Editor’s Letter: Fashion in the Americas
Fashion is culture. Fashion is history. Fashion is fun.
Fashion is culture. Fashion is history. Fashion is fun.
One afternoon in 2014, driving along a dirt road that snaked through countryside several hours outside of the Nicaraguan capital of Managua, I came across an ancient woman on foot, carrying a load of firewood on her back. I pulled up alongside her and asked her if she wanted a lift. She didn’t seem to comprehend at first, whereupon I explained that was offering her a ride to her destination. She smiled and shook her head. She would carry on walking, she said, but said that if I had some alms—she used that term, limosna, in Spanish—she’d accept them.
Fashion is a relatively modern concept, most often associated with Euro-American histories of dress. However, well before the European invasions of the Americas, Indigenous American societies developed sophisticated approaches to garment making and cultural attention to dress every bit as nuanced as those of societies from the other side of the Atlantic. Perhaps the greatest material legacy of this rich costume history survives in the Andes region of South America.
There was a buzz in New York City as Spanish clothing firm Zara and the German brand Esprit in December 1989.
Studying women’s magazines in Latin America is not easy.
Smiling brightly and visibly moved, Anielle Franco stood before the crowd and delivered her inaugural speech at Palácio do Planalto, in the capital Brasília.
My mother, the daughter of a skilled seamstress, and my father, the son of agricultural entrepreneurs who sold their produce across the border in the Dominican Republic, migrated to the United States in the early 1980s from Haiti.
Let me make something clear: I am not obsessed with deserts. I wish I were.
It was only about 73°F (about 23°C) on June 8, 2024—far from the horrid heatwaves yet to come—when we both attended the National Puerto Rican Day Parade for the first time ever.
Growing up in California, I spent so much time gazing at the sky, often losing myself in its vastness.
Writing this text was a significant and important challenge for me, as a Black Brazilian woman and academic, used to impersonal writing.
In the late 1940s, a young aspiring journalist Stephen G. Bloom was having trouble finding work at any stateside newspaper. After a stint at his college newspaper, the University of California Daily Californian, Bloom worked as a waiter at a Berkeley eatery, got arrested in Canada with his girlfriend for trying to bring pot across the border and got turned down for a reporter’s job by a raft of newspapers. The opportunity came up for a vague promise of a job in the Brazilian English-language language newspaper the Brazil Herald.
Maya women are fighting to protect their long tradition of textile designs. In 2014, a group of Kaqchikel Maya women from the state of Sacatepéquez, which encompasses dozens of Indigenous-majority towns and hamlets, launched a political movement to regain control of the textile designs they create and produce.
When you think of fashion, you might not think of politics.
On March 19, 2010, two graduate students at the Tec de Monterrey, Jorge Antonio Mercado Alonso and Javier Francisco Arredondo Verdugo, were killed by members of the Mexican Army inside the university campus. To cover up the murder, the Army and Mexican authorities initially claimed the victims were armed sicarios—hitmen— with organized crime connections. An investigation later revealed that Jorge and Javier were engineering students who did not belong to any criminal group and were unarmed when the perpetrators shot them.
The first time I saw a fashion show by Willy Chavarria online, I cried for a day.
Some sweatshops feel like home. At least, this is Juan’s case.
In his memoir book Solito, the celebrated Latinx writer Javier Zamora recuperates his story as an unaccompanied Salvadoran nine-year-old migrating to the United States. He takes the reader across several borders and the journey’s many difficulties, fears and small triumphs, as he struggles to reunite with his parents in the United States. One of the details that caught my attention was Zamora’s attentiveness to the dressed migrant body in darker, mostly black, clothing.
In the heart of northern Chile’s Atacama Desert, one of the driest places on Earth, I found myself standing among mountains of discarded clothes.
Designers from Chile, Ecuador, Peru, Colombia, and Argentina showcased 23 curated brands to enthusiastic and curious visitors at the inaugural OjaLáb MarketFest. The event focused on fashion, accessories and home goods, all chosen for their ethical production practices, local sourcing, high-quality standards and the unique narratives behind each collection.