The representation of Día de los Muertos in the media is abysmal.
Día de los Muertos is an incredibly significant, annual holiday in Mexican culture, featuring ofrendas, cempasuchil and food to honor the dead and welcome them back to the realm of the living according to an Oct. 22, 2022 New York Times article.
Cempasuchil, or marigolds, are flowers that are traditionally used to guide the spirit of a loved one back from the cemetery into the home during this holiday. Ofrendas are altars made by each family featuring cempasuchil and offerings for dead loved ones.
Yet all I see representing this gorgeous tradition is cheap decorations next to the Halloween aisle in my local Target. There’s only frumpy costumes and a whopping two animated movies from big-name production companies.
I’m so damn tired of hearing “Oh! You mean like Coco?” every time I talk about the holiday. Yes, the movie is great. No, it doesn’t encompass the entire story.
The phrase “my culture isn’t your costume” has been featured annually on my Instagram story every time Halloween rolls around.
I’ve seen too many uneducated idiots dress up as Catrinas with poorly-made Día de los Muertos-themed costumes. It makes my blood boil.
La Catrina is an icon of Día de los Muertos, a female skeleton with a painted skull that is meant to mimic the high-society women of when it was created, 1910, according to an Oct. 18, 2019 article from National Geographic.
I’m a loyal patron of Spirit Halloween and I know there's aisles and aisles of other shitty costumes to choose from. Dress up as a slutty princess and call it a day, at least then I’ll have respect for you, but leave my culture out of it. ‘’
I’m a college-aged woman, I’m no stranger to using Halloween as an excuse to walk around in lingerie, but at least I have the wherewithal to not slap a culturally-appropriated piece of fabric on my body.
Appropriation is the act of taking something and making it your own without the right or proper authority according to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary. In this context, appropriation of a culture would be taking something from a given heritage and mocking it or using it without the right to do so.
I know nothing about Japanese Geishas, so I would never prance around in makeup mimicking their culture and art form for an Instagram post.
Día de los Muertos should be a time for me to reflect upon the lives of my ancestors and celebrate the legacy they left behind. Instead, I spend it angrily scrolling through social media as
I see post after post of ignorant people making a mockery of the holiday.
My Instagram photo of my ofrenda should not be followed by another post of a girl drunkenly trying to speak Spanish with poorly-done Calavera makeup look from Halloween.
To make this already distressing situation worse, some people don’t even realize that Halloween and Dia de los Muertos are two completely separate holidays.
I’ve had well-intentioned friends outside of Latin culture approach me asking what I’ll be dressing up as for “Halloween part two.” Imagine my horror when I realize they’re asking me if I plan on visiting my abuela’s grave in a skimpy costume. I never got to meet my abuela, and I don’t intend to greet her soul while wearing a skin-tight bodysuit.
It doesn’t help that big conglomerates have lumped the two holidays together by combining their decorations, costumes and movies.
People only ever seem to watch “Coco” and “Book of Life” when October rolls around. News flash people, those movies are better suited for November.
I understand that unless people are surrounded by Latin culture or take a Spanish class in high school, it’s unlikely that someone will know the history behind Día de los Muertos. This doesn’t excuse ignorance and disrespect though.
Companies like Disney should not be the sole representation of this holiday. Until it becomes as well understood and respected as celebrations like Christmas and the god-forsaken Americanized version of Cinco de Mayo, it is our responsibility to educate ourselves.
I would love to see Día de los Muertos recognized and celebrated by all of my friends, regardless of ethnicity. I would love to educate them on how to create beautiful ofrendas and cempasuchil flowers made out of paper instead of ripping a costume out of their hands while we’re out shopping.
I’d be happy to teach them the history of each ritualistic aspect instead of feigning a smile while they tell me how much Miguel’s story from “Coco” resonated with them.
Until then, I’ll grumble into my pan de muerto and continue to repeat the same mantra. My culture is not your costume.
