La Calavera Catrina
“Here! It’s done,” my makeup artist said as she handed me the mirror. Oh my god, I thought to myself, I can’t wait to be attacked for this. And attacked I was.
A week before “Halloweekend,” I went to Viva La Vida in Santa Ana. It is an annual cultural celebration dedicated to Día de Muertos; the venue was packed with altars, face painters, artisans, musical performers and authentic Mexican food. The holiday, though typically celebrated Nov. 2, originated in from Mexico (with Aztec roots) and is now celebrated in Latin America and Spanish communities around the world.
Cuba, the country my mother’s family is from, does not celebrate Day of the Dead, but as a Latina and a Catholic I have grown up with a cultural and religious understanding of the tradition. I have participated in it by studying Spanish culture, helping make altars (ofrendas) and going to mass on the holy day to pray for deceased loved ones. My friend had only a vague idea of what Día de Muertos was, so I took him to the festival to explain a tradition that makes me proud to be latina.
We ate churros, checked out elaborate altars and even had the significance of my birthday read from the “tonalpohualli,” the sacred Aztec calendar governed by gods the indigenous believed in. I did not get my face painted like La Calavera Catrina, the woman-skeleton featured in so many festivals and parades, but I took a card from a stand in case I ever wanted to get my face painted calavera, “sugar skull,” style.
The idea struck me: I could totally pay homage to Catrina and be her for Halloween. I ordered a custom crown, full of colorful flowers, mariposas (butterflies) and even a calaverita (a little skeleton head), and put a deposit down to have my makeup done by the Mexican woman I had met at the festival.
But something bothered me about it all. I went back and forth that entire week, debating whether or not I should do it. I conferred with classmates, Mexican family members and other latinas I knew. I needed to know if what I would choose to do would be an act of cultural appropriation, a buzzword surrounding Halloween costumes.
They all told me I would be okay as long as I did it respectfully and with complete understanding of how important Catrina is. I agreed, but something about doing it made me felt uneasy. I decided against dressing up as her. Why not avoid conflict, right?
Because the woman had already started making the flower crown and I had paid for my makeup to be done, I did not cancel on her. The crown came out so lovely, so I decided that I would pair it with regular skeleton makeup, not calavera style, and a black lace dress to be as casual about it as possible.
I showed my makeup artist the picture of what I wanted — a simple white face with one black eye, a skeleton nose, cheeks and lips. I told her, “Please, I do not think I should do Catrina style. I’m Latina and I love the holiday, but I don’t want to start any problems with anyone.”
“Oh, no worries, mija. You don’t want exactly that picture though, do you? I’ll do something prettier; close your eyes and I’ll show you at the end. I won’t do anything crazy to keep it less offensive,” she told me.
Eighty-five dollars and an hour later, I got exactly what I had not asked for: Catrina makeup. Half of my face was white with a purple rose covering my eye, unnaturally filled purple lips and fancy black decorations. The other half of my face was left “glam” style.
It was incredibly beautiful, but I could not stop worrying. Without time to fix it myself and in the interest of not hurting the artist’s feelings, there was nothing to do about the fact I had accidentally gotten exactly what I had been trying to avoid.
The night went fine, and no problems arose until I posted a photo of myself on Instagram. In the caption I clearly cited that I was dressed as La Calavera Catrina.
“This is disrespectful. It doesn’t matter how respectful you tried to be, my culture is not a costume,” an aggravated commenter noted.
The more we fought in the comments section and the longer I reflected on the arguments being made, the more I realized what I had done was not appropriation — it was appreciation. Although I agree it was a bit questionable to have worn Catrina style makeup out of the Día context, I’m glad the accidental tribute happened to me rather than someone who has no connection to Latinx culture and Día de Muertos.
In the book,“Who Owns Culture? Appropriation and Authenticity in American Law” by legal scholar Susan Scafidi, cultural appropriation is defined as “taking intellectual property, traditional knowledge, cultural expression, or artifacts from someone else’s culture without permission.”
I’m not that girl. I did not take anything, seeing I neither asked for the makeup nor did I do it myself. I also had permission from the women doing the art and others who were present. I was invited to participate and engage in a cultural expression as a humble guest.
The instagrammer argued that the handful of latinx people doing my artwork were not enough to grant the permission to be Catrina; he argued that because the icon is Mexican, and I am not Mexican, I did not have any right to the face paint style. Well, if getting the approval of the people offering me a piece of their culture was not enough, what would be?
But something bigger bothered me — the double standards in cultural appropriation. It seems like every aspect of culture is socially acceptable by all to participate in besides clothing and makeup. Why is that? Is clothing more important than other outward cultural expressions? When I want to eat sushi, I don’t have to ask the permission of every single Japanese person. When I want to sing the “Cotton Eyed Joe,” I don’t have to ask the permission of every single Texan. Many ethnicities celebrate historically significant European holidays, such as Valentine’s Day and St. Patrick’s Day, and nobody has second thoughts about that.
As long as people are adopting aspects from each other that others have not historically been castigated or marginalized for, I don’t see what can be so offensive.
Globalization — the overlapping of cultures — should be celebrated, not attacked. A respectful and knowing acknowledgement of different cultures is one of the most beautiful things of modern society. That is the difference between appropriation and appreciation.
