Selena Quintanilla was born on April 16, 1971, and grew up in Corpus Christi, TX. She was an Aries, a sign often described as "passionate, brave, and headstrong." Indeed of conforming with the mAosica Mexicana artists of the time, she paved the way for herself by proudly embracing her Chicana identity. With influences like Whitney Houston, Janet Jackson, Jody Watley, and Gloria Estefan, Selena pushed Tejano music forward and made the genre fresh and palatable for listeners beyond Texas. Into the late eighties, the singer became the top Tejano artist in a genre that men previously dominated. At the Tejano Music Awards, she won best female vocalist and female entertainer of the year for 12 years straight.
After conquering Texas, Selena was ready to take on the world, and she signed with the label Latin EMI in 1989. From there, she released the most iconic albums of her career, including 1990's "Ven Conmigo," 1992's "Entre a Mi Mundo," and 1993's "Selena Live!," which earned her a Grammy award at the 1994 ceremony. She also became the female Tejano artist to win in the Best Mexican/American Album category.
That year, she released the last album of her lifetime, "Amor Prohibido." The LP yielded four No. 1 hits on Billboard's Hot Latin Songs chart. Soon after, she made history as the first Tejano artist to reach the summit of Billboard's Top Latin Albums chart.
On March 31, 1995, while Selena was preparing her first English-language album, she was tragically murdered at the age of 23 by Yolanda SaldAvar, a close friend of Selena's who ran her fan club. Since then, Selena's family, including her father and manager Abraham Quintanilla, have kept her memory alive through several posthumous projects. In July 1995, the album "Dreaming of You" was released, which included her English classics like the beautiful title track and the haunting "I Could Fall in Love With You." After her death, Selena continued to make history with the first Latin album to debut at No. 1 on the Billboard 200 chart. In 1997, her family authorized the "Selena" biopic, which featured Jennifer Lopez in the star-making role. Through the endearing movie, the world fell in love with Selena and saw how she was just like any other Mexican American trying to find her place between worlds. It's a story that still resonates with Latine folks in the US today.
It's important to note that Selena's music and image belong to her family, and they have a right to celebrate her legacy as they please. In the following years, Selena's family hosted memorial concerts like Selena A!Vive! in 2005 and Fiesta de la Flor in Corpus Christi, where her fans could unite in her honor. There was the Mirador de la Flor monument of Selena in Corpus Christi and a Netflix series later followed. There were also brand deals that Selena's fan base loved. In 2016, MAC worked closely on a Selena makeup line with her sister, Suzette Quintanilla. Due to a high demand for cosmetics, MAC released a second capsule collection in 2020.
While these are great ways to give back to the fans who are keeping her memory alive, Selena's family has also been criticized for cash-grab moments that fans perceived as disrespectful to Selena. For example, in 2022, the family released the remix album "Moonchild Mixes," in which Selena's voice as a child was manipulated through studio technology to sound older. Amidst the discussions of the ethics of creating a project in her name in that way, the L.A. Times' Fidel Martinez called it a "Selena robot album."
Thanks to the barriers Selena broke down for Latinas, Mexican Americans, and Mexican culture, her fan base has continued to grow exponentially nearly 30 years after her death. As a Mexican American myself, I've also found solace in her music as a gay man. Her songs like "Como La Flor" and "Amor Prohibido," which detail forbidden romances, have become anthems for the LGBTQ+ community. While promoting "Moonchild Mixes," I interviewed Abraham and Suzette Quintanilla. As much as it was an honor for me to talk with the family of an icon who has meant so much to me, I was a little disappointed when they appeared to brush off my question about Selena's connection to her queer fans by changing the subject about how she connected with "everyone." With Selena's music being performed by drag queens and recently on "Drag Race MA(c)xico," her family could try to understand better everyone who makes up her fan base now.
It's not only Selena's family that has been called out for exploitative projects. Back in February, Oxygen released the most disrespectful docuseries since Selena's death, "Selena and Yolanda: The Secrets Between Them." The series is about Yolanda SaldAvar, the woman who managed Selena's fan club and who murdered the singer. The show, which was not authorized by Selena's family, attempted to excuse the actions of SaldAvar, and it was shameful because this woman would now be eligible to apply for parole next year.
The media needs to move on from Selena's death, which also keeps the name of her murderer relevant. Thanks to the barriers she broke down for Latinas, Mexican Americans, and Mexican culture, her fan base has continued to grow exponentially nearly 30 years after her death. As a Mexican American myself, I've also found solace in her music as a gay man. Her songs like "Como La Flor" and "Amor Prohibido," which detail forbidden romances, have become anthems for the LGBTQ+ community. Selena's music has become a staple for Latine drag queens to perform. It made me so happy last year to see "Como La Flor" performed on the first season of "Drag Race MA(c)xico," which was like a collision of my Latine, Mexican, and queer identities. Like how she lived during her lifetime, Selena showed me to embrace everything that makes up who I am.
To truly celebrate Selena, it's time to focus on her life and legacy. Karol G recently sported a Selena shirt in the video for her Tejano-inspired song "Mi Ex TenAa RazA3n." Shakira later paid tribute to Selena by emulating her iconic washing machine spins in "(Entre ParA(c)ntesis)" with Texas-based band Grupo Frontera.
For Selena's birthday this year, let's create parties in her honor and play her music out loud. Selena's impact will never wilt, thanks to the fans who continue to find joy and inspiration from her story.
Bad Bunny is the most-streamed artist on the planet. This fun fact never loses its significance for loyal Latine fans who have witnessed the struggle for Latin music to get the respect and support it deserves here in the States. The Puerto Rican artist put on a hell of a performance at the Barclays Center on April 11. Looking around an arena with a 19,000-person capacity, there wasn't a single empty seat in sight, at least not within my view. It was a packed house of what appeared to be a mostly Latine crowd ranging in age and ethnicity.
There was his usual fan base - Dominican and Puerto Ricans standing in the long lines outside of the stadium with their flags tied around their necks and flowing from their backs. Even with the cold, rainy weather, everyone in those lines was decked out in Bad Bunny merch and ready to celebrate the artist. These same folks were the first to jump up and wave their flags whenever Bad Bunny made mention of his Latine fans and supporters. There were also many Latines of Central and South American descent rocking their flags and holding up signs expressing their love for the singer. Although he's gone global, especially since the success of his 2022 record-breaking album "Un Verano Sin Ti," Latines still appear to make up most of Bad Bunny's concert-attending fans, from how things appeared on Thursday night.
Regardless of how many awards he's taken home or how many records he's broken, Bad Bunny hasn't lost sight of the folks that have supported his music since his early days on SoundCloud before non-Latines had any clue who el conejo malo was. He has proven that whenever he's apologetically spoken in Spanish during an interview or at an award show. He's proven that in the way he has continued to elevate the genre, paying his respect to OGs like Daddy Yankee, Residente, and Tego Calderon and giving his stamp of approval to rising Puerto Rican artists like Young Miko, Rainao, and Villano Antillano.
I've seen Bad Bunny live in NYC twice: first in 2019 at Barclays, and then again at Yankee Stadium for his 2022 World's Hottest tour. At all his concerts, Benito only spoke Spanish and almost exclusively addressed his Latine fans. In many ways, like with many Latin music artists today, attending a Bad Bunny concert feels like you're exclusively a part of his crew or fan club. It doesn't matter that he's gone global - he's still only speaking Spanish and shouting-out Latines.
"New York has been very important in my career, where dreams come true," he told fans in Spanish on Thursday. "Being on the tour feels really amazing, going to each place and seeing it, all the cities, but New York, it's something else. It feels more amazing than usual. Seeing all those PR and DR flags makes it even more special. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for being here; it means a lot to me."
The artist had a lot of emotional moments throughout the performance during which he would stare at a packed stadium filled with excited fans in complete awe and then with teary eyes right before giving his heartwarming speech to Latine fans. In many ways, Bad Bunny's latest album, "Nadie Sabe Lo Que Va a Pasar MaA+-ana," paid homage to Puerto Rico and his Latine concert goers. It acknowledged that regardless of the fame and success that followed with "Un Verano Sin Ti," he hasn't forgotten where he's come from and who his number-one fans are. The concert was very reflective of that sentiment, with half of the songs on the setlist being straight from "Nadie Sabe Lo Que Va a Pasar MaA+-ana," and the later half of the show including older tracks, a guest performance by Bryant Meyer, and tracks from "Un Verano Sin Ti," including his hit track "Titi Me Pregunto." The production at this show was also top-notch, with an orchestra that opened up the show and reappeared throughout, Benito playing "Amorforda" on the piano upside down, a cool jigsaw bridge in the middle of the stadium room, and the artist even riding into the stadium on a real-life horse looking like a ranchero-meets-lucha-libre.
Bad Bunny went all out for us from start to end, delivering an almost-three-hour-long performance filled with so much attention to detail and deeply rooted love and appreciation for his Latine fans. The Latine community is a beautiful one. When we love - we love hard. When we support - we show up in large numbers. I wouldn't be surprised if there were full families in that crowd. But we're also the quickest to criticize our own idols whenever they reach a certain level of fame. And while Bad Bunny has certainly reached a level of fame where he can probably get away with performing for less than two hours without all the cool production effects, he still put in the love he's had for his craft and his Latine fans since the beginning, and he still let us know that he wouldn't be here without us. And that is something I don't think he'll ever stop doing, regardless of how far he may go in his career.A bag adorned with ribbon bows slung over my shoulder, I screamed in anticipation with a crowd full of sequin miniskirts, glittery purple eyeshadow, and fishnet tights as Rodrigo ascended onto the stage for her opening number, "Bad Idea Right." To my surprise, the audience wasn't just young teens, kids, and their parents. An unexpected handful of 20- and 30-something adults like me were just as ready to jump and sing along to a mix of tunes from her sophomore album, "Guts," and her critically acclaimed debut album, "Sour." I imagine we loved the concert the same reason I enjoy her music so much - she made us feel like teens again.
The internet is filled with think pieces and TikTok breakdowns that explain Rodrigo's popularity among women who are older than her: it's fueled by our nostalgia for girlhood and desire to revert back to our teenage years. Scream-singing along to her lyrics at the "Guts" Tour, I certainly felt that, and I saw it on the faces of fellow millennials in the crowd on Saturday night. She took us, her devoted fans, through angst, nostalgia, sadness, and of course, head-banging fun.
A few months prior, I'd seen Rodrigo perform bigger hits like "Get Him Back!" and "Vampire" at Z100's Jingle Ball, so I was already aware of her performing prowess. At the "Guts" Tour, her vocals were raw, filled with a genuine passion and emotion, and her pop-punk energy was unmatched. But her more vulnerable ballads were especially moving to hear live.
When Rodrigo sang about not feeling pretty enough with society's impossible beauty standards in "Pretty Isn't Pretty" and putting yourself out there for someone you love - who's so not worth it - in "Love Is Embarrassing," she brought me back to those exact feelings I'd experienced in high school and college, and even at times in my late twenties. In one particularly special moment introducing "Teenage Dream," she spoke about writing the song as an 18-year-old, being so afraid of growing up. But after recently turning 21 in late February, she realized getting older isn't so scary after all. I admittedly chuckled because, well, she is only 21, but it's also a sentiment I felt back then and still do now.She cycled between emotional ballads like these and fiery bangers that had everyone on their feet. During her performance of "All American Bitch," she encouraged the crowd to "think about someone or something that pisses you off" and scream at the top of your lungs. It was therapeutic.
So, thank you to Rodrigo for taking me back to those messy, fun days, but also reminding me why I'm relieved to be past that phase in my life. My other takeaway after that last encore? Maybe it's OK to text your ex. Get him back!
After two more nights at MSG, the "Guts" Tour is heading to the UK and Europe in May and June, and concludes in August in Los Angeles.
Part of the controversy lies in how Lopez represents herself and her native borough of the Bronx. In one scene from the documentary, Lopez tussles her curly hair while looking in the mirror and says, "It reminds me, like, when I was 16 in the Bronx, running up and down the block. Crazy little girl who used to fucking be wild and no limits, all dreams." TikTok quickly jumped on this small clip, with many users commenting on how contrived the scene felt. One user noted it allegedly took numerous takes to get the finished shot. From there, it wasn't long before social media started to mine Lopez's old interviews for any hint of inauthenticity.
In a resurfaced clip from Vogue's "73 Questions" series, Lopez shares her childhood bodega order of "ham and cheese on a roll with an orange drink . . . and a small bag of chips." This clip, too, has been flamed on social media as New Yorkers demand to know exactly what orange drink Lopez is referring to. Others have remarked it's such a generic order that Lopez can't be as bodega-bred as she claims.
And then, of course, there's the nail in the coffin: an old clip from 2014 making the rounds on social media that shows Lopez pulling up to her old house in Castle Hill, and the current resident having absolutely no idea who she is.
It's not that Lopez isn't from the Bronx - of course, she is. No one can take that away from her. It's that the image she portrays, one of a tried-and-true Bronx girl who made it to Hollywood while staying true to her roots, comes off as disingenuous. Many think she's using the borough for relevance in an age that values authenticity more than anything. But how did she become so seemingly disconnected from the people she supposedly represents?
Growing up in a Puerto Rican household meant Lopez could do no wrong. She was the Fly Girl who made it big. She was Selena. And when her debut album, "On the 6," dropped, my mom had it on repeat, singing along to every word. For my mom, Lopez symbolized success. For many heads from that generation, that's what success was - not so much repping your hood, but representing the fact that you made it out of your hood.
Today, however, that's not enough. That's why Lopez's actions are often perceived as self-serving. In part, it's a generational difference. This is evidenced by the fact that so few of her recent critics knew what she meant by "orange drink." For the record, I'm pretty sure she was referencing the 25-cent "quarter waters" that were a staple of bodegas back in the '90s (you'd be hard-pressed to find them now). They didn't have a proper name; you just asked for the color. But, bodega order aside, the fact that Lopez had to rebrand her tour amid slowing ticket sales shows how much public opinion has waned for a star who once sold out Vegas residencies with frequency.
In this light, it's unsurprising that people from the community and even her fans are skeptical of how she reps the Bronx - an attempt to delay the sun setting on an incredible 30-year career and energize the masses. But it's not enough to claim NYC as your birthright and expect New Yorkers to show up. Here, trust and loyalty are won the hard way. You have to put the city on your back, elevate it, and actively participate in the culture.
Cardi B made headlines when she donated $100,000 to her old middle school in the Bronx. Fat Joe helped organize a fundraiser for families affected by the 2022 Twin Parks fire, and he's well-known for routinely giving back to the community. And J Lo? Well, that's the thing. She has. In 2014, she announced a partnership with Montefiore Medical Center in the Bronx to establish The Center for a Healthy Childhood, which aimed to improve children's health and overall nutrition in the surrounding communities.
But for many of us, the occasional philanthropic stint isn't enough. And the fact that it's been 10 years since her last major contribution to the borough doesn't help Lopez's case. Neither does the fact that she danced her way to an acting career, singing career, and millions of dollars along the way, but she hasn't opened a single dance academy to help others do the same. I think a Jennifer Lopez-branded dance academy in the heart of Castle Hill would be a no-brainer and would help her improve her current standing in the community.
That being said, Lopez isn't obligated to satisfy anyone's expectations but her own. And there are plenty of A-list New Yorkers who do less for their respective boroughs and are subject to far less criticism. At the end of the day, however, Lopez is unique in that she understands and cashes in on the social clout that comes with being from the Bronx. She understands that it distinguishes her from the majority of the Hollywood elite - she's someone who isn't supposed to have a seat at the table, yet now enjoys the same privileges as her silver-spoon counterparts.
I once had a friend tell me that the hood is something no one can take from you. It's hardwired into you, regardless of what you achieve. The lessons the streets teach are lessons for life. I truly believe that. And I'm sure Lopez does, too. In her eyes, she'll always be Jenny from the block, regardless of what any of us have to say.
But I also believe there's no such thing as playing both sides. As someone who has slowly watched their neighborhood disappear because of gentrification and has had the landscape of his memories shift with each passing day, I wish I had the money to do something about it. And if I ever found myself in that position, in a position to give back, I would.
At those jobs, I met a lot of women who were creating art that was meaningful to them and their communities. They weren't household names, but they showed me that I'd been wrong. They proved to me that writers who look like me or grew up with similar experiences deserve a shot at getting our stories out there.
At the same time, I decided to finally go for it and pursue a career as a professional writer. I couldn't help but note the number of organizations that were embracing Latina storytelling. But back then there weren't as many folks working on the criticism side and no one was focusing on encouraging Latinas like me to be critics. So I cofounded the indie publication LatinaMedia.Co, along with another Latina, Nicola Schulze, to give others the boost I needed - the explicit invitation to become a published critic.
Make no mistake, film criticism is broken. According to USC Annenberg's Inclusion Initiative, white guys write 65.7 percent of movie reviews. Meanwhile, they make up 30 percent of the population. Way on the other side, Black, Indigenous, Asian, and Latina women combined write just 3.7 percent of movie reviews, despite making up around 20 percent of the population. I suppose they don't break it out by group because the numbers would be so small.
And it's not just film criticism. Journalism as a whole is too white, with Pew Research reporting that only 25 percent of reporters are people of color (and only eight percent are Hispanic, despite us being nearly 20 percent of the population). In Hollywood, the problem stretches all around the camera, with too few women-of-color executives, stars, creators, directors, and writers. Many believe that all those pledges to increase diversity and inclusion were just PR stints with not much changing in story-making fields.Stories matter. They help us make meaning of the world. They allow us to understand ourselves and others. But the lack of representation in the books I read growing up made me feel like my stories didn't matter. Still, it's funny how things work out. When I was working in nonprofits and meeting all these women storytellers, I also met a lot of activists who'd given TEDx Talks (some of them were the same lady artists). I looked at their examples and thought, I want to do that. Giving a TEDx Talk became a bucket list item for me, something I promised myself I'd be ready for someday.
That day came last year, five years after cofounding LatinaMedia.Co and embarking on a career in entertainment journalism. From my activist circles, I knew Tabby Biddle, a TEDx speaker and coach who, among other things, leads classes to encourage more women to give TED Talks. Because yes, TED is another one of those institutions that is historically exclusionary. While they've made some progress over the years, 56.2 percent of their speakers are still white men. Biddle saw my work and thought I might know some Latinas interested in the scholarship she was offering. I did happen to know someone, and that someone was me.
As the class was winding down, Tabby warned that it could take a year or more, along with multiple applications, to get on stage. I was relieved. Giving a TEDx Talk, where you share both ideas and yourself, was scary. I still struggle with that nagging voice inside of me that says, "I'm not good enough." Still, I started a spreadsheet of potential events, sent out some initial feelers, and applied to one event.
And they picked me. The good people at TEDx Cherry Creek, a nonprofit staffed by volunteers and founded by current Colorado State Senator Dafna Michaelson Jenet working to get more women on the TED stage (see a trend here), selected me. Based on the super-quick video I submitted (it had to be 40 seconds or less!) and a handful of short essays, the event organizers selected me and 17 other women out of the 175 people who applied. I was thrilled, shocked, and nervous.
I then had three months to work with them and my cohort of truly impressive women to put together the talk that I had dreamed of giving, the one where I tell my story and make the case for more diversity in media criticism.
I argued that TV and movies hold a special place in our culture, influencing how we see ourselves and how we see others, which in turn affects how we build our systems and institutions. If we want this world to be for everyone, everyone needs a chance to tell stories and evaluate them - that was my thesis. But I didn't stop there. I used myself as a test case for how this influence can be damaging, telling my story of losing and finding my voice again. I went on to explain how I'm paying it forward with LatinaMedia.Co. Then I ended the talk by inviting the audience to join me, giving everyone a three-step plan on how to change the face of media criticism and, from there, the world.
To get ready, I practiced every day. I conscripted friends and family members to listen. I guest spoke at a class at a community college for practice. When the day came, I was still scared. But I wasn't nervous about my performance. I was anxious about standing in front of the world without armor, sharing my truth. I did it anyway. I cried for a moment once I got off stage, relieved and exhausted. I hugged my parents and husband, who'd traveled to hear me speak. And then I had to wait.
The event organizers had to edit the video, the TEDx people had to approve and post it. When it finally came out, I felt relieved and nervous all over again, this time about sharing it with the world.
Now here I am, a long way from the pink carpet of my childhood bedroom. And I'm here not because I'm some fearless shero. I'm here because I had so many examples of women seeing the hard thing and still going for it. I strive to be one of them. I think with this talk, with LatinaMedia.Co, with this article and the others I tap out, I'm doing my part to show my community that we belong anywhere we want to go. Because if I've learned anything over my years of working with Latina writers and thinkers, it's that we're just getting started.
Shakira shares her sons "absolutely hated" the film because they "felt it was emasculating." "I like pop culture when it attempts to empower women without robbing men of their possibility to be men," the singer says.
And while part of me understands that reaction, I cannot help but respectfully disagree with her. Feminism isn't just a theory, it's a practice, and different people practice it differently. Shakira not liking the "Barbie" movie doesn't make her less of a feminist. However, her opinion of the film is one shared by a vocal minority, and one I've heard reiterated by a lot of men (and right-wing politicians like Ted Cruz), many of whom won't even see a "girl's movie."
So, as a man who not only thoroughly enjoyed "Barbie" but found the message to be more subtle than "men suck, women are better," I wanted to examine how so many people could misconstrue Greta Gerwig and Noah Baumbach's script. For starters, the movie doesn't portray men as bubbly and shallow characters just for the sake of emasculating them. The movie portrays them as what they are: victims. The Kens have been robbed of any real agency and opportunity to be anything more than eye candy by Barbieland's matriarchy, a system that, conversely, places women in every major role throughout society. Sound familiar? It is the exact opposite of a patriarchy and yet still manages to achieve the same results: oppression of the opposite sex.
Yes, much of the Kens' dilemma and ensuing takeover of Barbieland sees the dumb dial turned up to the max - taking the piss out of machismo culture. But at its core, it's a commentary on the importance of being valued on a societal level. At every corner, the Kens are marginalized in the society they serve. This puts them at odds with the Barbies - not with women. Instead, the Kens' struggle is meant to parallel the struggle women experience in real life. It also shows how patriarchy can be destructive for the men it empowers.
By adopting patriarchy, the Kens rope themselves into accepting the often rigid criteria to which men must conform to be considered manly. Hence, the overabundance of cowboy hats, trucks, horses, and Mojo Dojo Casa Houses, regardless of whether or not the individual Ken has an affinity for these things. They gain power, yes, but they are still denied individuality, only this time by their own hand.
Shakira mentions that "men have their purpose too" and that "she wants her sons to feel powerful . . . while respecting women." But this is exactly the note the movie ends on. For the first time, the Kens are allowed to decide what their role in society will be. And for the first time, it won't be centered around supporting the Barbies' wants or needs, but instead on what they want for themselves.
But what about the notion that the movie "emasculates" the men? Sure, the Kens could have had more depth than having "beach" as a job, but I don't think it would have been as funny or as effective an allegory for the loss of agency that comes with oppression. I didn't find it emasculating. But I do find the uproar around it telling.
As an afropuertorriqueA+-o, I don't often benefit from narrative plurality, or the existence of a multitude of films, shows, or other media that showcase my people in a variety of different roles and perspectives. But as a man? Absolutely, I do. I can turn on my TV right now and find a movie about a badass killing machine who loves dogs ("John Wick"), a show about a physically lacking, neglected child who uses his wits to outsmart and outlive multiple empires ("Game of Thrones"), a movie about a reluctant savior who inherits his mother's magic and his father's kingdom and uses both to become a literal fucking messiah ("Dune"), and the list goes on. Narrative plurality means that there are enough positive depictions of characters like us that the negative depictions don't hold as much weight. Or at least you'd think.
But you make one movie in which the men - or in this case the Kens - are portrayed as superficial accessories in constant competition for the affections of a woman and have no purpose other than to service her desires, and it undoes all the rest of it. Perhaps, in the same vein, we should consider the impact of the negative portrayals of women and people of color on screen.
When did I first experience gender euphoria? My parents are so accepting of me, so that's, for me, truly when I always have the most gender euphoria. Just being around my family. And knowing that that's not an experience that a lot of LGBTQ kids and adults get to experience, that's something that I become more and more grateful for the more people I meet in the community. It's something that I hold very close to my heart.
Lady Gaga is not queer, but she is someone I always looked to because she had such an impact in my coming-of-age as an adult. During middle school, when Gaga was first topping the charts - the era of "Born This Way" and all those songs - she made me feel so empowered that I could be myself and live my truth.
"[L]ife unfolds in the way it's supposed to."
These days, I have made myself known not only for being trans; a lot of my audience doesn't even know that I'm trans. I feel like whenever I do talk about it, it's almost like, "Oh, whoa, I didn't know that about her." I think that's always really interesting. I think most creators who are trans make it part of their content, and it's something I talk about every now and then. I think it's cool for me to do that, because people who don't know that about me now have this different perspective of me. But right now, it's really inspiring to see other queer creators who are gaining so much success: people living their lives and building their careers.
My own message for other young trans folks is that it's all going to work out, things are going to get better. If you're struggling with people accepting you, you accepting yourself, you living in your truth - everything does truly work out in the end. It's hard to remember in the moment of course, but over time, life unfolds in the way it's supposed to. Just give yourself grace and give yourself time.
- As told to Lena Felton
In our Q&A /feature series Tell Me MA!s, we ask some of our favorite Latine artists to share some inside info about their lives and habits, revealing everything from their most recent read to the songs that get them hyped. This month, we trekked out to Joe's Pub in the historic East Village to see Grammy-nominated singer-songwriter Alex Ferreira take the stage and chatted with him about his latest project, fatherhood, and how he's balancing the two.
Alex Ferreira's dressing room at Joe's Pub is small and sparse, without much in the way of personal belongings or even instruments. There's a guitar case to one side, a knapsack nearby on a leather chair, and the singer himself sitting sideways in front of the lighted vanity - his trademark curls falling in front of his face. It's a stripped environment, a fitting one given that later in the evening Ferreira will hit the stage with just a guitar and a soundboard and take the crowd on a full spectrum journey of love, heartbreak, and everything in between. But right now, he's smiling, seemingly in his element: in a back room, in a big city, while on the road.
"I love touring. I love going to different countries, meeting different people. It's such an inspiration for me," the artist tells PS.
As a completely independent artist, Ferreira understands that he's incredibly fortunate to be able to live off his music. But that often comes with long stretches far away from home, so it's good that he loves to tour. This current tour has seen him on the go since last year. He's performed all over Spain and has upcoming stops in Mexico. His two-night stint in New York caps the US section that had him in Miami and Puerto Rico. However, having recently become a father, Ferreira admits that he doesn't have much time to hang out in these places like he once did.
"I want to be with my daughter. I feel like this is a very important time in her life, her first year . . . the responsibility I have as a father is much greater than that of my artistic life," he says.
This is especially true since, in his artistic life, Ferreira is pretty well-established. Having made waves since 2010 with a singer-songwriter style that incorporates a healthy dose of experimentation and genre-bending, he knows who he is as an artist. And his fans do too.
Later on in the night, the crowd will swell in unison, singing along with the crooner in such a natural way that it seems rehearsed. That's the kind of musician Ferreira is known for. It's music that can make the room small. He's cracking jokes one minute and, the next, singing with such vulnerability that it's hard not to be moved.
Yet, at home, he is still adjusting to his role as a father.
"Everything is new. Every stage of the process brings a new challenge. Every stage is a learning process and there's no manual, no university to tell you these things. You learn on the fly," Ferreira muses.
One such challenge? Finding the time to write and work on his upcoming album while being a full-time dad.
"Before, I could - and I hate this word but - I could procrastinate a little. Now I can't," he says. "If I have one hour to work, I can't waste time. So now my creative process is much more efficient."
He now views composing, like going to the gym. To get it done he needs a little bit of consistency, dedicating a few hours out of the day to play, write, and practice before he can put pen to paper and come up with a song.
But that doesn't mean that making music has become just another exercise for the veteran artist. Talking about his upcoming project, "Versiones Para El Tiempo Y La Distancia Vol. 2," Ferreira shares that he wants to continue to refine the sound he's been crafting over the last decade while also experimenting further with blending elements of rock, bachata, and other genres into a unique experience. We can expect more of this from his upcoming album.
"In a similar way to how fatherhood is a process of change, I think my career and my discography can also be seen in that light. I like to have a little doubt, to not know what I'm going to do," he says."I've also realized that my fans don't come with that prejudice of, 'Oh, he's a singer-songwriter, everything is going to sound the same.' The people who come to see me know that I'm not committed to any one genre. The common denominator is my voice. My lyrics."
Ferreira possesses an uncanny ability to peer into the connections we all share and transpose them into poetry. In "Me La Saludan" he uses sarcasm to express the weight of wounds that have yet to heal. On his new track, "De Verdad" he pleads for love in all its complexity. Love "as a decision," the artist muses.
The official version of the song is a jazzy, upbeat fusion. But on stage, in Joe's Pub's small theater, Ferreira turns it into a touching, acoustic ode to the long run - a relationship measured not in days or months, but in the moments that make up a life together. Even if you've listened to his music for years, hearing him perform live is an experience. His voice takes on a quality that doesn't translate through speakers, it's more vulnerable, more dimensional, and able to not only touch but bring the audience closer.
It's this ability to tap into emotion, to expose life's raw nerves with tenderness, while at the same time cracking jokes on stage, that has led to Ferreira's enduring success and relevance, even as the industry experiences an indie boom. Silvana Estrada, DaniA(c)l, Me EstA!s Matando, Guitarricadelafuente - these are today's Latin music indie darlings. Ferreira has worked with many of them. The members of DaniA(c)l, Me EstA!s Matando were a part of his band at one point. But when asked about his role or standing in the current scene, Ferreira, despite his legacy and achievements, maintains his humility.
"I've never thought of it in terms of a role . . . for me [Latin music] is like a chain and I think that I'm just another link in that chain," he says."I think it's so cool that this music can connect with not just first-gen Latinos, but second and third-gen as well, Latinos that don't even speak Spanish, people that don't even speak Spanish. For me, it's a pleasure to be a part of that, like a little grain of sand."
It gives Ferreira joy seeing his friends and the artists that have come after him find so much success. But he is also wary of the direction of the industry as a whole with everything moving towards songs created in minutes to achieve virality rather than expression.
That's not to say that he's anti-electronic. Ferreira has often added electronic elements to his music and is a fan of experimentally-minded artists like James Blake and Bjork. He's more concerned about the use of things like autotune and AI as a shortcut to artistry rather than as a means to enhance it.
"When everything starts to sound the same, when the beats are all the same, with the same musical structure, with the same effects, and the same melody, I feel like that's when the machine wins," he says.
But until then, he has faith in the process of making "imperfect art" and has some sage advice for those looking to make it in music in the current climate.
"Everyone always wants more than they have. Don't fall into that dynamic. Make music because it's your passion, because you love it, [and] because you can't live without it. Because, as a business model, there are better ones out there," Ferreira says with a wink and a smile.
Read on to find out about Ferreira's morning ritual, who his favorite artist of the moment is, and his secret to finding peace.
PS: What is your morning ritual?
Ferreira: Coffee and music. If I don't have my coffee I'll have a stroke.
PS: If you had to choose just one place to spend the rest of your days, where would it be?
Ferreira: Madrid
PS: Who is your favorite artist at the moment?
Ferreira: Adrianne Lenker.
PS: You have a song called "Sonrisa Valiente." Who in your life would you say has the most valiant smile?
Ferreira: My daughter.
PS: What's your method for finding peace?
Ferreira: Music. Singing it, playing it, listening to it, whatever it happens to be, is therapeutic for me.
PS: The best part of being a father?
Ferreira: Connecting with my inner child again. Tapping into that childishness that we lose in life.
The first song Shakira released that was directly related to the breakup was 2022's "Te Felicito" with Puerto Rican Latin trap artist Rauw Alejandro. The song not only marked Shakira's comeback, it was also the first in a string of singles that would display her healing journey to the world and eventually become part of her latest highly anticipated album, "Las Mujeres Ya no Lloran," which was released on March 22.
Following "Te Felicito," a sarcastic song about congratulating her ex for finding new love, Shakira released a hit song with Ozuna titled "MonotonAa." But it was Shakira's famous diss track that redirected her career. The track "Shakira: Bzrp Music Sessions, Vol. 53," a collaboration with Argentine producer Bizarrap, resonated so much with fans that it racked up more than 63 million YouTube views in 24 hours, becoming the most-watched Latin debut song in YouTube history. The song also skyrocketed to Spotify's Top 50 Global chart, breaking the record of the most-streamed track in a single day in Spotify history, and eventually it landed Shakira the Latin Grammy for song of the year.
And it's the song that ultimately set the theme for her first album in seven years. "Las Mujeres Ya No Lloran" is literally a line taken from "Shakira: Bzrp Music Sessions, Vol. 53," only in the track she completes the thought by singing "Las mujeres ya no lloran, las mujeres facturan," which translates to "Women don't cry anymore, they cash in."
Every song Shakira released in 2022 and 2023 played a different role in the Colombiana's healing and rebuilding process. "TQG," a track in collaboration with Karol G that also appeared in her 2023 album "MaA+-ana SerA Bonito," is a song about being too good for a man who hurt her - referring to PiquA" and Karol G's ex Anuel AA. "Copa VacAa" is a pop-reggaetA3n song she did in collaboration with Colombian singer Manuel Turizo about not receiving enough love and affection from a partner, while "El Jefe" is a norteA+-o Mexican song with Fuerza Regida about taking control of your destiny, something fans have witnessed the artist do since publicly announcing her split. "Altima" is a moving track that Shakira told the New York Times is the last song she will release about her ex PiquA".
"In the journey of picking up the pieces after a very public breakup, Shakira is showing us that although dreams don't always turn out to be what we envisioned them to be, she is not shying away from her scars," says Nicolas Barili, an award-winning journalist and creator/host of Paramount+'s Latin music docuseries "De La Calle." "By controlling her own narrative, Shakira is empowering listeners to be inspired by her bold transformation, while proving to our community and the world that vulnerability is the greatest strength."
What makes this album such a masterpiece isn't just the journey we see Shakira take in healing her heartache, but how it invites hope and new beginnings. Tracks like "Cohete" with Rauw Alejandro and "PunterAa" with Cardi B acknowledge the allure of experiencing a new love - even though Shakira has shared she can't imagine herself falling in love again.
Then there's "AcrA3stico," a beautiful piano-led ballad that emphasizes Shakira's role as a mother and includes her two sons, Milan and Sasha. This one stood out most to Barili.
"Having been raised by a single mom myself, the love letter between her and her sons speaks to those of us that are what's left over after parents break up, reminding us that some bonds will never be broken," Barili says. "Shakira has provided a cathartic release for not only herself but for anyone that has ever gone through break ups, all while proving that she is still the queen of Latin pop."
"La Mujeres Ya No Lloran" is Shakira's first album in seven years since releasing her 2017 album "El Dorado." If this album did anything, it proved that the greatest and most impactful art is often created from pain and heartache - hence Shakira's diamond tears displayed in the cover art.
"It's the same reason why an artist's debut album is often their best work, because struggle often elicits masterpieces," says JesAos Trivino, a Latin pop culture expert and Tidal's senior content and music executive. "Similarly, whenever there are challenges in your life, you take it as an experience and learn from it. If you're a creative like Shakira, you dive into your work, and usually introspective, empowering music comes out. With 'Las Mujeres Ya No Lloran,' Shaki has done that."
That Shakira's extraordinary comeback album is filled with back-to-back hits and major collaborations with artists including Cardi B, Rauw Alejandro, Ozuna, and more also speaks to how relevant she's managed to remain despite how saturated the Latin music world has become. If anything, the breakup needed to happen to inspire her to use her pain, anger, and sadness to create her rawest and most vulnerable work. As she has said in numerous interviews, the experience allowed her to "transform pain into productivity."
"One of the superstars who started the late '90s, early 2000s Latin boom still has it and never lost it. Shakira, more than other Latin acts of that era, had to introduce herself and an entire country (Colombia) to the US and global market," Trivino says. "On this album, she's uplifting her fellow Colombianas (Karol G), co-signing the stars of today (Rauw Alejandro), as well as shining a light on other genres (Mexican music). I hope listeners don't waste their time in gossip but rather enjoy Shakira in all her greatness while she's on this planet."
Sometimes it takes our worlds falling apart to get us back in line with our passion and our purpose. One thing is for sure: our favorite loba is here to stay.
She grew up splitting her time between Los Angeles and Star Valley, WY, which created a stark contrast - but it was the country lifestyle, and specifically the music, that held her heart. Adell remembers falling in love with Keith Urban when he released "Somebody Like You." And every summer, when she and her mom would set out to drive back to LA from Star Valley, she'd sit in the back of the car and "just silently cry my eyes out as we'd start on this road trip back to California," she remembers.
These days, Adell is a rising country music star. And ever since BeyoncA(c) released "Texas Hold 'Em" and "16 Carriages" on Super Bowl Sunday and announced her forthcoming country album, the spotlight has been on Black women country artists like her. A lot of that attention has been positive; Adell and others say they're incredibly excited about what this will mean for the genre. But it's also been a bit contentious. After an Oklahoma radio station refused to play BeyoncA(c) because it "is a country music station," an online uproar convinced the station to reverse its decision - and ignited a larger conversation around inclusion within the genre.
On March 19, BeyoncA(c) announced "Act II: Cowboy Carter" will be released on March 29. In an Instagram post, she opened up about what it means to be a Black woman in country. "This album has been over five years in the making. It was born out of an experience that I had years ago where I did not feel welcomeda|and it was very clear that I wasn't. But, because of that experience, I did a deeper dive into the history of Country music and studied our rich musical archive. It feels good to see how music can unite so many people around the world, while also amplifying the voices of some of the people who have dedicated so much of their lives educating on our musical history," she wrote. "The criticisms I faced when I first entered this genre forced me to propel past the limitations that were put on me. act ii is a result of challenging myself, and taking my time to bend and blend genres together to create this body of work."
"Country music is how you feel, it's your story, it's part of you."
Indeed, for other Black women artists like Adell, pursuing country music often transcends the difficulty that might come with navigating their identity in a genre dominated by white men. As she puts it, "Country music is how you feel, it's your story, it's part of you."
The same was true for Tiera Kennedy when she started writing songs in high school. She was a big fan of Taylor Swift at the time, and she just fell into expressing herself through the genre. "I always say I don't feel like I found country music, I feel like country music found me," she tells POPSUGAR. "When I started making music, it just came out that way. I was writing what I was going through at the time, which was boy drama. And I fell in love with all things country music and just dove into it."
Moving to Nashville seven years ago was "a big deal" for Kennedy in terms of building up her career: "Everyone told me that if you want to be in country music, you have to be in Nashville." When she got there, she was surprised she was so welcomed by others in the industry, which doesn't necessarily happen for everyone, given how tight-knit the city can be. "I was super thankful and blessed to have met so many people early on who have opened doors for me without asking for anything in return," Kennedy says.
For Adell, too, moving to the "capital of country music" almost three years ago was huge in pushing her career forward. And an essential part of that has been finding a community of other Black women artists. "Oh, we have a group chat," she quips. "We're extremely supportive, and I think sometimes people are trying to pin us against each other or even pin us against BeyoncA(c), but you're not going to get that beef or that drama."
"Country is just as much a part of the fabric of Black culture as hip-hop is."
But while these artists have been able to foster a strong community within Nashville, it's no secret that country music has been facing a reckoning when it comes to racism and sexism. Chart-topping artists like Jason Aldean and Morgan Wallen have recently weaponized racism as a marketing tool, per NPR. In September, Maren Morris said she was distancing herself from the genre for some of these reasons. "After the Trump years, people's biases were on full display," she told the Los Angeles Times. "It just revealed who people really were and that they were proud to be misogynistic and racist and homophobic and transphobic."
But the reality is that Black artists have always been part of the foundation of country. As Prana Supreme Diggs - who performs with her mom, Tekitha, as O.N.E the Duo - says, "Black Americans, so much of our history is rooted in the South. Country is just as much a part of the fabric of Black culture as hip-hop is."
Diggs grew up in California watching her mother, a vocalist for Wu-Tang Clan, host jam sessions at her house. She's been wanting to perform professionally with her mom since she was a teenager, but it wasn't until the beginning of the pandemic that they really committed to their joint country project.
For Diggs, there's been nothing but excitement since BeyoncA(c)'s commercial came on during the Super Bowl. She immediately ran to her computer to listen to the songs. "And the second the instrumental came on for 'Texas Hold 'Em' came on, I was like, oh my god, it's happening," she says. "We are finally here."
Tekitha felt the same way. "In the Black and country community, we've really been needing a champion," she says. "We've been needing someone who can kind of blow the door open and to recognize our voice is important in this genre."
Adell says that given how iconic BeyoncA(c) is, the criticism she's received speaks volumes about how far country still has to go. "For her to have given so much of herself to the world and when she decides to have a little stylistic change to not just be supported - I don't understand it," she says. "I don't understand why people aren't just like, 'This is cool, BeyoncA(c)'s coming out with a country album!'"
Kennedy tries to focus on the positives of the industry (if she gets shut out of an opportunity, for example, she won't dwell, she'll just go after the next), but being a Black woman in America will always come with systemic challenges. "No, it hasn't always been easy," she says. "There are so many layers tacked onto that: being a new artist, being female, being Black in country music. But I think if I focused on how hard that is, I would fall out of love with country music."
That positive thinking has been paying off. After the Super Bowl, Kennedy released a cover of "Texas Hold 'Em," and it went viral. After she posted the video, new fans streamed into her DMs, telling her they didn't even know her type of country, which is infused with R&B, existed. It's something other Black women country stars are echoing: that the new focus on their contributions to the genre is a long time coming - and a huge opportunity.
"I'm super thankful that BeyoncA(c) is entering into this genre and bringing this whole audience with her," Kennedy says. "And hopefully that'll bring up some of the artists that have been in town a long time and grinding at it. I don't think there's anybody better than BeyoncA(c) to do it."
Where I'm From: Now and Gen features in-conversation pieces between generations - like a younger woman and her grandmother - discussing a topic like beauty rituals, finances, or marriage. We sat down with filmmaker Sean Wang and his grandmothers, Yi Yan Fuei and Chang Li Hua, the subjects of Wang's Oscar-nominated documentary short, "NCi Nai & WA i PA3." Read their heartwarming chat about friendship below.
In 2021, in the wake of increased anti-Asian violence and the ongoing pandemic, filmmaker Sean Wang moved back home to San Francisco. There, he started observing - then filming - NCi Nai and WA i PA3, his 94-year-old paternal grandmother and 83-year-old maternal grandmother, respectively, who happen to be inseparable friends and roommates. As he captured the mundane moments and joys of their daily lives, he created "NCi Nai & WA i PA3," an Oscar-nominated documentary short that recently landed on Disney+.
"As much as this movie is about my grandmothers and my relationship with them, it is about friendship, sisterhood, and the bonds that you maintain and water in old age."
The Taiwanese American director - whose debut feature film, "DA!di," recently premiered at the 2024 Sundance Film Festival - essentially filmed a series of home videos, which he turned into a beautiful 17-minute "personal love letter" to his grandmothers. "As much as this movie is about my grandmothers and my relationship with them, it is about friendship, sisterhood, and the bonds that you maintain and water in old age," he tells POPSUGAR. "I'm not 86, 96 years old. But I think [their friendship] is a good north star - hopefully, the friendships I have now that I feel are deeply special in my life, the ones that I know will last, that I hope could be NCi Nai and WA i PA3 in our old age, are still as silly and vibrant and fun."
Ahead of the 2024 Oscars, Wang and his grandmothers discuss their decades-long bond, the power of friendship, and the life lessons they've taught one another.
Chang Li Hua (WA i PA3): Us being able to spend our days together and live together is also a form of fate and good fortune. NCi Nai is older than me by 10 years, so I have always seen her like my own big sister. I am younger than her by 10 years, so anytime I am able to help her and take care of her, I will do my best to do so. We have almost all the same hobbies. Reading the newspaper, exercising in the backyard, going out for walks. Every day, we go to our orchard together to check and see which tree has grown fruits. Every day, we eat fruits together, and we take the peels of fruits and vegetables to the backyard and make fertilizer.
Yi Yan Fuei (NCi Nai): [WA i PA3 and I] have the same attitude. We both love friends, we love to exercise, and we love to read the news, so we are able to be together harmoniously, just like sisters. Sean knows too. He became close with us, and I cherish the time we spent together every day.
Sean Wang: They're my grandmothers. And as their sort of mischievous, young filmmaker grandson, I think our relationship is one of such joy, silliness, and this childlike, youthful energy. They mention it in the film that I bring it out of them, but they also bring it out of me. I think that results in some fun collaborations and these silly videos that we make. A lot of those were the seeds that became one half of "NCi Nai & WA i PA3." The silliness, the chaotic joy, I like to call it, that balances out of with the more poignant, deeply human grounded pains of their lives.
Sean Wang: I think I knew all the broad strokes of their lives, but getting to really talk to them about their childhoods and their lives before they were my grandmothers was really enlightening. But cutting to present day - and maybe I always knew this - I learned just how much of these creative spirits they are.
So much of this film was just a way to give them a platform that I think nobody had ever really considered them for. They dance, play, and allow their silliness to take center stage. And now that they're going to the Oscars and being enveloped in this world that is full of spectacle and fancy dresses, they're really loving it and getting to express a muscle that they so clearly have, that no one has ever allowed them to flex.
Yi Yan Fuei (NCi Nai): Sean was very approachable with us old people. He didn't treat us as old people at all. He joked with us every day. He didn't even act like we were dozens of years older than him. We were very happy having fun together.
Chang Li Hua (WA i PA3): I found that Sean was very talented - he has a great vision. Also, he was very patient with us when we were filming the movie. He would teach us how to pose. He's a kid who loves to teach his friends. He's able to hang out with old people, children, or friends of the same age. He's a young man with a lively personality, but also works very hard.
"The days we spend feeling joy and the days we spend feeling pain are the same days spent, so I'm going to choose joy."
Sean Wang: There's a line in the movie that NCi Nai says that has really stuck with me. She says, "The days we spend feeling joy and the days we spend feeling pain are the same days spent, so I'm going to choose joy." I think that very simple decision is a powerful one: choosing joy. Especially for someone like her who's in the twilight years of her life, knowing that her days are more limited than mine. In our dumpster fire of a world at times, allowing yourself to choose joy and celebrate the people around you is a worthy decision.
Yi Yan Fuei (NCi Nai): This young kid can get along so well with others. He doesn't treat us like old people; he still shouts like us young people in front of us every day. When he's here, we have a very happy life. We should be like him, whether he's young or old. He is our friend.
Chang Li Hua (WA i PA3): He helped us learn we're not useless when we are old. We can still be useful people when we are old. We can still dance, make movies, and be actors. Old people should not underestimate themselves. The elderly are also capable of doing so many things.
This interview has been translated, edited, and condensed for clarity.
In season three of "The Morning Show," a race scandal rocks UBA, the broadcast network that serves as the show's backdrop. The storyline sees Karen Pittman's Mia and Greta Lee's Stella strikingly depict the realities of women of color in largely white, corporate spaces like network television. "That's me and Greta actually, in a real way," Pittman tells POPSUGAR after speaking at the 2024 Makers Conference on Feb. 28.
Through characters like Mia and Nya on "And Just Like That...," Pittman brings incredible nuance to her portrayal of strong Black women who navigate their race in their respective environments, which she opened up about in conversation with "Succession" actor J. Smith-Cameron. The two spoke at the three-day summit hosted by Makers, a community-focused media brand owned by Yahoo that's focused on accelerating equity for women in the workplace.
"I pride myself on having characters that don't resemble me as an actor."
For Pittman, identity-driven storytelling is inherently intentional. "I think the storytellers and writers are always looking for ways to imbue your personal, authentic perspective, whatever you have been through in your life," she says. But for the actor and activist, that authenticity is less about sharing her lived experiences and more about bringing complex emotions to her characters. "I pride myself on having characters that don't resemble me as an actor," she explains. "I don't see any of myself in Mia, and I hope to never see any of myself."
Instead, she "influences the storytelling" by ensuring there's depth to her characters. "I remind [writers], 'Let's make sure we show the heart of this character instead of just showing she's a strong woman.' That can end up being a trope," she says. She likes to create characters through their "emotional landscape" in particular. "Knowing what the heart of that woman is and being able to convey that to the camera visually is really where I feel like the greatest influence I have as an actor in any story. That is what makes an audience connect."
With a high-powered, independent TV producer like Mia, she's focused on channeling vulnerability, a quality not often associated with Black women on screen. "The writers of ['The Morning Show'] are always hoping to reflect back the strength and the nimbleness of African American women," she says. "Sometimes that can be one-sided, so I'm always trying to infuse moments of fragility, softness, tenderness, and suppleness of what it means to be a woman in that job, in the same ways that you might see a white woman in those jobs."
Image Source: MaxWhen it comes to Nya, Miranda's professor-turned-friend on "And Just Like That...," it was important to Pittman - and creator Michael Patrick King - that she wear her hair in braids. As she puts it, "I think it is important to reflect, especially on that platform, what it is to have an African American woman who completely accepts her naturalness, who isn't trying to change or look different, who is embodying this construct of Blackness completely, and has decided that she's going to live in a place of love and education - and to share that intelligence on the show." Pittman also understands that Nya's friendship with Miranda allows the opportunity to show viewers what it looks like for a woman of color to build a relationship with a white woman who may not know any other WOC. That's especially impactful in a series with so much fanfare and generational popularity.
But while she's able to start conversations about her characters in some ways, she also acknowledges the challenges that come with being a Black woman in the acting world. In her conversation with Smith-Cameron, Pittman shed light on Hollywood's cultural reckoning in response to George Floyd's murder by police in 2020. While there was an initial shift in the industry, she believes it's since reverted back to the status quo.
"My white colleagues don't have to have these conversations."
"People are forgetful," she tells POPSUGAR. "People forget, and as an actor, you don't want to always have your finger on the pulse of culture trying to teach them or remind them, 'Hey, we need to pump some life into this.' My white colleagues don't have to have these conversations."
As with women of color in any field, she'd like to solely focus on the job at hand: acting. "I would love to go into an experience where the only thing that I'm called to do is to bring the full breadth of my craft and not have to concern myself with anything else," she says. But, as she reminds us, this is the reality for any othered person in our society.
As Pittman underscored in her conversation with Smith-Cameron, "the system is broken," and she knows it'll take time for the industry to progress. But what she can do is collaborate with allies to advocate for the stories and characters they feel are important. "I want to be a human that builds coalition, that keeps common ground," she tells POPSUGAR. "One of the reasons I love portraying these characters is because they have their hand out for connection; they are reflecting back to the culture. There is space for all of us. Certainly in my career, as a mother, as a human being, that is the way I am in the world."
She's also hopeful for change. "If you're an actor or if you're an artist, you are an optimist and an activist," she says. "And if you're an activist or an optimist, you believe that humanity can do something different."
There are numerous standout stars on the newest season of "Love Is Blind" - Megan Fox (Chelsea Blackwell), AD's mother, Kenneth's phone, and the EpiPen, to name a few - but no star shines quite as bright as the famed gold cups. You know the ones we're talking about: those metallic-tinged wine glasses that pop up in nearly every frame of the Netflix dating series.
As omnipresent as the drama, the shiny goblets, of both the stemmed and stemless variety, aren't just sipped by contestants in the pods; they also score a ticket to the all-inclusive honeymoon resort in the Dominican Republic and make appearances, well, pretty much everywhere. Viewers can see them at the group pool party in North Carolina, the wedding-dress shop, every family's house, and every contestant's apartment. We'll put it this way: if "take a shot every time you see a gold cup" was part of a "Love Is Blind" drinking game, you'd likely end up with a massive hangover after just one episode.
So, what's the purpose of the ubiquitous drinking vessels, and where on earth did they come from? Wonder no more, because we've got answers right here.
"Love Is Blind" creator Chris Coelen told Variety that he chose the cups as a way to aesthetically distinguish the series - because holing up would-be lovers in tiny pods separated by an illuminated wall wasn't enough to do so, apparently. "When you turn on the show, you know it's our show," he said. "It's a very authentic, really true following of these people's journeys, but I like the fact that we have this sort of connective tissue with that in a really light way." Beyond that, the opaque nature of the glasses allows for seamless continuity; editors can cobble together scenes without worrying about how much alcohol, water, coffee, or whatever preferred liquid is left in each contestant's cup. Plus, the fact that they're metal and therefore harder to break than glass helps, too.
POPSUGAR also reached out to Netflix about where they scored the viral gold cups - y'know, just in case we plan a "Love Is Blind"-themed party in the future. A representative from the show's production company, Kinetic Content, told us they were, unsurprisingly, purchased in bulk from Amazon and transported from location to location by production vans. Although they were unable to provide the exact brand,
While the inescapable glasses made a splash among eagle-eyed "Love Is Blind" fans, they also became a mascot of sorts for every contestant - especially the women from season two. Deepti Vempati, who got engaged to but later broke things off with Shake Chatterjee, told E! News that she and the other ladies from the show's season want to get matching tattoos of the golden wine glasses. "We've been through so much, and we would always put all of our drinks in the gold goblets," she said. "It's just a symbolic thing for us."
As a kid, I was guilty of just that. It wasn't until years later that I came to understand the importance of claiming my Afro-Puerto Rican heritage and how it shaped not only my identity but also the rhythms that moved me. Yes, that's rhythms, plural. From salsa to cumbia to reggaetA3n, an undeniable AfricanAa drives these genres. And it's just as much a part of our music's DNA as the language we sing it in.
We can't talk about the influence of Black Latines and not mention Machito. Frank "Machito" Grillo, along with band director Mario BauzA!, pioneered the sound of Afro-Cuban jazz in New York City in the 1940s. They took the Big Band format that was popular at that time and added conga, bongos, and timbales.
These instruments are staples of traditional African music and provide Latin jazz with signature percussive elements and rhythmic structure. These elements would later become the foundation of salsa music, which evolved from son montuno and Latin jazz; it upped the tempo but kept the African fundamentals, especially "la clave."
Growing up, my mother used to tell me that la clave was the heartbeat of salsa and, therefore, it was our heartbeat as well. However, while I thought of the clave as something uniquely Latino, the origins of the iconic "ta, ta, ta . . . ta, ta" began in Africa; la clave is an essential part of traditional African music. And even as the first slaves were ripped from their homes and crossed the Caribbean Sea with nothing but a lifetime of servitude awaiting them, la clave came with them. It was as simple as taking two sticks and knocking them together in rhythm, and it would become a staple of the music they produced. It would also eventually embed itself in Latin Caribbean music - not just salsa and son montuno, but other genres as well like danza, rumba, and mambo.
Similarly to jazz in the US, these musical genres would become an avenue to success for Black Latines worldwide and give rise to artists that would forever change the game, like Cheo Feliciano, Celia Cruz, Roberto Roena, Mongo SantamarAa, and "El Sonero Mayor" Ismael Rivera.
But it's not just salsa and its predecessors that are heavily influenced by our African ancestry. Merengue, as we know it today, has its roots in the leisure time given to slaves, during which they would imitate the balls and ballroom dances of their European masters, creating something entirely new in the process. This music would remain mostly confined to the Dominican Republic until the 1930s when pioneer Eduardo Brito brought the music to New York. During the 1960s, merengue would experience another surge in popularity as Dominicans migrated en masse to the city, and Afro-Latino merengueros like JoseAto Mateo would help bring the art form to new heights.
Cumbia music, like merengue, has its origins in dances practiced by the slaves brought to Colombia. Over the years, it evolved to incorporate traditional European instruments and became popular across Latin America. While the sound became extremely popular during the '90s thanks to pop artists like the late Selena Quintanilla and others, it's important to remember that the first person to record a cumbia song was the Afro-Colombian artist Luis Carlos Meyer.
Yet another example of this fusion of African and European is the Mexican folk genre of son jarocho. It's a staple of the Caribbean town of Veracruz, and I first heard of it when I interviewed singer-songwriter Silvana Estrada. When asked about her unique style and influences, the Veracruzan songstress spoke at length about the town's African history and how it led to the creation of son jarocho's unique sound.
Before it was known by its current name, reggaetA3n went through a series of names and transformations. Reggae en espaA+-ol, melaza, underground, rap y reggae -the list goes on. But maybe the most fitting name for it was "La MAosica Negra." Not only did this name epitomize the status of the underground movement that was burgeoning in the barrios, but it also identified it as a product of the Black Latines and Afro-descendientes that lived in them.
From El General and Nando Boom in Panama to DJ Negro and Tego CalderA3n in Puerto Rico, many of the genre's pioneers in the '90s and early 2000s were Black Latines. But beyond just the faces that flashed across the television during the music videos, the music itself was inherently African. Pulling from American hip-hop and Jamaican dancehall, reggaetA3n saw the European elements of Latin music scaled back in favor of an emphasis on heavy percussion. The dembow itself, though taken directly from riddims created by Jamaican producers, correlates with rhythms already found in traditional African music and Caribbean genres (such as Puerto Rican bomba).
African influence has been a part of Latin culture since the very beginning, and that's not even bringing Spain's mixed African heritage into the mix. And yet today, if we look at all the genres mentioned above, we see that what started as Black music sung by Black artists has become progressively lighter. ReggaetA3n is a prime example of this, with artists like Karol G, J Balvin, and Bad Bunny all being lighter skinned. For this reason, remembering the African contribution to our music and our culture in its entirety is incredibly important. We must pay homage to the pioneers of these genres and also make space for today's Black Latine artists to grow alongside their lighter-skinned counterparts.
Because at the end of the day, from the lightest to the darkest of us, our African heritage is something that we share; it connects us. And as we see when we take a closer look at our music, Latin music IS Black music. It's high time we recognize it as such.
"Being a bit different became my status quo."
The artist, who recently took home her first Grammy for best traditional pop vocal album, has taken the music world - and TikTok - by storm. Since going viral on the platform in early 2022, she's released two albums, the second of which earned her the accolade. "Being a bit different became my status quo. I took my experience of being undefined into the music industry," she says.
Laufey's background growing up with Chinese and Icelandic parents in Iceland and later living in the US was pivotal to building her sound and, eventually, her career in music. "I had such a mix of experiences learning music," she says. Her first foray into music was connected to her Chinese culture - through her mother, a world-class violinist, and her maternal grandfather, who taught the instrument.
Laufey took piano lessons at Beijing's prestigious Central Conservatory of Music, and she performed as a solo cellist for the Iceland Symphony Orchestra at 15. When she started attending Berklee College of Music in Boston, she learned jazz and pop for the first time. "All of those experiences allowed me to grow up hearing the different sounds of each of my cultures and taught me about the things that bind different musical disciplines together and what sets them apart," she explains. Her blend of jazz, classical, and pop is so unique that there's often debate over defining her exact genre of music.
In addition to influencing her music, her college experience allowed her to embrace more of her Asian heritage, which she says she wasn't exposed to growing up in Iceland. "Living in the US has given me exposure to bigger Asian communities that I didn't necessarily have growing up in Iceland, where my mother and a few of her friends were the extent of my Asian community," she says. "Outside of the music industry, I've been able to embrace my identity as an Asian and be more proud of that side of me." In turn, that shift has given her the opportunity to "connect on a deeper level" with her fans of Asian descent.
And now, as a young woman in the music industry, Laufey is passionate about opening up opportunities for other women artists, particularly those of color. She can count the number of women producers she's worked with on one hand. Through Bose's Turn the Dial initiative, which aims to close the gender gap in music production, the musician collaborated with Eunike Tanzil, a rising producer and composer, to create a song from scratch in just three hours. "Eunike has such a beautiful way of approaching a simple melody, which is what drew me to her in the beginning," Laufey says. "It's an honor to create music with other Asian women in the industry. Together, we bring to our music a type of sincerity that is unique to our backgrounds."
As she continues to climb the charts, Laufey understands her undefined genre and identity represent what mainstream music and media have been missing. For Laufey, her recent Grammy win was "for those who couldn't figure out who they wanted to be."
As she puts it: "It was a stamp of approval proving that you don't have to follow a certain path in order to succeed in music."
"I've been married four times now. I'm sure people watching from the outside were like, 'What is this girl's fucking problem?' You saw kind of a compulsive behavior," Lopez says in the documentary's introduction. "What I portrayed to the world was, 'Oh this didn't work out and it's fine and I'm good and they're good.' And all of that was kind of bullshit."
The documentary goes behind the scenes in the making of both the film and the album, and Lopez also walks viewers down the last two decades of her personal life. She admits all those back-to-back marriages and relationships were a result of not being good with herself.
"I didn't think much of myself. So the world didn't think much of me. That lined up," she says in tears.
She also reveals that part of the inspiration behind her self-financed multimedia project was getting back with the love of her life and now-husband, Ben Affleck, who appears in both the musical (as an incognito character) and the documentary. Lopez shares that she was completely devastated after their 2004 breakup because she felt like she didn't just lose the love of her life but also the best friend she'd ever had. The public scrutiny that followed only made things worse.Similarly to the musical film, the documentary touches on Lopez's love life for the past 20 years, the reason she was in constant search for love, and her love story with Affleck. But more importantly, it highlights her self-love journey and explores why it took her so long to get to a better relationship with herself.
"'This Is Me... Now' is about truth and facing the truth of who you really are and embracing that, and the truth is I'm not the same as I was 20 years ago," she says.
In the documentary, Lopez shares how being the middle child made her constantly feel a need to show her parents and family that she had value and worth. She felt ignored by her dad, who was always working, and her mom, whom she claims was always the center of attention. Feeling emotionally neglected forced her to become hardworking and disciplined, she says, and somewhere down the line she started seeking the love she didn't feel she received growing up from men.
At first, it was hard for me to believe that Lopez isn't the same person she was 20 years ago - at least when it comes to her love life and her need to constantly be in a romantic relationship. When have we ever seen her single? Very shortly after her breakup with baseball star Alex Rodriguez in 2021, she was already being publicly seen with Affleck. Can someone really get over their fear of being alone and their need to constantly be in partnership without ever taking a significant break from dating? I'd argue no. But in the doc, Lopez admits there was a period when she did finally embrace singlehood.In the musical, there's a scene where Fat Joe, who plays her fictional therapist, asks her if she has "ever considered being alone for a minute." Her incognito character begins to break down in tears. Lopez admits in the documentary that the scene with Fat Joe parallels an actual conversation she had with a therapist.
"I used to be terrified to be alone," Lopez shares. "I didn't know what I was going to do by myself. Who was going to take care of me? Who was going to protect me? This one therapist said to me, 'Can you be alone?' And I was like, 'I can do it. I can be alone. I can be alone. I'll be alone until Christmas.'"
Lopez's therapist suggested she erase everyone from her phone who might pose temptation. According to Lopez, she listened and took some significant time to be alone and address whatever it was she needed to heal - like feeling emotionally abandoned as a child.
It's been easy for some fans to dismiss Lopez's recent projects - the film, the album, and the doc - as silly or unnecessary. But I couldn't help but empathize with her after having more insight into her journey and the things she's struggled with when it comes to love and relationships. I now believe Lopez when she says she took the time to be alone and heal - whenever that was.
Ultimately, it's clear that investing $20 million in this project was for herself, not for fans or viewers. Documenting her own journey was more a therapeutic act of self-love than anything else. Lopez likely didn't put out these projects to be nominated for awards or because she believes they'll be major hits; she put them out because they were the final process in her healing journey.
If these projects do anything, I hope they inspire viewers struggling with self-worth to take the time to reflect, heal, and give themselves the self-love they've always deserved. Because at the end of the day, the only love that we can guarantee in this life is the love we can give ourselves.
As reggaetA3n, afrobeats, and trap become global, their distinct sounds and formulas become more cemented. However, rapper and singer Goyo has always defied the confines of a single genre. As a member of the award-winning group ChocQuibTown, the sound that she helped craft along with her brother Miguel "Slow" Martinez and Carlos "Tostao" Valencia, combined elements of traditional African percussion, Colombian folk, hip-hop, dancehall, and reggaetA3n. Now, as she continues her musical journey, this time as a solo artist, Goyo still finds it difficult to put a label on exactly what her sound is.
"The truth is that it's difficult for me to classify myself as one single thing . . . I can easily do a song that's straight hip-hop or a song that's straight folkloric. It's part of what I am," says the artist.
When she first arrived on the scene, it was just as difficult for the industry to classify her and her fellow group members. They won their first Grammy under the rock/alternative category for the song "De Donde Vengo Yo," as there was no urbano category at that time. But since that time, the genre has exploded allowing young artists from barrios across the globe to chase their dreams and allowing female emcees to show what they are capable of.
Yet, despite this influx of new talent, there is a fluidity and maturity to Goyo's sound that immediately sets her apart.
"Within the urbano movement, hip hop, rapping, singing, that's where I feel most comfortable," she tells POPSUGAR.
For long-time fans of ChocQuibTown, this should come as no surprise, as Goyo's talent for melodic hooks and precise lyricism has been evident since ChocQuibTown's debut album "Somos Pacifico" in 2006. However, now that the spotlight is solely focused on her, she's able to fully embrace her versatility, crafting songs and exploring concepts that highlight a more personal journey.
"With ChocQuibTown, what we wanted to do was put ChocA3 on the map, to vindicate our culture, and in some way say that 'hey, we're here.' We're representing our hood."
"With ChocQuibTown, what we wanted to do was put ChocA3 on the map, to vindicate our culture, and in some way say that 'hey, we're here.' We're representing our hood," Goyo shares. "The difference now [as a soloist] is the experience, everything that I've lived, showing everything that I am as a versatile woman."
It's a journey that has many parallels with a certain hip-hop legend and one of Goyo's idols: Ms. Lauryn Hill. Both were the sole female members of powerhouse rap groups. Both burst onto the scene to immediate acclaim and not only could harmonize and provide R&B elements to compliment their male group members' raps, but they were also powerhouse spitters in their own right. The similarities aren't lost on Goyo as she admits to looking to Ms. Hill, not only as a source of inspiration but a teacher of sorts, helping her build confidence as a young emcee.
"For me, she's a teacher in the way that [listening to her music] was able to rid me of a lot of fear and allow me to be myself when it came time to write [my verses]," Goyo says.
Along with Hill, Goyo mentions Foxy Brown, and Rah Digga as major influences. On the Latin side of things, artists like Tego Calderon, Celia Cruz, and Grupo Niche have all had a tremendous impact on her.
"I grew up surrounded by music, my mother and my aunts always singing in the house. So while I was growing up influences would always come to me from all different sides," she recalls.
These different sides were something she got to showcase in the HBO special, "En Letra de Otro," where she put her spin on classic songs like Don Omar's "Otra Noche" and Tito Puente's "Oye Como Va." But don't get it twisted, these weren't just Goyo's interpretations of classics. She truly made them her own, rearranging them with completely original lyrics and beats.
Now, she's ready to follow up that project with a new album of all original tracks. And if the first two singles are anything to go by, Goyo is using the deep waters of the urbano genre as her playground.
"Tumbao" gives reggaetA3n de la vieja vibes with its simple dembow and traditional percussion elements. Insomnia on the other hand is a complete 180. Produced by hip-hop producer IllMind, it starts with a heavy rock riff before leading into some snappy snare drums and driving a Jersey-style bassline over which Goyo flows between a melodic chorus and more pointed raps with ease.
"Within the creative process, it's important to have a concept, a beginning, and an end," she says."But in rap, sometimes you'll have a punchline that doesn't have anything to do with the concept but you can make it connect with the next verse. It's a beautiful game and it's the thing I most enjoy, that it's not rigid. That I can start a song melodically and when I get bored, switch to rapping."
But despite the growth that she's undergone and despite her career entering a new chapter, Goyo affirms that she's still the Goyo her fans were introduced to back in 2006. And as an Afro-Colombiana in a genre that, despite its Afro-Latine origins, has become increasingly whitened, she understands that the representation that she's championed ever since her ensemble days is just as important now as it was in the earlier days of her career.
"I think that the process [by which Afro-Latines find success] is a process that takes time, that maybe in my generation, I won't see as many changes as the next generation will, but [the work is being done]," she says."And the important thing is that we are conscious of that work . . . that we understand where we come from and take beauty from that a| so that we can keep advancing and make the load lighter for [future generations]."
When it comes to lightening the load, Goyo has played a significant role since stepping onto the world stage. Not only did she help put the historically Black neighborhood of ChocA3 on the map, but her continued success helped to make room and provide a blueprint for the next generation of Afro-Latine artists, showing them that commercial and critical success is possible while still staying true to your sound and where you come from.
Yet, for an artist who has already achieved so much and stands as an inspiration to her people, Goyo wants her fans to know that she's still got more to achieve at this stage of her career and is looking forward to bringing them along for the ride.
"We're putting a lot of love into the album, "La Pantera," and I hope that the fans like it and connect with [it] . . . ," she says. "Something I've always wanted to achieve is to have a solo album - to perform, to tour as a soloist and reconnect with the fans who have followed us and also to find along this new route more people to accompany me in the process. Now, I'm able to materialize that dream."
Now that we've got you hyped for Goyo's upcoming project, keep reading to get the deets on who she'd like to collaborate with, what she'd be doing if she wasn't rapping, and what she does cuando la insomnia se la pega.
POPSUGAR: Where is your happy place?
Goyo: Wherever my family is.
POPSUGAR: What song would you play to get the party started?
Goyo: Blessings (Remix) by Victor Thompson.
POPSUGAR: What do you do when you can't sleep?
Goyo: Write. Read.
POPSUGAR: Who's your most listened to artist right now?
Goyo: Fridayy. I'm crazy about Fridayy
POPSUGAR: Which artists would you like to collaborate with in the future?
Goyo: Don Omar. Tego Calderon. And Eladio. He goes super hard.
POPSUGAR: If it wasn't music, what passion would you dedicate yourself to?
Goyo: Writing.
POPSUGAR: What was the best thing about being in a music group?
Goyo: Being the only woman.
POPSUGAR: What was the most difficult thing?
Goyo: Being the only woman.
POPSUGAR: Finally, how would you define the word "Tumbao"?
Goyo: Tumbao is that special something that I have and that you have but is different for everyone.
"Right now, I feel like I'm in a good place," he tells POPSUGAR. "Everybody has problems. It's just how you deal with them, and I think it's all part of growth. That's how I took in this experience in my personal life that happened in the last two years."
Royce is referring to his split with ex-wife and Mexican Lebanese actress Emeraude Toubia. After their fairy-tale-like wedding in 2018, the two announced their divorce in 2022 after 12 years together. For Prince Royce, it was the first time that a difficult moment in his private life had gone very public.
"Some of these things in my personal life had been going on for a while. You're kind of battling this thing in private until it actually explodes to the people."
"A lot of people thought when they saw it on Instagram, that's when it actually happened," he recalls. "Some of these things in my personal life had been going on for a while. You're kind of battling this thing in private until it actually explodes to the people. Fans want to know what happened, and what if I don't want the fans to know? I tried to stay away from social media for some time."
Prince Royce's vast catalog of hits includes love songs alongside bachata tracks about heartbreak. There's classics like 2014's "El Amor Que Perdimos," and "Culpa al CorazA3n," which was released a few years later. He admits that while he didn't experience any breakups while writing those songs, they struck a different chord when he revisited them after his divorce.
"I started listening to songs of the past, and I started to believe I was living what I wrote," he says. "I was living my past songs in the present. It was actually mad weird and scary. I cried to one of my old songs, and I felt like I was vibing with a Prince Royce that saw Prince Royce's future."
Prince Royce's divorce, compounded with the COVID-19 pandemic, left him with a lot to reflect on. He temporarily stepped away from the spotlight and surrounded himself with loved ones. During his brief hiatus from music, the bachatero reevaluated how he wanted to move on with his life and his career.
"I started listening to these podcasts about manifestation," he says. "When problems come, I just try to be positive. I'm genuinely trying to be a better person, make better decisions, and take care of my health. I want to try to put out the best music that I can do. I want to feel good about it. I want to do new things."
For Prince Royce, creating "Llamada Perdida" was a cathartic experience. On the 23-track LP, there are several bachata songs about heartbreak: he sings about suffering from heartache in "Sufro" and later wanting to numb the pain with morphine in the R&B-infused "Morfina," featuring Paloma Mami. But he maintains that "not every song has to be real."
"Some songs are fictional. Some songs are just inspired by [something]. Some songs are not 100 percent. I like to hide myself behind the artistry of what if it is or what if it isn't," he explains.
Throughout his career, Prince Royce has proudly represented bachata music from the Dominican Republic. While recording the album, he rediscovered his joy for making music and innovating the age-old genre in his own way. One of the most poignant collaborations is "Boogie Chata," featuring A Boogie Wit da Hoodie. The song seamlessly blends bachata with elements of hip-hop.
"[A Boogie Wit da Hoodie] is such a talented dude," Prince Royce says. "He's from the Bronx. I wanted to do something that was like Bronx representation. That's another one of my favorites. It was a great fusion. We did it just kind of doing our thing and having fun."
Prince Royce also taps into the mAosica Mexicana explosion with the song "Cosas de la Peda." Rising Mexican singer Gabito Ballesteros is featured in the heartbreaking song, which is a freshly unique mix of bachata with corridos tumbados. In the music video, Prince Royce also embraces a Mexican vaquero style as he sings with Ballesteros in a cantina.
"I did 'Incondicional' that had mariachi, and I recorded before with [Mexican singers] Roberto Tapia and Gerardo Ortiz," he says. "I wanted to push the envelope even more and have a bachata song with a deeper regional Mexican influence. I got to do that on this album. I just felt more free. I wanted to represent bachata and where I'm from with this type of album and still give a little bit of everything."
Prince Royce was also excited to explore more Dominican genres - like dembow in "Le Doy 20 Mil" and merengue tApico in the fiery "FrAo en el Infierno." One of the songs that mean the most to him is the empowering "La Vida Te Hace Fuerte," where he sings about the hard knocks of life making him stronger.
"We all go through very difficult things in our lives very differently," he says. "We all go through problems, but how do we solve them together? This is an album about overcoming obstacles. I want to just be here, do my thing, do things that make me happy, and try to keep touching people's hearts."
Women nominees were up for every major category, and ultimately snagged the big wins, too. Phoebe Bridgers took home the most trophies with four wins, making her a first-time Grammy winner alongside Victoria MonA(c)t, Miley Cyrus, Karol G, and Lainey Wilson. SZA led the pack with nine nominations, and won two. And of course, Taylor Swift became the first artist in history to win Album of the Year four times.
While the wins were certainly worth celebrating, the performances are what made an impact and warmed nostalgic hearts. In arguably the most-talked-about moment of the night, Tracy Chapman appeared with Luke Combs to perform a duet of "Fast Car," her 1988 hit that has since seen a cross-generational resurgence (one that she was not fully recognized for until last night). She hadn't sung on live TV in years, and has rarely toured since 2009. Another standout performance came from Joni Mitchell, who performed at the Grammys for the very first time at 80 years old. The crowd was teary as Mitchell sang her 1968 hit "Both Sides Now," her presence itself a triumph after she recovered from a 2015 brain aneurysm. Annie Lennox also made an appearance to pay tribute to Sinead O'Connor during the "In Memoriam" segment of the ceremony with an emotional cover of "Nothing Compares 2 U." These legends got the visibility they deserved on music's biggest night - and proved that it's never too late to get your flowers.
The younger pop stars also delivered memorable performances, and seemed to lean into the empowering theme of the night. Cyrus kicked off the ceremony with a fun rendition of "Flowers," a self-love anthem that earned her her two wins. Not to mention, she paired the performance with an homage to the late icon Tina Turner. Billie Eilish and Olivia Rodrigo also gave raw, vocal-first performances of their hits "What I Was Made For" and "Vampire," respectively, both of which reflect on the expectations young women face.
Even as JAY-Z accepted the Dr. Dre Global Impact Award, he brought 12-year-old Blue Ivy on stage and centered his wife, BeyoncA(c), in his speech, criticizing the Recording Academy for repeatedly snubbing her for Album of the Year despite her record-breaking number of Grammys.
Of course, there were other high-profile snubs (notably SZA and Lana Del Rey). Award shows can't please everyone. But there's no doubt women of all ages reigned at last night's Grammys, indulging Gen Z, millennial, and Gen X fans alike and making us all feel seen. Witnessing legends and newcomers celebrating each other and themselves felt like a real step forward for all women.
If you've missed all the bright points of this awards season, let me remind you of what's happened so far. During the Golden Globes on Jan. 7, we saw Ayo Edebiri take home her first major award as this year's best female actor in a television series for her work in "The Bear." Her acceptance speech made its way around social media for her relatable delivery - but mainly for her acknowledgment of her agents' and managers' assistants. Despite this being a momentous occasion in her career, she took the time to humbly thank and uplift those in "smaller positions" who make doing what she loves possible.
The following week, entertainers reunited for the 2023 Emmys. It felt serendipitous that the show landed on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, given that multiple Black women won in their respective categories while simultaneously breaking long-standing records.
The brilliantly hilarious Quinta Brunson took home the award for outstanding lead actress in a comedy series for her role as Janine Teagues in "Abbott Elementary," becoming only the second Black woman to earn this achievement. Isabel Sanford won in 1981 for her iconic role in "The Jeffersons," so Brunson broke the 43-year-long drought with her win. That's far too long a gap. In the intervening years, so many Black women have been snubbed for their work: Tracee Ellis Ross was nominated five times for the award for her work on "Black-ish," for example, while Issa Rae was nominated three times for "Insecure."
Brunson actually broke two records that night - because of Edebiri's win for best supporting actress, the pair were the first Black women to hold both comedy titles simultaneously in Emmys history. We also can't talk about history-makers without mentioning Keke "Keep a Bag" Palmer. She was the first Black woman to not only be nominated but win an Emmy for outstanding host of a game show. As the host of NBC's "Password," she was also the first woman in 15 years to win in the category. Palmer's win spoke volumes to me; I never realized how much game shows were a men-dominated space until I saw her win. With one award, she broke a streak for all women - while also breaking a glass ceiling for Black women.
The true showstopper of the 2024 Emmys was Nash. After winning her first Primetime Emmy for outstanding supporting actress in a limited series for "Dahmer," she gave an awe-inspiring speech - you've probably seen it all over social media by now. What made the moment so special is that it wasn't about an outside force recognizing her star power; she did that herself. "I want to thank me - for believing in me and doing what they said I could not do. And I want to say to myself in front of all these beautiful people, 'Go on girl with your bad self. You did that,'" she told the crowd. It was beautiful to see Nash unapologetically celebrating herself, especially after the incredible work she has put into her almost three-decade-long career.
She continued to accept the award on behalf of "every Black and Brown woman who has gone unheard yet overpoliced. Like Glenda Cleveland. Like Sandra Bland. Like Breonna Taylor." Seeing Nash highlight self-love so boldly while also acknowledging the trauma that Black women in America deal with daily was incredibly poignant and paved the way for what I hope we see more of in the entertainment industry.
Slowly but surely, Black women are receiving their flowers.
Looking ahead to February, we are kicking off Black History Month with the Grammys on Feb. 4 and the BAFTAs on Feb. 18. The Oscars have already come under fire for snubbing Black women, including leaving out Ava DuVernay in the director's category for "Origin" and Fantasia Barrino and Taraji P. Henson for their roles in "The Color Purple." But for now, I'm focusing on the monumental year we've already had and the celebrations that could come - specifically during the Grammys. My focus will be on Coco Jones, Victoria MonA(c)t, SZA, and Halle Bailey; these four powerhouse musicians are bound to dominate this year.
SZA is leading the pack with the most nominations - nine - for any artist this year. Her critically acclaimed sophomore album, "SOS," is set to snag a handful of the coveted awards. And after years in the industry as a songwriter, MonA(c)t is receiving the attention she deserves for her debut studio album, "Jaguar II." Alongside her seven nominations, her 2.5-year-old daughter, Hazel, has also made history as the youngest nominee ever. Meanwhile, watching Jones being nominated for five Grammys, including best new artist, makes me extremely proud. I grew up with her and have watched her evolution in real time. Bailey, similarly, continues to shine. Following a monumental year in which she starred as Ariel in the live-action "Little Mermaid," her debut single, "Angel," is up for best R&B song, making this her first solo Grammy nomination.
It is validating to see such talented Black women be nominated for - and win - awards for their craft. The average Black woman is told to be humble and gracious, never to boast or boldly celebrate our wins. But as Nash, Brunson, and hopefully more stars to come have proven, the tides are shifting. Slowly but surely, Black women are receiving their flowers - not only from leaders in the industry, but also from themselves.
As a young Black woman, I'm taking notes. I will proudly celebrate my wins as I work toward my dreams and continue to foster my creativity. This awards season has just started, but I am excited to see what else is in store. As Rae would say, "I'm rooting for everybody Black."
As ArcA!ngel 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 ArcA!ngel'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, ArcA!ngel 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 MA!s 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, ArcA!ngel 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 shit, 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 ArcA!ngel 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 MA!s Maldad," includes more uptempo tracks that are more in the vein of his cheekier reggaetA3n roots.
When asked if this is due to an improvement in his emotional state, he shoots down the notion.
"My mind is fucked up, understand? But I have to work. My mental health is not in good shape."
"My mind is fucked 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 ArcA!ngel and be impressed by how brash he was, no matter who he was talking to.
"I don't like [being like that] anymore," ArcA!ngel says. "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, ArcA!ngel'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 ArcA!ngel 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 ArcA!ngel 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 fuck 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 LebrA3n, 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 fucking great. More than even me winning one myself."
There's no doubt that ArcA!ngel 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 ArcA!ngel, 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.
The Cady Heron, Regina George, and Aaron Samuels of the original film, released in 2004, had never seen an iPhone - those wouldn't debut for another three years. "Instagram," "Twitter," and "Snapchat" would have sounded like gibberish. Karen was just a name, and Donald Trump was just a business mogul.
Twenty years later . . . well, things are different. We've seen not just a technological revolution, but a cultural one. More Americans have become more aware of how rampant racism and discrimination - from microaggressions to hate crimes - are in this country. And while we still have a long way to go, people have a greater understanding of the harm caused by failing to adequately represent a diversity of identities on screen.
In 2004, the original film did make jokes about racial stereotypes ("If you're from Africa, why are you white?"), but it didn't go so far as to cast a person of color in any of the main roles. (Actually, that was a joke in the original movie, too: Kevin G asks Janis if she's Puerto Rican. "Lebanese," answers Janis, played by Lizzy Caplan, who's white.)
The new "Mean Girls" cast is notably more diverse than the original, and the cast tells POPSUGAR that they're grateful for the ability to bring their characters into 2024 by integrating more of their individual identities.
"I got to bring a little bit of myself to the character," says Bebe Wood, who plays Gretchen Wieners. "I was talking with [director Arturo Perez Jr.] and he was like, 'Wait, I heard somewhere that you're Latina . . . We should just add something in there.'"
"[I]t was exciting to add just a little nod to my heritage within the role."
The addition to the script was small - a single mention of her abuelito - but for Wood, the impact was huge. "I've never been able to play Cuban American before," she says. "So it was exciting to add just a little nod to my heritage within the role."
Avantika, who plays Karen Shetty in the new film, was similarly grateful to be able to embrace her background on screen. "It really meant a lot when . . . at the initial table read, [screenwriter Tina Fey] was like, 'Is there anything about the name like Karen Smith that you want to change?'" Avantika says. "And I was like, 'I'm South Indian, I've never gotten to play someone who's openly South Indian, and I speak Telugu at home; would it be possible to bring in the last name from my culture?' . . . And so we decided on Karen Shetty. That's really special to me that [Fey] gave me the space and freedom to bring that."
Karen isn't the only character to get a new name: Janis Ian is now Janis 'Imi'ike, reflective of Cravalho's Hawaiian heritage. Cravalho wants to get to a place where diversity in film is the rule, rather than the exception. "Every film that I'm in, I get asked about: 'Why is representation important in films?'" she says. "Thank you for asking me that question - but can we move on a little bit? A space that I'm trying to move out of is being asked always about, 'How important is it to you to be the first pioneer?' I am excited to open the doors and just break through. [But] I don't want to be the first."
This name-claiming is especially meaningful in a film where name-calling and misnaming cause so much harm. The Plastics, "fugly slut," "dyke" (in the new version, updated to "pyro lez"): they're all names and labels doled out like candy-cane grams, and the students of North Shore High feel the burn.
"Maybe you don't label me and I won't label myself and I can just be whatever I want."
Spivey says that he tries to ignore labels that other people stick on him; they aren't the truth, he says. "Even in the film, Regina calls Karen stupid, so therefore Karen feels like she's stupid. But I have a strong feeling if Karen didn't listen, she wouldn't feel stupid. You know what I mean?" Spivey tells POPSUGAR. "So for me, I think a lot of people can be like, 'Oh yeah, you're a plus-size queer actor.' I am, but I'm also just an actor. So maybe you don't label me and I won't label myself and I can just be whatever I want."
This sentiment is echoed by this generation's Regina George, ReneA(c) Rapp. Rapp is openly bisexual (and has hinted in prior interviews and on social media that her Regina might not be as straight as the character's relationships with Aaron Samuels and Shane Oman might indicate). But she also makes clear that only she has the right to comment on her sexuality.
"I've come out a lot of different times in my life and with a couple of different things, and it recently has changed a lot for me," says Rapp, perhaps referring to her portrayal of Leighton Murray, a college freshman who comes out as a lesbian on "The Sex Lives of College Girls." "But I cannot tell you how many times I've received comments in the last month or two that are just like, 'Oh, congrats on [coming out] again,'" she says, her tone changing to the vocal equivalent of an eye roll. "And I was like, bro, actually fuck you. You suck."
There's power in claiming and coming into your identity. And the people who try to put you in a box or use your individuality to hurt you? Rapp is right: they suck.
Angourie Rice says she's learning to let go of the opinions and expectations others have of her - not unlike her character, Cady Heron. "When I was 17, I had a really great year in terms of work and publicity, and it was my final year of high school and I graduated. And that felt like a really successful year for me. I think when you're a young person working in the industry and you get success at a particular point in your life, there's maybe a pressure to sort of stay at that point in your life," she says. "[You think], 'Oh, that's when I got the most validation, therefore I should be like that always.'"
But Rice is looking to grow and sees how relying on external affirmation for her sense of self-worth could be holding her back. "For me, [I'm working on] releasing that constant need for validation because I got it so much at this particular point in my life," she says. "I'm not 17 anymore."
Stepping into the role of ultimate teen heartthrob Aaron Samuels came with similar pressures for Christopher Briney. But in playing Aaron, "I just tried to be Chris," he says. "I really wanted to break free of expectations of what I thought people wanted to see when they see Aaron Samuels."
It takes a special kind of environment to be able to foster so much freedom and vulnerability in the actors' performances - and the cast says they felt supported by one another immediately.
"The friendships came easy. It was so easy, so fun to work with these people. I loved it so much," Rice reminisces. "I think also we were all so committed to making the movie the best it could possibly be, and I learned a lot from both Jaquel and Auli'i. Auli'i stands up for herself so much. Jaquel is one of the funniest performers I know. And so just being in a room with these two people and learning so much from how they work and who they are was a treat."
Spivey agrees. After all, he says, Fey set the tone from day one that the whole film is about high school - that you have to have fun for it to really translate. As he puts it, "It's an actor's dream to be able to step into a space and feel comfortable enough to play - and to play as much as you can and discover."
When Sam Song Li came across the role of Bruce on "The Brothers Sun," he felt like the character was written uniquely for him. In Netflix's new action-packed drama series, Bruce's life is upended when his older brother, Charles (Justin Chien), who turns out to be a Taiwanese gangster, comes to LA to protect their mom, Eileen (Michelle Yeoh). When Li first read the script, he quickly learned he shared a number of "shockingly close" similarities with his onscreen counterpart. Like Bruce, the 27-year-old actor and content creator was raised by a single mom in the San Gabriel Valley, CA, a predominantly Asian American community where the series partially takes place. Similarly, he also dreamed of being an actor and improv comedian, despite his mom's hopes that he'd become a doctor. "I feel like that especially is just really relatable for a lot of Asian Americans," he tells POPSUGAR.
That's why Bruce's story was personal to Li, who was born in Guangzhou, China. He drew from his own experiences to authentically portray Bruce - and the character's relationship with Mama Sun in particular. "I was raised by a single mom, and my mom in real life is my hero," he says. "She raised me and my sister all by herself. To see a single parent have all the weight of the responsibilities of raising a kid, you take it for granted when it's happening. I brought that energy and perspective into Bruce in his love for his mom."
Against his mom's best wishes, Li ultimately decided to pursue acting. Amid creating comedic content and racking up a following on TikTok and Instagram, he booked smaller roles on shows like "Never Have I Ever" and "Better Call Saul." When he landed "The Brothers Sun," it was a welcome surprise; he didn't imagine a role like this one to come about so early on in his career.
Image Source: NetflixAs if securing his first major role a and one he related to so deeply - wasn't exciting enough, "The Brothers Sun" was also the first time Li worked alongside an all Asian writers' room and a majority Asian American cast. "Our production was uniquely Asian American in so many facets, but I think one thing that really stood out to me was that we really practice what we preach on the show," he says. "In the show, the family, and how you treat people as a family, is the focal point of the story. We as a team really had that connection. We felt really passionate about what we were doing, what was happening in front of us, regardless of if the show was a success or not. I think the one thing we were all holding onto was that this was a very special moment."
The cast's strong connection was also sustained by food - a hallmark of many Asian cultures. There were Asian snacks and food available on set all the time, including boba at least once a week. According to Li, Yeoh would order food from a different local Chinese spot every week. "She would always surprise us with something," he says.
"I've always felt I was not Westernized enough for Hollywood, and not Asian enough to work in Asia."
Growing up, it would've been difficult for Li to imagine an experience like the "Brothers Sun" set. Asian and Asian American representation on screen was few and far between. "I've always felt I was not Westernized enough for Hollywood, and not Asian enough to work in Asia," Li says, describing a struggle all too common for Asian Americans, both in and out of the entertainment industry.
But with the influx of APIA projects in theaters and on streaming platforms in the past three years, Li's perspective on his future in acting has changed drastically. "I've realized the direction that Hollywood and the world is moving is connecting the globe in so many ways," he explains. "Content is no longer just for a Western or American audience right now. Content is for a global audience."
As a result, he's been able to seek out roles that are tied to his upbringing and identity. "The one common thread between all of the roles I gravitate towards is that they are part of my identity, not just based on race, but literally who I am as a person or the experiences that I've had," he says. Aside from playing Bruce on "The Brothers Sun," he shot a pilot in 2023, "Marvin Is Sorry," in which he plays a mega influencer and content creator who gets canceled. "A lot of the elements and nuances of that story I felt like I gravitated towards because it was just something I knew very intimately," he says.
Looking forward to the future, Li feels optimistic about more cultural projects like "The Brothers Sun."
"That freshness, the authenticity of storytelling, is more important than ever," he says. "Any time we can show new perspectives, have a fresh take on something, or show the world something they've never seen before, that is what I think Hollywood and global audiences are craving."
For what would've been the 50th anniversary of Roe v. Wade in late January, we published a collection of stories marking the past, present, and future of abortion access in America. During Pride Month in June, we highlighted trans and nonbinary voices and their moments of gender euphoria and joy. In September, we celebrated Latine Heritage Month by spotlighting Latinas who have made the decision to prioritize their mental, physical, and spiritual health instead of the ever-present hustle culture. These are just a few examples of ways our editors, writers, and contributors have brought attention to important issues and tackled complexities not often talked about.
To commemorate the end of the year, we've gathered an essential reading list of PS's best stories from 2023. From insightful personal essays to thoughtfully reported features, these stories represent some of our favorite works from the past 12 months. Take a look back below.
This highly publicized case, as well as its fictionalized version depicted in "May December," raises a central question: how did the fact that she's a white woman impact not only her ability to groom him - an Asian American boy - but also the public's reaction to the story?
This feeds into the harmful stereotype that Asian men are complacent and obedient.
In "May December," Julianne Moore plays Gracie, the fictionalized version of Letourneau, who began sexually abusing Fualauu when he was her sixth-grade student. In 1997, Letourneau pled guilty to two counts of secondary rape but stayed with Fualaau, giving birth to two of his children before he was 15 and eventually marrying him. In the film, Gracie is married to Joe, played by Charles Melton, the fictionalized version of Fualaau.
We pick up the action as their youngest children prepare to graduate from high school. At this point, Joe is a 36-year-old stay-at-home dad and Gracie is in her mid to lat e 50s. An actress named Elizabeth, portrayed by Natalie Portman, is set to play a fictionalized version of Gracie and drops into the family's life to try to learn more about them.
Throughout the film, we, like Elizabeth, begin to see the real nature of Joe and Gracie's relationship. It's one predicated on stereotypes and racism - Joe fulfills the subdued, subservient role so often foisted upon Asian Americans, and their relationship is relatively accepted because Gracie weaponizes her whiteness. Ultimately, the film exposes how flipped gender and racial roles allow sexual abuse to be more palatable for and accepted by the general public.
Let's start with Joe. Although he's well into his 30s, he increasingly comes off as childlike as the film progresses. He isn't a full-fledged adult or equal partner. Rather, he is infinitely subservient to Gracie, only doing what he thinks is expected of him.
This feeds into the harmful stereotype that Asian men are complacent and obedient. Importantly, it's a sharp contrast to how white men are usually depicted: dominant, brash, aggressive. Joe practically fades into the background at a neighborhood barbecue, almost like he is hired help, until Gracie calls upon him. It's clear that Gracie has groomed him, like a toy to fill some part of herself - and she's been able to do so at least in part because of his race.
In one scene, for example, Joe confides that the other girls at school weren't much into him, but "Gracie saw me and I wanted that." It's clear he has internalized the white-savior complex. Gracie was very much able to leverage the perception of Joe as an "other" to her advantage, especially so because he grew up in a mostly white community. Indeed, we learn that Gracie fetishized Joe right from the start, first noticing him only because he and his family were the only Asians in the neighborhood.Gracie is, in contrast to Joe, far more controlling, treating Joe more like a tool or dehumanized servant than as her husband. At the same time, she has come to weaponize her traditional "victim" role as a white woman. She makes it sound like everyone is out to make her feel bad and hurt her. She even tells Elizabeth at one point, "I am naive. I always have been. In a way, it's been a gift." In her relationship with Joe, while she is clearly the one in control, she fights to maintain this victim narrative. As she explains to Elizabeth, Joe "grew up very quickly," whereas she herself was "very sheltered."
At play here, too, is the explicit and implicit fetishization of Joe's Asianness.
When Joe's repressed feelings about how their relationship first started eventually float to the surface, he comes to her more like a child than as an equal partner and husband. He asks, "Why can't we talk about it?" Even though he was only 13 years old at the time and unable to consent, Gracie continues to feed him a false narrative. "You seduced me," she tells him. "I don't care how old you were. Who was in charge? Who was the boss?"
This brings up the "hot for teacher" trope sometimes depicted in movies and TV shows. When we see a teacher who is a man engage with a girl student, it is universally regarded as problematic and predatory. But when the roles are reversed, the perception is wildly different.
Take shows like "Dawson's Creek" and "Riverdale." In both cases, the boy student is the instigator. We're led to believe that these boys are ready for physical relationships, while the women teachers simply get swept up in it all. This framing completely eclipses the truth of the matter, which is that Gracie is a pedophile and an abuser.
At play here, too, is the explicit and implicit fetishization of Joe's Asianness. It's harder to call out because we often see this in the form of so-called yellow fever and the objectification of Asian women. But it happens to Asian men as well - usually in the form of an exoticization or emasculation.
Gracie isn't the only one to fetishize Joe's Asianness. As Elizabeth reviews the audition tapes for who might play Joe in the movie within a movie, she notes that the kids are "not sexy enough. You've seen him. He's got this, like, quiet confidence. Even as a kid, I'm sure." Equally, she is able to weaponize her white womanhood to seduce Joe herself.
The disturbing truth that underlies the entire movie (and Letourneau's real-life crime) is that if Joe's character had been a white girl and Gracie's character had been an Asian man, the narrative would be received in a wildly different way. That dynamic would be practically inconceivable for most American audiences to accept as even plausible. There's no way an emasculated Asian man teacher would've been able to manipulate and seduce a young white girl student - and even if he did, it'd be overtly predatory and unacceptable.
The relative acceptance of Gracie's actions and motives - as well as the other characters' treatment of Joe - reaffirms that Asian men are seen as "less than" in American society. Emasculated and fetishized, Asian men become passive tools to satisfy and satiate the whims and fancies of the white majority. We cook your food and clean your laundry as nameless, faceless, infinitely replaceable instruments of absolute servitude and silent acquiescence.
In the real world, Letourneau and Fualaau legally separated in 2019 after 14 years of marriage and two children together. She died from cancer in 2020 at the age of 58, leaving much of her estate to Fualaau. The ending of "May December" isn't quite so conclusive. Rather, it leaves us with more questions worth exploring.
Conventional gender stereotypes played a central role in the media's portrayal of the real-world story. Letourneau was presented as a social victim, and her relationship with Fualaau was often described in terms of love. Her criminal actions were almost excused in the court of public opinion, whereas Fualaau's lived trauma is little more than a footnote. It's her story that's of primary interest, not his. Fualaau fades into the background, much like Joe does at the neighborhood barbecue, only brought up when it is convenient and he is needed to fulfill a task.
In "May December," gender stereotypes equally take center stage. But the racial implications aren't examined with nearly the same level of scrutiny. The power imbalance is attributed to the dynamic between an older woman and a teenage boy, and much less so to weaponized whiteness and subordinated Asianness.
We aren't sure what happens to Gracie and Joe by the end of the film, though it feels like she still has his claws in him and he will continue to feel hopelessly trapped in their relationship. Because that's what she wants, and what he wants never mattered anyhow.
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