Cultural Appropriation: Latin Americans Are Also Guilty

Hello, welcome to another edition of GEN33! A newsletter about the business and culture of LATAM's creative industries.

Firstly, apologies for the brief hiatus over the past few weeks. Balancing article deadlines with the newsletter has been challenging, as these updates require considerable time to prepare. That said, I’m working on something I’m very excited about and eager to share. I’ve had the privilege of speaking with some incredible people—more on that soon!

The topic of this week’s newsletter comes after a heated discussion that recently erupted in Latin American fashion circles during a panel on cultural appropriation, Orígenes, held in Lima, Peru last week.

The controversy centred around José Forteza, senior editor of Vogue Latinoamérica, and designer Anís Samanez, following a comment Samanez made about the Shipibo-Konibo community. Her remarks appeared to express frustration that female artisans from the community had requested payment for their work instead of accepting her design teachings as compensation. Unsurprisingly, this sparked significant backlash. Forteza's comment suggesting the community would be starving without Samanez’s contributions further added fuel to the fire.

Both figures have been scolded considerably for their out-of-touch comments, so I don't see the need to rehash it further; Infobae, CNN and other outlets have reported it extensively in case you want to known more.

What I want to emphasise is that Samanez’s behaviour reflects a broader, deeply rooted issue across many Latin American countries. We are just as classist and racist as nations in the North. Yet there’s a tendency to present an “integrated” facade to the international world, leveraging the fact that most outsiders have little understanding of Latin America or its realities.

Over 15 years ago, when I was still living in Caracas, I saw countless women launching swimsuit lines or selling handbags (often pseudo-knockoffs of luxury brands). They underpaid seamstresses and artisans—women crafting crocheted bikinis or other handmade pieces—while selling the products for hundreds of dollars to their wealthy friends at the gym or at Christmas bazaars. If you’re from Latin America, you know exactly what I mean.

Back in the day this divide was so normalised that we never even thought about the exploitation that lay behind their entrepreneurial practices, let alone cultural appropriation.

Telenovelas provide a rather caricaturesque yet accurate glimpse into the mentality of the time. If a maid dared to speak back to her patron, defending herself against vile treatment, she’d likely be called igualada (and probably slapped too). Igualada essentially means, “How dare you act like you’re my equal?” It’s a reprimand rooted in the audacity of crossing class boundaries. I haven’t watched telenovelas recently, but I can assure you this was still a thing in the '90s.

As a continent historically waiting for the US and Europe to set the tone, these issues only began to be called out when scrutiny started in those regions. And of course, it's easier to spot the problem when, let’s say, a brand like Loewe placed designs evoking the Ecuadorian people of the Otavalo culture on their knitwear (SS18), or when Marc Jacobs used coloured dreads as part of the styling of his SS17 catwalk show.

But as writer Guillermo Fonseca notes, within our countries, there's a persistent false narrative of mestizaje (racially mixed), which is used to justify the appropriation. Like when Samanez said, "I'm just as Peruvian as you are." Well, sharing the same passport does not entitle someone to commercialise the heritage of a community that happens to be from their country. No seas igualada.

Just like our northern counterparts, the attempts at solving the problem often involve enlisting local creatives or celebrities to craft and sell products, framing it as collaboration and empowerment. In reality, however, these businesses are rarely led by the communities they claim to uplift or provide them with substantial positions.

So far, 99% of the brands I’ve come across are led by white women, usually from privileged backgrounds. I might be wrong, and I welcome suggestions of brands that don’t fit this pattern.

The appropriation issue has worsened as the world began to romanticise Latin American themes under these supposed new narratives of diversity. (Even Hungarian brand Nanushka, for example, is selling Wayúu bags now. 🙄 What’s next? The Row? I hope not.)

Today, many brands aspire to weave sustainability into their identity, often coupled with narratives of community empowerment. While some efforts can feel performative, many are genuinely impactful. Take Chiara Macchiavello’s Escvdo Perú, which has collaborated with local communities long before it became trendy or Genaro Rivas’ partnership with Peruvian retailer Ripley, launching an accessible line made entirely in Peru, 70% of which is crafted by independent entrepreneurs.

But the more popular something becomes, the greater the risk of superficial exploitation for monetary gain. Again, back to the Wayúu bags example, you can even find them on Amazon these days. 🤦

Even when brands seek permission, grant full creative freedom, and pay artisans well—as seems to be the case with Sara Flores' recent bag for Dior (Peruvian journalist Adriana Seminario interviewed her about the experience) appropriation still exists the moment the craft becomes commodified. That's just how fashion operates.

To some extent, we must make peace with this. By the time something becomes trendy and widely copied, its meaning is inevitably diluted. But what we cannot tolerate is wealthy outsiders exploiting marginalised communities for profit.

Designers like Yenny Bastida offer a brighter example. She works closely with Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities, collaborating with local artisans and seamstresses from her hometown of Chivacoa, Venezuela. Yenny knows these women's daily lives, their children and their struggles. She weaves alongside them, they eat together, they are basically family.

As Rivas remarked, "The mistake is not including all voices and always maintaining this 'them' and the designer perspective."

I would like to continue discussing how we sometimes mistreat our people for different benefits and reasons. I've been hearing a lot about what is happening behind the scenes regarding the recent surge of events that are supposedly aimed at highlighting Latin American talent, but I'll save that discussion for another time…

NEWS ROUNDUP

Speaking of Indigenous communities, this BoF piece discussing The Rise of the Indigenous Model, caught my attention. 

This article focuses on Native Americans in the United States, but we can draw many parallels with the issues faced by indigenous talents in Latin America. It discusses how, in the past four years, Indigenous models like Quannah ChasingHorse have risen in the industry, working with renowned brands likeChanel, Gucci and Marc Jacobs, etc. Nearly two dozen Indigenous talents landed high-profile campaigns and agencies between 2020 and 2024.

Ah! But let's not forget that being conventionally pretty is essential. As you can expect, this new 'trend' is rife with stereotypes and tokenism, exoticising Indigenous identities while neglecting the rich cultural diversity of Indigenous communities. It’s a great article. (More on BoF).

How Mexican Actress Silvia Pinal Saved Viridiana From Censorship 

Elle Mexico

Following the passing of Silvia Pinal, one of the greatest divas of Mexico's Golden Age of Cinema, on 28 November, the industry is revisiting the controversy surrounding her film Viridiana. Pinal was a multifaceted talent—an actress, singer, dancer and producer—featured in classics such as Un Extraño en la Escalera, El Inocente and Locura Pasional. Viridiana, by acclaimed Spanish director Luis Buñuel, was an award-winning, controversial masterpiece that defied both the Vatican and the Spanish government. This led to Pinal famously smuggling a copy of the film to Mexico, ensuring audiences around the world could see it.

Meet Roberta Woodworth, host of Libre & Loca, one of the top 50 most-listened-to podcasts in Mexico and Latin America.

Meow Magazine

Roberta Woodworth is not only a famous podcaster but also a writer and content creator, amassing an impressive 567k followers on Instagram. The Mexico native is known for her introspective explorations of personal growth, love and self-discovery.

Meow Magazine is an indie publication offering great insights into Mexico’s fashion and culture scene. It’s run by Olivia Meza. In the interview, Meza asked Woodworth about the name of her podcast. She said:

“Women have been described with many adjectives throughout history: witch, dramatic, hysterical, feminist, crybaby, loud, bossy, arrogant, bitch, slut… all for not fitting into the standard of what society expects from us.

Art Basel Miami 2024: Emerging Talents to Watch

There's so much to report from this! In the meantime, I wanted to briefly highlight four relatively new talents. One of them, I’ve mentioned before thanks to the wonderful Gaba Najmanovich who featured Randolfo Lamonier in her newsletter Exprimido de Tendencias .

Lamonier is a Brazilian artist using textiles like rugs and carpets to blend personal and political narratives. His layered embroideries depict fragmented urban landscapes, protests and violent encounters, offering a visceral reflection of Brazil's socio-political realities. (Art Basel).

Argentine artist Jimena Croceri presents a striking exploration of form and meaning in her project at Piedras gallery. She features nine sculptures —crafted from copper, bronze and aluminium— moulded to fit bodily cavities such as the clavicle or the voids formed between intertwined figures. The works are accompanied by photographic documentation of their creation and these draw upon the talismanic adornments of pre-Columbian Andean culture, reimagining their potential to imbue contemporary bodies with symbolic power.

Mexican Diego Vega Solorza subverts traditional notions of masculinity, presenting a nuanced critique of gender and power. His works draw from his upbringing in violence-stricken Sinaloa. At LLANO, Mexico City, Solorza presents a double horse saddle sculpture in black leather and metal, a nod to regional ranchero culture. Complementary video and photographic works feature performers in traditional Sinaloan attire engaging in repetitive, deconstructed movements.

Colombian artist Rosario López, integrates archaeological research and local narratives Inspired by the Monsú site near Cartagena. Presenting with Espacio Continuo, Bogotá, her series includes tapestries, embroidered maps, and ceramics informed by interviews and excavation findings. López's work bridges historical memory and ecological awareness, emphasising the interconnectedness of place and identity.

And that’s all the space I have for today! THANK YOU for reading!

I’d love to hear from you—what would you like to see, read about, or who should I interview next? Drop me a line at [email protected] or just reply to this email! 💌

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Until next time,Graciela