea Collection, a line inspired by the colors of Puerto Rico’s natural basins, rivers, forests, and beaches. It was an idea that suddenly sprang to Berlingeri only a few months ago. She decided to take a road trip around the island to look for further inspiration. It shows in a variety of the pieces — just look at the green tourmaline stones that make up the collar of the Medare Necklace, which she points out can represent not only the green of the flora but also how river and ocean water can sometimes take on a green hue.

    “The stones we use in our collections are natural, semiprecious,” she shares. “I’ve had lots of beach inspiration before, but this time I wanted to include more of the rivers and forests. Puerto Rico is known for its beaches, but we have many beautiful rivers and I wanted to capture their colors.”

    Another piece, the Casa Necklace, shows a palm tree in the foreground and a mountain range in the background, which reflects a view many locals live with every day — the coast on one side and the central mountains on the other. As Berlingeri puts it, “Lots of people will relate because we’re a small island. Getting to a beach is not that hard, although I know there are vicissitudes.” She recalls a news report she saw once about communities in the highest points of Puerto Rico, where people had gone their entire lives without leaving their towns. “There’s lots of poverty in Puerto Rico, up in the mountains, more than people realize,” she adds. “There are families living there who have never seen the ocean, and they have no way [to visit the coast].”

    As she speaks candidly and enthusiastically about this collection and future projects, including soon expanding D29 to sell bathing suits, her excitement is palpable. She’s surrounded by a dedicated all-women team of people she considers close friends, including head designer Shelby Díaz Esquerdo, who spearheads the waste-conscious One of One initiative, which reuses discarded elements to create one-of-a-kind jewelry pieces.

    Berlingeri knows escaping attention for whom she was with in the past will take a while, but she’s adjusted her life around what helps her ignore the noise and move forward with her goals.

    “What’s most important for me right now is maintaining myself happy and at peace,” she says. “You have to push through a lot in order to feel well and stable. And I want to create things that fulfill me, and focus on my work.”

    Berlingeri is putting that into the theme of her new line, too, framing it around the idea of having her customers buy Valentine’s Day gifts for themselves.

    “I’m in an era of: love yourself! It’s a great moment to say, ‘I’m going to get this for myself,’ during this season of consumerism, [which was] created to make you spend money.”

    “I’m in an era of: love yourself! It’s a great moment to say, ‘I’m going to get this for myself,’ during this season of consumerism, [which was] created to make you spend money,” she says. “It’s a great opportunity for someone to think about themselves for the first time and not think about other people.”

    Building up D29 and making it successful was exactly the kind of healthy distraction Berlingeri needed the last year, adding that it was “100 percent” a form of therapy for herself.

    “I get [to the office] and I’m happy. To me, getting here frees me from everything else; it keeps my feet on the ground — busy,” she says. “Sometimes I have days off and think, ‘What do I do?’ I don’t want to depend on anybody to make plans.” Right now, she loves to go to the beach by herself; she knows special spots where she can have privacy, avoid overeager fans, and simply enjoy the surf.

    That’s what this whole era is about for Berlingeri: focusing on herself, what brings her joy, and what makes her excited about the future. And that’s never too much.

    Although one of designer Coco Chanel’s famous quotes goes, “Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take one thing off,” Berlingeri begs to differ. “I’m sorry to Coco Chanel, but more is more,” she laughs. More work, more happiness, more time with friends, and all for the sake of no one but herself.

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    Juan Arroyo

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  • Tell Me Más: Neysa Blay’s Sobriety Journey Has Transformed Her as a Music Artist

    Tell Me Más: Neysa Blay’s Sobriety Journey Has Transformed Her as a Music Artist

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    When indie rock musician Neysa Blay sat down to start writing songs for her new album, “Nada es Suficiente,” she found herself in an unusual predicament. She’d been sober for nearly a decade at that point, putting considerable distance between her turbulent past and the more placid present. “I’m really good at writing when there’s chaos and noise in my head, and when things are kind of bumpy,” she says. But now she’d overcome so many of her inner demons. “How do I learn how to write from a good place?”

    The LP, which drops in May, bridges the gap between her innate rebellious spirit and the more conscientious Blay that has emerged over the past few years. Previous singles, such as the softer “Te Gusta/Me Gusta” and no-nonsense “Quise Que Fueras Tú,” toggle between vulnerable and headstrong; she might be rough, but her heart is undoubtedly open. Her newest track, “Úsame,” channels 1980s hair metal in its sound and visuals. But to get to where she is now, the budding rock star had to survive a difficult road.

    Raised in the beach-friendly town of Cabo Rojo, Puerto Rico, Blay’s adolescence was marked by an inner tug-of-war between the love she has for her hometown and the constraints it imposed not just on her career, but on her as a person. As an openly gay woman who recognized her orientation very early on, she felt hampered by the societal mores of her surroundings.

    “That created a lot of angst because I didn’t understand why. I felt like a part of me had to pretend. The town all of a sudden would become too small for me,” she shares. As time passed and she grew into her teenage years, the colors of Cabo Rojo began to take on a different shade. “I remember [being] young, free, happy, fulfilled, and then I started growing up. [And a] sense of doom started falling in,” Blay adds.

    Her only respite then was music, which she began to explore between the ages of 8 and 10 after seeing students who were taking music classes out of an office space her father rented to a local music academy. From there she began to take guitar and singing lessons, which didn’t surprise her parents who noticed during her younger years that she had a knack for song.

    “[They] would play a lot of boleros, and I would love that music,” she recalls. “They’d hear me singing along and they’d be like: ‘There’s so much passion there. There’s so much emotion. You’re not a 40-year-old chasing a married man.’”

    As she grew older, the encroaching pressure of how she was expected to live her life was beginning to push her towards volatile spaces. As with many people who go down the same path, Blay found herself searching for ways to abate the anxieties that were overwhelming her. This led to what would become a years-long stretch of substance abuse that would nearly derail her relationship with her family, with partners, and her career dreams.

    For nearly seven years, Blay spiraled through a life almost entirely dominated by extreme drug and alcohol use. She moved to San Juan, where she found herself in circles that directly and indirectly encouraged her lifestyle. She would attempt to lean into her music but found herself unable to.

    “Because of my addiction, I wasn’t functional, so I couldn’t do gigs. I wouldn’t show up. I would miss a lot of opportunities,” she says. She admits to crafting unreasonable ideas about how to become a working artist — ideas spurred by the effects of her vices. “I had a very distorted idea of what [pursuing music] would look like. I thought I could be singing while pumping gas and somebody would discover me. I had a very romanticized fantasy vision of how you do this.”

    Eventually, she hit what she refers to as her “ultimate emotional bottom”.

    “I was very broken. I lost everything. I couldn’t keep a job . . . My parents had just kicked me out of the house, and they had stopped any financial help,” she says, adding how she had also just gone through a breakup as well.

    That Christmas she was invited over to her parent’s home, where she was given an option: enroll in a wilderness therapy program and try to overcome her addictions. As Blay tells it, she felt “beat” at this point in her life, and accepted, deciding she had nothing else to lose. “That was a Thursday. Saturday, I was flying out.”

    She recognizes what stage of the addiction cycle she was in at this time, and how difficult it was for her loved ones to get her there. “Dealing with an addict, it’s like you can’t save them, you can’t rescue them. But when the time is appropriate, you got to let them hit that bottom,” she reflects. “If you take a person that’s unwilling into treatment, [the help is] going to go in this way and out this way. You don’t want to get better, and you kind of have to want it for yourself.”

    Looking back, Blay credits wilderness therapy with saving her life. As opposed to rehab, which she says can sometimes be “cushy,” wilderness therapy is an outdoor program of intense activities for people suffering from behavioral disorders and substance abuse that include hiking, camping, and more, with the goal of “enhancing personal and interpersonal growth.”

    “They broke me and then built me back up,” she confesses. “When you go in they don’t tell you when you leave, which is different from treatment because when you go to treatment, you’re like, ‘I’m going to do 30 days,’ and you’re already one foot in, one foot out . . . Here [there’s] no future information. I don’t know when I’m getting out. I don’t know what we’re doing today. I don’t know where we’re hiking today. And that really helped release a sense of control of my life.”

    After three and half months, she was finally deemed ready to leave the program. From there, she spent another three months at a treatment center in Chicago, to underline the progress she had made. Eventually, the day came when she was told she could relocate to wherever she wanted. “I’m already thinking in my head, what do you really want to do? Music. Music has always been in the background. Music has always been the priority,” she says.

    She convinced her parents to trust her to move to Miami, despite it being as they called it, the “cocaine capital.” Initially living in a treatment center followed by a halfway house, Blay soon found herself in her own apartment, with a job, going back to school, and getting around with a scooter.

    “I was pretty much learning how to be a person; how to be a normal, functioning human being. And I think it was one of the greatest experiences,” she says.

    In 2017, she connected with Sam Allison, an engineer at the iconic Criteria Recording Studios, and recorded “Veneno,” her first official single. That song made its way to experienced producer Marthin Chan, who became a fan and produced her debut EP, “Destrúyeme.”

    Songwriting and working on her craft while sober opened up an entirely new world of possibilities for Blay, who says “All of a sudden I was able to finish things, and not stop because anxiety was too crippling.”

    Not too long ago, she chose to move back to Puerto Rico, settling back in Cabo Rojo. She jokingly referred to it as “returning to the scene of the crime.” But there were earnest reasons behind the decision as well. Her relationship with her parents had grown stronger and more accepting since they saw how much she’d grown in the last decade and even embraced her new partner as well.

    But for Blay, there was another, deeper reason: “I wanted to tackle the sense of not belonging, to tackle the feeling of, as a lesbian, I’m not welcomed and loved in the community. I wanted to tackle all of the negatives. I wanted to take that narrative, change it, and own it,” she says. “I wanted to create new memories. I came with a mission of reclaiming Cabo Rojo for myself.” Her first gig after moving back? Onstage at Cabo Rojo’s Pride celebration, with her father in attendance supporting her.

    Before that was a creative sojourn to Mexico City, where she teamed up with producer Felipe “Pipe” Ceballos and cooked up “Nada es Suficiente.” Making this album, years into sobriety, was a learning experience. She realized the way she accessed and channeled her emotions had changed considerably. Where she once wrote from a place of a chaotic mindset and “spitting fucking venom,” she now approached the same scenarios from a contemplative, self-reflective angle.

    “I think that’s been one of the biggest changes in sobriety in terms of creativity,” she says. “I’ve grown and I’m also allowing my songwriting to grow along with me on this journey of being a good person.”

    Juggling the responsibility of maintaining her sobriety while also working through the anxieties of being an independent artist, without the privilege of self-medicating, has led Blay to incorporate new tools she hopes to share with others. She’s a proponent of DBT, or dialectical behavioral techniques, which allow her to face anxiety in healthier ways.

    “There’s simple stuff like realizing when you’re anxious and how it’s manifesting, and taking ownership of it by self-soothing. Self-soothing can be taking a nice hot bath for 10 minutes. It can be some breathing exercises,” she shares. “And then there’s… radical acceptance, [which] is when you have to accept that things aren’t under your control. And I love the word radical. Because it is. It’s just, ‘Shut the fuck up. You’re not in control. You have to accept that this is the way that things are. You can either cope with it, accept them, or you can just spend the whole day trying to fight something you can’t.’”

    It’s a rule that sums up her journey so far—one that led her to emerge from darkness and now points her on the path toward making her longtime dreams a reality.

    “With time, what I have learned is that whenever I’m feeling anxious or fearful, that’s the direction I have to run towards. Right now in my life, I see the anxiety and I’m like, ‘Buckle up,” Blay says. “That’s where we got to go.’ Like, ‘Oh, this is terrifying. I have a lot of anxiety.’ Okay, keep fucking going. This is where you need to be.”

    POPSUGAR: First celebrity crush?

    Neysa Blay: Judy Garland in “The Wizard of Oz” 💖

    POPSUGAR: Favorite mocktail?

    Neysa Blay: Ginger beer, lime juice, mint leaves and soda water

    POPSUGAR: Favorite beach in Puerto Rico?

    Neysa Blay: Playa Buyé on a weekday at 9 a.m.

    POPSUGAR: Three artists you have on repeat right now?

    Neysa Blay: A very gay playlist: Charli XCX, Troye Sivan, and Slayyyter

    POPSUGAR: Favorite mantra?

    Neysa Blay: “If they can do it, so can I.”

    POPSUGAR: Favorite guitar?

    Neysa Blay: Gibson SG (played by Angus Young)

    POPSUGAR: Dream collaboration?

    Neysa Blay: Marilina Bertoldi



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    Juan Arroyo

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  • How Arcángel Is Grieving His Brother's Loss and Transforming Through the Process

    How Arcángel Is Grieving His Brother's Loss and Transforming Through the Process

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    Eighteen years ago, before his debut on the 2005 compilation album “Sangre Nueva,” not many were familiar with Puerto Rican reggaetón artist Arcángel. In the early days of his music career, Arcángel would sing on mixtapes for his friends and for locals in the rough San Juan neighborhoods of Villa Palmeras and La Perla, where he grew up. But these days, he has millions of listeners tuning in to his music, making him one of the biggest stars of the genre.

    As Arcángel sits down for our virtual interview, his usual sunglasses are off. He looks straight at the webcam — not the screen — as if having a face-to-face conversation.

    There’s a startling amount of empathy in his eyes, which is both surprising and not when you consider his tumultuous early years, marked by hustling on the streets and finding ways to get by. People tend to associate that kind of life with cynical personalities, but there’s a fine line between cynicism and empathy, and what breeds one can easily lead to the other. You can’t have either without pain as a catalyst. As he talks, his eyes also betray another emotion swimming somewhere in his gaze — a latent sadness.

    Just past midnight on Nov. 21, 2021, a car accident in San Juan took the life of Arcángel’s younger brother, Justin Santos. Only 21 years old at the time, he was driving a vehicle that was struck by another, driven by a woman who prosecutors later alleged was under the influence. In the time since, the case has been marred by setbacks and delays, with the driver’s defense counsel successfully suppressing the alcohol blood level test results on various grounds. The process has been slowly moving its way up the judicial ladder, most recently into the hands of the Court of Appeals. A recent ruling reinstated the test results, paving the way for the start of a trial this year, more than two years after the incident.

    Since his brother’s tragic death, Arcángel has been vocal about how it has devastated his family and his own life. Still, he got back to recording, releasing “SR. SANTOS” in 2022 and “Sentimiento, Elegancia y Más Maldad” in November of last year. He’s gone on worldwide tours, continuing to fill up stadiums in dozens of countries across Europe and North America. But behind the scenes, he’s frank about how he’s not the same person people have known him as.

    “Sometimes, the better things are going for me, the sadder I feel.”

    “Sometimes, the better things are going for me, the sadder I feel,” he says. “I see all these great things happening and all I can think is if the kid were here, he’d be so happy.”

    While he’s still more than adept at rapping, as he proved during his Christmastime beef with Anuel AA, Arcángel acknowledges that the spark he once had has dimmed.

    “The creative process isn’t the same anymore and never will be again. I used to say I had a gift because in the studio I could listen to a beat and write [a song] like magic, out of thin air. I didn’t need a pen or paper. Lots of producers could tell you that,” he says. “I don’t have it anymore. It abandoned me.”

    He has no illusions, either, about why he’s been overcome by such creative doldrums.

    “After November [of 2021] it all went to sh*t, and since then nothing has changed. I need a team now to help me. I used to only need a music engineer and a good beat, and I took care of the rest,” he shares. “But I don’t have that touch anymore; it left, and maybe it’ll come back. But I hope it comes back soon because I don’t have 20 more years of career left.”

    Only a year passed between the accident and the release of “SR. SANTOS” — a time during which Arcángel submitted himself to getting a full-torso tattoo of his brother’s visage in his memory. The album was more trap- and rap-oriented, exploring street-level themes. His most recent project, “Sentimiento, Elegancia y Más Maldad,” includes more uptempo tracks that are more in the vein of his cheekier reggaetón roots.

    When asked if this is due to an improvement in his emotional state, he shoots down the notion.

    “My mind is f**ked up, understand? But I have to work. My mental health is not in good shape.”

    “My mind is f**ked up, understand? But I have to work. My mental health is not in good shape,” he shares. “I never knew what it was to doubt myself. I was someone whose self-esteem was always so high that people confused it with arrogance. Now people tell me I’ve changed so much, and I tell them I haven’t changed. It’s just that my self-esteem is not the same. I know people say I’m more humble now, but it’s because I’m more insecure than before.”

    At this, the also-Latin trap artist takes a pregnant pause. “I have to be mentally unwell for people to see me as humble,” he says incredulously. “I would love to recover my mental health and self-esteem so I can be arrogant in people’s eyes again.”

    In past interviews, old comrades like De La Ghetto would reminisce about the old Arcángel and be impressed by how brash he was, no matter who he was talking to.

    “I don’t like [being like that] anymore,” says Arcángel. “Everything I say, people take it like . . . there’s always a misinterpretation of everything, so much that now I prefer to not say anything and stay quiet. Or I doubt what I’m going to say, if it’s right or not, so I don’t say anything. And it bothers me because I’m not like that.”

    This past summer, Arcángel’s social media was littered with photos of his tour stops, with dynamic shots of soldout crowds everywhere from Spain and Italy to Baja California and Chicago. In some, you can spy fans holding up placards with Justin’s name, or messages of condolences and emotional support. It’s a genuine display of affection from his fans, and Arcángel recognizes that, but he’s also blunt about the limits of others’ support.

    “Bro, I don’t want any more gifts that have anything to do with my brother. I don’t want any more jackets, any more shirts, any more hats, any more keychains. They don’t change anything . . . “

    “How is a sign going to make me feel better? Because it has my brother’s name on it?” he asks candidly. “Bro, I don’t want any more gifts that have anything to do with my brother. I don’t want any more jackets, any more shirts, any more hats, any more keychains. They don’t change anything. What am I gonna do, open a museum? What I would like is to have him next to me.”

    Despite this inner anguish, he still sees a faint silver lining. “I feel I’m good at adapting and I’ve learned to feel comfortable in uncomfortable circumstances. And that’s what’s happening now,” he says. “You’re seeing an Arcángel who’s comfortable in a very uncomfortable situation. That’s what time has taught me.”

    He won’t share whether he’s sought out therapy or other forms of mindfulness to work through his feelings, but he does point to two manners in which he distracts himself.

    “I work. I make music. I’ll go to the studio,” he says, adding: “I have a very big house, and sometimes I’ll just walk around for a long time. So much so that at 8 or 9 p.m., my feet hurt, and I ask myself why and it’s because of all the walking I’ve been doing. I’ve been walking all day and didn’t even notice. I walk a ton, fast, and I start thinking so much that my brain gets tired and that helps when I get one of those intrusive thoughts that f**k me up. I don’t have space for those.”

    Instead, he gives that space over to planning for the future, and that includes his inevitable retirement. He knows there will come a point where he won’t be able to rap about what he usually does in a way that feels earnest, and he intends to go out on top before that happens. But despite everything, does he still feel optimistic about the future? “Yes,” he says before pausing. “But it’s because of [the team] I have around me. Because I trust I can pass the baton to them and they’re gonna know what to do. All I want to do is win. And now I’m learning to be a team player. The panorama has changed, and I’m not interested in being just the solo captain. I want to contribute to a team and do my role.”

    One role he’s eyeing: being a producer of new talents. His biggest one right now is Chris Lebrón, a young Dominican artist whom he’s taken under his wing. When he envisions a second career in his post years, he’s filled with dreams of hearing his name but under a new context.

    As he puts it: “If and when one of the artists I developed wins a Grammy, and they thank me in their speech, that’s gonna feel f**king great. More than even me winning one myself.”

    There’s no doubt that Arcángel would trade just about anything to have his little brother back, and not a soul would blame him. But the mightiest of hearts can’t change reality. All one can do is change for the better, depending on whatever life throws at you.

    “I don’t like the Austin I used to be. I much more like the one I am now. I love the one I am now. I respect the person I am now more than who I was 10 years ago,” he says. “I’ve been through a lot.”

    For Arcángel, this is solace and peace: this new self, his work, his family, the memory of his brother, and his dreams for the future. It’s all he has, and for him, it’s more than enough.

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    Juan Arroyo

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  • Tell Me Más: Lúconde Fuses Theater and Urbano in Her Debut Album

    Tell Me Más: Lúconde Fuses Theater and Urbano in Her Debut Album

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    Many popular musicians have created fictional alter egos as a way to explore new sonic avenues that they wish to experiment with. David Bowie had Ziggy Stardust and Aladdin Sane, David Johansen had Buster Poindexter, Lady Gaga spent a whole season as Jo Calderone, and the less said about Garth Brooks’s Chris Gaines era the better, but it certainly happened. For them, it’s a kind of performance art — an expression of their interest in stepping out of their comfort zone and giving the endeavor a theatrical flair as well.

    The debate about whether these could be considered merely publicity stunts is valid, but for some artists, there’s a true creative desire to inhabit these personas. For Adriana Rivera, a Puerto Rican singer-songwriter, it’s a culmination of her dream to merge two artistic outputs that have long fascinated and inspired her: music and acting. From this desire and its manifestation, Rivera set herself aside, and in her place emerged Lúconde and their debut album, “La Actriz: Acto I.” The EP is a magical collection of alt-perreo, conscious boleros, and progressive Latin soul. As Rivera explains, “Lúconde is basically the mother personality that serves as a vessel for other personas (or faces, as she calls them) to emerge.” For that reason, she invites listeners to call her by either name.

    Lúconde is an artist with lots of ideas, who has been searching a long time for a way to express them. A child of dancers from reggaeton’s early roots, when it was known as “underground” — her mother was a background dancer for Vico C, while her father danced for Ruben DJ — she grew up in a home that valued both music and performance and the overlap between the two. Lúconde was enrolled in ballet, where dance and expression are inextricably intertwined, and sang in her church’s chorus, where she began to discover her voice and test its limits and range.

    Not soon after, she was convinced by friends to audition for her school’s drama club. In a prescient twist, the monologue used for the audition belonged to a role about a character suffering from dissociative identity disorder.

    “I remember researching a lot. I remember practicing [the monologue] alone at home. I had no training whatsoever, but I remember clicking with that a lot,” she says. “There was a lot of that process that clicked with me very deeply, and I remember thinking, ‘OK, I love music and I’ve always been involved with music, but I think [acting] is going to be something that I’m gonna dedicate myself more to.’”

    For “La Actriz: Acto I,” Lúconde reached back and channeled the lessons from her days doing theater. She recalls being taken by the way acting helped her to connect with her inner thoughts and widen her view of the behaviors of people around her.

    “I learned [to] not take things at face value, which is something that I feel like I’m actively studying within myself and society — just looking at things from different perspectives,” she says. “There’s always more behind someone, which I also think in acting that’s what you [search for].”

    During the downtime that enveloped the world in 2020, she began to think about how she could fuse her interests. She began to write, thinking on topics that were close to her. She began to flesh out the overarching concept of the EP and conjured up what would become the roster of alter egos that embody each track: La Malasuerte, Näia Kiyomi, Lilu, Miss Quinn, Bo Aracnia, Adela, and Nina Sorei.

    Executing out such a far-out idea for a debut EP was a risky proposition, but she was determined to bring it to fruition. Through mutual contacts she got in touch with Gyanma, an indie fan favorite who produces projects for himself and others out of his own studio, called Alas. Whatever trepidation he had about the ambitious ideas she presented evaporated as soon as he put her in front of the microphone.

    “From the beginning, I recognized it was a very unique concept,” says Gyanma, who produced every track on the EP. “Throughout recording and producing the music, every track kept evolving, and when we listened to the final album put together, we knew it was something very, very special.”

    As a companion to the album, Lúconde produced, directed, and starred in music videos for the tracks. It’s here that her different personas can truly be appreciated. La Malasuerte, a trickster changeling that occupies every frame of “Macacoa” with mischievous intentions. Näia Kiyomi, heavily inspired by Jennifer Check of the movie “Jennifer’s Body,” enacts empowered, violent revenge in “6eis.” Lilu and Bo Aracnia both break the rules in favor of righteous anarchy in “Bendito Caos” and “Tus Cartas Póker,” respectively. In “El Frío del Alba,” Adela reflects on the long, sordid history and pain that women have carried throughout the struggle for bodily autonomy, especially in the face of eroding abortion rights.

    “This is very autobiographical. What I’m doing is just taking the Stanislavski technique of acting and transforming it into a philosophy of life, because that’s who I am,” she says. “I feel like acting saved me. Acting gave me so much perspective of life, of people, of society, and of myself. That’s kind of where it all starts, because with each character I’m showing different sides and different aspects of myself, and the actor studies the gray area of life, the gray in people.”

    When talking about her future, Lúconde foresees more projects in the same vein as “Acto I.” For now, she doesn’t see herself dabbling in more mainstream songs divorced from this album’s conceit. In fact, she’s already brainstorming which personas she’ll utilize again, and new ones to introduce as well. As the album’s title implies, it’s simply the first act of what will slowly unfold as a larger all-encompassing project.

    “This project is synonymous with where I am in life right now. I feel like I’m still in the midst of becoming. This project is a lot of the younger, naive aspects of myself,” she says.

    She intends to fully expand the visual side as well, founding her own production company where she’ll be able to control that aspect of development as well as help other artists with their own projects. “La Actriz: Acto I” was an effort that took a long time to come together, but for Lúconde it has been worth everything she invested in bringing it to life.

    “Once I knew that I wanted to be La Actriz in the music industry, I had a direction,” she says. “For me that’s really important; I’ve always [felt] like I have to have some idea of who I want to be. In that sense, now I realize how lucky I am to know who I am a little bit. I still feel like I have a long way to go, but I’ve always had the vision. I’ve always nourished that. I’ve always protected that.”

    The strands that link the light and shadow inside every human being — and the way they can bring people together under better understanding and empathy — are what Lúconde wishes to underscore.

    “Everything is connected: our spirituality, our physicality, our mind, our emotions. As an actor, my body, my mind, my emotions are my tools. The more familiar I am with myself, the better human I will be. That’s what I’m trying to explore with music. I always say, ‘Through my work I am whole,’ because I get to express all of these different aspects of myself.” It’s a passion project that not only makes her feel fulfilled, but hopefully finds fans who’ll also appreciate the different levels of creativity that make it up. “I felt like I wanted to be a creator, and I feel like music allowed me to do all that. And I realized I didn’t have to sacrifice my identity as an actress. Maybe I could just be La Actriz.”

    POPSUGAR: What is your favorite word?

    Lúconde: Curiosity.

    POPSUGAR: What is your favorite quote?

    Lúconde: “You don’t have a right to anything in this life, but there’s nothing you can’t achieve.”

    POPSUGAR: What is your favorite play?

    Lúconde: “No Exit” by Jean-Paul Sartre.

    POPSUGAR: What is your favorite movie?

    Lúconde: Well, I love “Black Swan.” It used to be “The Pursuit of Happyness.” I think now, “Everything Everywhere All at Once.”

    POPSUGAR: Who is your favorite fictional character?

    Lúconde: Raven from “Teen Titans.”

    POPSUGAR: What are you listening to these days?

    Lúconde: Gesaffelstein, Belén Aguilera, and “Scarlet” by Doja Cat.

    POPSUGAR: What person comes to mind when you hear the word “inspiration”?

    Lúconde: My grandfather. We were very close, and he would talk to me about many things. My favorite quote is something he’d always tell me.

    POPSUGAR: Do you prefer to be the hero or the villain?

    Lúconde: I prefer to be the villain that becomes a hero.

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    Juan Arroyo

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  • La Borinqueña Doll Gives Little Girls More Latina Superhero Representation

    La Borinqueña Doll Gives Little Girls More Latina Superhero Representation

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    Edgardo Miranda-Rodriguez still feels the pressure of being a one-man army when it comes to promoting the crown jewel of Somos Arte, his independent creative studio. Since 2016 he’s been at the forefront of every campaign surrounding his creation La Borinqueña. The Puerto Rican superheroine has been the star of a series of self-titled graphic novels that have directly tackled cultural topics and current events at the forefront of the island, all through the lens of a superhero yarn. It’s an effort that’s earned him a humanitarian award at the 2019 Eisner Awards (the comics industry’s Academy Awards), collaborations with Hollywood stars such as Rosario Dawson, and crossovers with DC Comics’s biggest characters like Wonder Woman. But even with all the accolades, he makes it clear, it’s always been an uphill battle.

    “There’s so many moving pieces when you’re something as big as the Marvel Cinematic Universe, when you’re something as big as Star Wars,” Miranda-Rodriguez tells POPSUGAR. “But [how about] when you’re something as tiny as a freaking sorullito called La Borinqueña? You have me, and I literally feel like your abuela in the kitchen doing a gazillion things at the same time. I’m making the bacalaitos while I’m tending to the rice, while I’m checking on the habichuelas, while I’m flipping over tostones, all while I’m carving up the pernil.”

    But even while acknowledging the workload, Miranda-Rodriguez sees it as a responsibility he happily carries. Last year, on the fifth anniversary of the devastating passage of Hurricane María over Puerto Rico, he released a special edition of “La Borinqueña” with a commemorative cover. The funds from those sales went to various philanthropic organizations that Somos Arte supports, most of them grassroots organizations involved in helping causes relevant to Puerto Rico and its diaspora population.

    Recently, he concocted and put into effect his newest expansion of the Borinqueña brand: action figures, with multiple points of articulation in order to make them posable. While still eminently popular with children, action figures — especially those of pop culture characters — have become a large market for collectors and enthusiasts. Having introduced a brand-new superhero team called the Nitaínos in the latest installment of “La Borinqueña,” he now had a roster of characters to pull from to fill out fans’ shelves.

    Ever cognizant of his community’s needs, Miranda-Rodriguez decided to go further. He teamed up with the same company that manufactured the action figures, Boss Fight Studios, to release a doll based on La Borinqueña, available for preorder on their website.

    “They’re doing something they’ve never done before. They’re actually making toys for children, and they created a line of dolls for girls called I Am Brilliance,” he says. “The first wave of these dolls actually have two luchadoras from the Masked Republic, which is a wrestling franchise that exists. But La Borinqueña is actually part of that wave as well, which is separate from las luchadoras.”

    Miranda-Rodriguez has studied the sociopolitical structure of race and ethnicity and its impact on Black and brown communities, and he has always had an eye for considering them with all his projects. In this case, the doll will reflect La Borinqueña’s identity as a Black Latina, from the color of her skin to her curly hair. This is done with intent.

    “This has a lot to do with how young girls, especially, are conditioned through play,” he explains. “Conditioning in terms of the roles they play, the gender roles they play, the class roles they play, and even the roles they play in identifying themselves racially.”

    A big inspiration for his impetus to make the Borinqueña doll is a now-infamous experiment carried out in 1939 known as the Clark doll test, named after the psychologists who carried it out.

    “The Clark experiment pretty much cemented the idea that many [African-American] children had an internalized self-hatred of their own complexion — of their own identity,” Miranda-Rodriguez says. “And when they were given the choice to choose between a white baby doll and a Black baby doll, they played with the white doll. And when they weren’t allowed to play with the white doll and were only given a chance to play with the Black doll, they were very upset.”

    This is the level of care and attention to detail Miranda-Rodriguez imbues his stories with as well, always looking for a way to intersect the escapism of comic books with a conscious finger on the pulse of what real-world topics need to be highlighted.

    “Introducing this character to a child, particularly little girls, to me is revolutionary because I’m giving [them] a choice between ‘Do you want to play with the baby doll or the fashion doll?’ [or] ‘Do you want to actually play with the superhero?’” he says. “The superhero that looks like you, the superhero that actually speaks to your heritage, the superhero that has your hair color, your mother’s hair texture, [and] your skin color. A superhero that actually comes from a real place. A superhero that affirms their identity, that affirms their place and affirms their visibility.”

    Representation and inclusiveness is a topic he’s fastidiously touched on before in the “La Borinqueña” series and arguably serves as the thematic throughline for it as a whole.

    The goal, he expresses, is to address not only the internalized racism that the Clark test demonstrated but also an “internalized colonialism” that he surmises exists within some Puerto Ricans as well. The country once banned its own flag and demonized its nationalist heroes, and that has led to what he says is the painful effect that some “don’t see the value in our heritage, we don’t see the value in our heroes.” Adorning La Borinqueña in the Puerto Rican colors is a way to counteract that.

    The hope for Miranda-Rodriguez and Boss Fight Studios is to have the dolls ready for sale by Día de los Reyes — January. It’s an important holiday in Latin America, particularly in Puerto Rico, which is known for its extended Christmas holiday season. The doll will be distributed online and available in certain stores across the East Coast.

    “Our hope is that we’re entering into a space that’s dominated by multibillion-dollar corporations so that big stores like Walmart or Target see the value of La Borinqueña action figures [and] La Borinqueña dolls and put them on the shelves,” Miranda-Rodriguez says.

    The endeavor was preceded by a successful campaign with Puerto Rican cocoa processor Chocolate Cortés, which sold limited-edition chocolate bars with La Borinqueña comic strips printed on the wrappers. The run exhausted the Puerto Rico inventory and forced Chocolate Cortés to tap into its Florida-based distribution point. It validated Miranda-Rodriguez’s long-held aspiration to work with and support local businesses,

    As always, he and his team at Somos Arte (which includes his wife, Kyung Jeon-Miranda, as projects director) will continue to push forward with bigger plans for their works and strive to get them in front of new audiences.

    “There is a necessity for us as Latin people to see the value in our own intellectual properties, and our own art, and our own stories,” he says. “So that we can show the rest of the world that our stories, our characters, and our toys need to be on the same shelves as other heroes as well.”

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    Juan Arroyo

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