Jennifer Muñoz talks about soccer as if she were describing a life that has never existed solely within one language, whether in terms of words or structure.

The field, in her telling, has never been only a field. It has been a place where questions of belonging, femininity, labor, and visibility have all come together. A place where being Mexican-American was never a demographic box but a negotiation. A place where being a woman athlete did not simply require talent, but a kind of stamina that extended far beyond the ninety minutes. And now, as a former professional player, former Mexico international, and founder of Sporty Spice Collective, Muñoz is looking at the sport from the other side of the line, still inside it, but with a wider lens.

Jennifer Muñoz learned early what it means to live in the in-between

Muñoz was born in Montebello, California, and grew up in the United States. Still, she chose to represent Mexico internationally. For Muñoz, the choice carried the kind of friction that many children of immigrants know in their bones long before they have words for it.

“I grew up in the U.S., so there were moments where I felt like I had to constantly explain myself,” she told FIERCE. “Like I was too American in one room and not Mexican enough in another.”

That sentence is a full social lesson. She adds that she knew and took part in the culture, and her grandparents spoke only Spanish. The question was never if Mexico was part of her, but if others would let that fact stand without question.

That kind of pressure leaves a mark, but it can also produce clarity. “What did it give me? A level of pride and identity I don’t think I would’ve found anywhere else,” she said of representing Mexico. “Representing Mexico wasn’t just about soccer, it was about honoring my family, my roots, and every little girl who’s ever felt in between cultures and wondered where she fits.”

This way, Muñoz is not asking permission to occupy both worlds. She is naming the false choice for what it was. “Now, I don’t feel like I have to choose between two worlds; I get to represent both. And that’s my superpower.”

@jenmunoz8this is just the warmup guys

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Club América gave her a platform, but the system gave her a lesson

Muñoz played for Club América in Liga MX Femenil. The league is a clear sign of how fast women’s soccer has grown in Mexico. It has grown quickly, gained attention quickly, and become part of a bigger talk about the future of the women’s game in Latin America. But, like many quickly praised groups, growth is not the same as value.

Muñoz is careful here. She does not speak about her time at América with bitterness. Quite the opposite. “I think my experience was actually really fortunate and I don’t take that lightly,” she said. “Being one of the first American-Mexican players at Club América, I was welcomed with open arms. They saw me, they trusted me, and they gave me a platform I genuinely don’t think I would’ve had anywhere else. I wouldn’t be in this space today without them.”

That gratitude is real, yet so is her willingness to widen the frame beyond her own luck.

“But at the same time, being inside the league opened my eyes to the bigger picture,” she continued. “It taught me that institutions don’t always invest in women athletes the way they celebrate them.”

There lies the reality that people in sports still find a way to act surprised by, even though women athletes have been saying it in various forms for years. Women’s sports are increasingly used as proof of progress, proof of modernity, proof that a club or federation understands the future. But when the cameras move, the structural gap remains. “There’s still a gap between the passion you see on the field and the resources behind it.”

What Muñoz wants fans to understand is that the game they watch is built on labor they rarely see. “The game doesn’t start at kickoff,” she said. “There’s a whole layer of unseen labor—early mornings, recovery, second jobs for some players, fighting for visibility and respect. That’s what makes those 90 minutes possible.”

Fans often treat performance as if it just happens when the game starts. But in women’s sports, unseen work is needed to make top performance look normal.

@jenmunoz8⚽️🧚

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The pressure on Latina athletes starts early, and it is never only about sport

There is a certain script Latina athletes often face. They hear: “Be grateful. Work hard. Be strong. Represent well. Don’t be too loud. Don’t be too feminine unless that femininity seems harmless.”

Muñoz felt that pressure early, especially from media and online reaction. “There’s this expectation that Latina athletes have to look one way: always grinding, always ‘on,’” she said. Yet, in her words, Muñoz has always been “a girly girl.” That in itself brought challenges. “When I’d post in a dress on an off day, actually enjoying what I worked for, people were confused. They acted like I couldn’t be both.”

That confusion tells you a lot about what people still want from women in sports. They want discipline without visible pleasure. Strength without softness. They want women athletes to be inspiring, but only within the aesthetic limits that keep them intelligible. Muñoz understood what was happening quickly. “That’s when I realized the pressure wasn’t about me, it was about their idea of me.”

That realization seems to have shaped how she moves in public now.

“I protect my sense of self by not shrinking it,” she said. It is one of the strongest lines in the conversation because it rejects a survival tactic women are often taught to mistake for maturity. Shrinking is presented as professionalism. As humility. As a strategic restraint. Muñoz refuses that framing. “I can show up polished, feminine, and still be taken seriously in sport and in business.”

She is not dismissing the burden of representation; she is working around it. “Being grateful and representing something bigger than me is part of who I am. But I’ve reframed the pressure. Pressure is a privilege. If I’m feeling it, it means I’ve earned my place on the field, or now in rooms with some of the biggest brands in the world.”

“And I’m not toning myself down to fit in. I’m expanding what an athlete and a woman in this space gets to look like.”

@jenmunoz8shhh my show is on🙂‍↕️ ig: @sportyspice.collective #soccer #futbol #soccergirls

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Sporty Spice Collective is not only about soccer

Muñoz’s nonprofit, Sporty Spice Collective, is easy to summarize in the language people often use for youth sports initiatives: access, training, opportunity, underserved girls, and early support. All of that is true. But if you listen carefully to how she talks about it, you’ll see the project is aimed at something else.

“Sporty Spice Collective isn’t about creating better athletes first,” she said. “It’s about creating more whole women.”

Too often, support for girls in sport is framed solely in terms of performance outcomes: more scholarships, more elite players, more professional prospects. Muñoz is naming a more intimate problem. “A lot of girls grow up feeling like they have to pick, be the athlete or be feminine, be serious or be expressive, be disciplined or actually enjoy their life. And that’s where girls start to lose themselves.”

In this way, sport can risk becoming a place where many young women learn to divide themselves. Recognizing this, Muñoz wants to interrupt that process early.

“So what we’re building is a space where they don’t have to choose,” she said. “They can show up confident on the field, and just as confident off it. It’s a community. It’s confidence. Its identity. Because if you get that part right early, everything else, including the soccer, levels up naturally.”

Watching the World Cup now, she sees both the game and the machinery around it

Muñoz is attending the World Cup this year, having already lived the sport from the inside and now building around it from the outside. This double perspective gives her a different way of seeing the tournament.

“When you watch this tournament, I won’t just be watching the game. I’m watching everything around it,” she said. Casual viewers, she argues, see the goals and the highlights. She sees “the details, the movement off the ball, the decisions under pressure. She also notices the branding, the storytelling, and the moments being built in real time.”

“Because the World Cup isn’t just about what happens on the field anymore,” she said. “It’s about the stories behind the players that make the game feel human. The content, the viral moments, the way fans connect to personalities—those carry the game beyond 90 minutes. That’s what people miss. The game is only part of it. The story makes it last.”

That is one of the clearest articulations of where women’s sports are right now.

People still talk about women’s sports as if exposure is a secondary benefit that follows the “real” competition. In reality, the visibility economy is already part of the industry. Storytelling is not fluff around the sport. It is one of the mechanisms through which the sport becomes durable, bankable, and emotionally legible to wider audiences. Muñoz sees that. She has already had to live the gap between being an athlete and being narrativized as one.

When we asked what it would take for women’s soccer to stop being treated as a moment and start being treated as an industry in its own right, her answer was strikingly blunt: “Just open your eyes.”

“The shift happens when people stop treating it like a trend and start treating it like a business. Consistent investment, real infrastructure, and long-term commitment are what’s needed. The audience is already there. The talent has always been there. Now, it’s about who’s ready to catch up and who’s still trying to play catch-up.”

Jennifer Muñoz is no longer asking where she fits

What makes Muñoz’s history so unique is not only that she can speak fluently about identity, sport, business, and representation, but also that she can do so in a way that is both personal and political. It is that she has clearly done the harder work of deciding she will not be reduced by any one of them.

The Mexican-American girl who once had to explain herself across rooms has become a woman who sees doubleness as power. The former pro who knows what institutional recognition can offer also knows exactly where it falls short. The “girly girl” athlete people could not reconcile now treats that unreconciled self as a method rather than a contradiction. And the founder she has become is trying to make sure the next generation of girls encounters sport as a place to expand, not split.

Some trends have nothing to do with jokes or dances. They are terrifying rehearsals.

In Brazil, videos have been circulating across TikTok showing men simulating violence against women who reject them. The caption repeats: “training in case she says no.” And before it was considered just performative violence, a case in São Gonçalo sounded all the alarms.

A 20-year-old woman said no, and a month later, she was stabbed around 50 times.

The “training” trend is already attached to a real attack

According to Brut, Helena Anizio Rosak, 20, had turned down a man who sent her flowers and chocolates. Weeks later, he broke into her home in São Gonçalo, near Rio de Janeiro, and stabbed her around 50 times, stopping when her mother intervened.

Helena was placed in a medically induced coma and underwent multiple surgeries before recovering.

Meanwhile, the videos were spreading.

Brut reported that men in Brazil posted clips of themselves attacking mannequins or imaginary targets, repeating: “I’m practicing in case she says no.” Helena’s mother said the attacker followed similar content online.

@brutamericaMen are “training” to attack women in case she says “no”: this misogynistic trend is sparking outrage in Brazil following a knife attack on a woman. #news #brazil #misogyny

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What the videos show is horrifying

Reporting from The International Business Times describes a pattern across TikTok. Men stage punches and simulate stabbings just out of frame. Some point firearms at the camera. They all set the situation as a hypothetical woman rejects them.

The trend, often labeled “if she says no,” went viral around International Women’s Day.

In Brazil, authorities responded quickly. The Federal Police cybercrime division opened an investigation after complaints that the videos could encourage violence against women. Similarly, officials requested that TikTok remove the content and preserve data linked to the accounts.

TikTok stated it had removed violating content and continued monitoring. Still, similar videos continued circulating, according to authorities.

The pattern fits what researchers already call radicalization

Experts have been describing this trajectory for years and are now arguing that the videos do not exist in isolation. They sit inside a broader phenomenon of misogynistic content often referred to as “Red Pill” or “manosphere” culture.

Daniel Cara, a professor at the University of São Paulo, said this culture “legitimizes and encourages” violence against women. Flavio Rolim, head of Brazil’s Federal Police cyber hate crimes unit, warned of a gradual “process of radicalization” among some men exposed to this material.

That process rarely begins with explicit threats.

Researchers describe an entry point through what they call “veiled violence,” content that reinforces male dominance while framing women as adversaries. Over time, some users move toward more extreme communities where violence becomes normalized, then performed.

A study from the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro found that 123 Brazilian YouTube channels promoting misogynistic rhetoric had reached a combined total of 23 million subscribers by 2024, representing an 18 percent increase in subscriber numbers over two years.

The scale of violence is global

According to statistics from UN Women and the UN Office on Drugs and Crime, around 50,000 women and girls worldwide were killed in 2024 by intimate partners or family members. This amounts to approximately 137 victims every day, or one every ten minutes, underscoring the scale of the problem.

The UN defines femicide as the intentional killing of women driven by gender-related motives, rooted in discrimination, unequal power relations, and harmful social norms.

For her part, Sarah Hendriks, Director of UN Women’s Policy Division, stated that “femicides don’t happen in isolation. They often sit on a continuum of violence that can start with controlling behavior, threats, and harassment, including online.” She added that digital violence “often doesn’t stay online” and can escalate into real-world harm.

Brazil is already confronting the consequences

The reaction inside Brazil has moved beyond outrage.

According to Brut, some users have recreated the trend to show what they believe is the appropriate response to rejection, pushing back against the original framing.

At the institutional level, lawmakers are advancing proposals to address the spread of misogynistic content. One proposal seeks to criminalize content that, in the words of a lawmaker, “leads to the death of women every day.” Another bill, already passed by the Senate, aims to classify misogyny as a crime similar to racism, punishable by prison time.

Similarly, President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva has also addressed the issue, stating that men are becoming increasingly inhumane and violent.

(This article contains descriptions of sexual violence. Viewer discretion is advised for those who may be triggered.)

When discussing sexual violence, the focus is often on male perpetrators and child abuse, including incest. Female perpetrators are seldom considered. Statistics reflect this trend. According to global data, an estimated 91% of rape and sexual assault victims are female, and 9% are male. Nearly 99% of perpetrators are male.

This does not mean there are no cases of sexual violence involving women as perpetrators and other women as victims. For lesbian women, such incidents do occur, but remain infrequently discussed in public discourse.

This may contribute to skepticism regarding actress Ruby Rose’s allegations against singer Katy Perry.

In a Threads post, the “Orange Is the New Black” actress claimed that Katy Perry “sexually assaulted” her at a Melbourne nightclub. Rose responded to a Complex post referencing Katy Perry’s reaction to Justin Bieber’s Coachella set.

“Katy Perry sexually assaulted me at Spice Market nightclub in Melbourne. Who gives a shit what she thinks,” Rose wrote.

According to Rose, the alleged incident occurred when she was in her twenties. She responded to one fan who asked for details by writing: “She didn’t kiss me. She saw me ‘resting’ on my best friend’s lap to avoid her and bent down, pulled her underwear to the side, and rubbed her disgusting vagina on my face until my eyes snapped open, and I projectile-vomited on her.”

For her part, a representative for Perry responded to the claim in a statement to Variety that reads: “The allegations being circulated on social media by Ruby Rose about Katy Perry are not only categorically false, but they are also dangerous, reckless lies. Ms. Rose has a well-documented history of making serious public allegations on social media against various individuals, claims that have repeatedly been denied by those named.”

The allegations described by Ruby Rose are characterized as an act of sexual assault. “I was only in my early 20s,” Rose stated. “I’m now 40. It has taken almost two decades to say this publicly. Though I am so grateful to have made it long enough to find my voice, it just shows how much of an impact trauma and sexual assault have.”

Immediately, several people jumped in to share their experiences and connect the dots.

A user on Threads shared: When Katy Perry arrived at my queer party (Grouse) in 2010, I posed for a photo with her. I was a bit taken aback when she rested her hand on the top of my pubic bone during the photo. Later that night, a friend came over and complained about being groped… guess who?! Ruby Rose, I was told, was outside, sick, and never came inside. I stand with Ruby.”

Another user shared her experience: after meeting Katy Perry and telling her she did drag, Perry dragged her into her dressing room. “Here’s where it gets even weirder,” the user wrote. “Katy opens a giant road case full of her costumes. She pulls out the banana skirt costume and hands it to me, ordering me to ‘Put this on!’ I’m like, ‘Um, this won’t fit.’ That’s when she starts pulling my shirt off, and I’m starting to feel super uncomfortable. I’m like, ‘STOP,’ but she’s not stopping.”

She looked at Perry’s costume guy, who looked back as if this happened every night. “WTF is even happening right now?” she thought. At that point, Perry’s manager came in and shut it down as Perry began pulling at her jeans.

Although the matter did not escalate, the report suggests a pattern of concerning behavior on Perry’s part regarding consent.

This is another aspect of sexual abuse.

For lesbian women, the discussion around Katy Perry—who has faced criticism for her song “I Kissed A Girl”—is not uncommon.

“This is a familiar story and victim response for lesbians,” a columnist wrote for Lesbian Herstory. “I’ve been flashed, grabbed, humped—you name it—by women attracted to men who assume I would love the attention. I’ve been assaulted by more non-lesbian women than men. In my experience, men say gross things, but women attracted to men are more likely to touch me.”

In a 2024 post, the author discusses the violence behind “lesbian fetishism,” which is what appears to be happening with Ruby Rose.

“Fetishism isn’t always sexual,” the author writes, citing The Cambridge Dictionary, which defines the act of being fetishistic as including “having so much interest in an activity or object that you spend an unreasonable amount of time thinking about it or doing it.”

“Lesbian fetishism involves spiritual fetishism,” the columnist adds. “Worshipping an object believed to possess a spirit or special magical powers; relating to this kind of worship. Instead of accepting lesbians as ordinary people who are a natural part of one’s surroundings, the lesbian fetishist conceals their homophobia by appearing fanatical—dehumanizing lesbians in the process.”

Although Ruby Rose’s case has received increased attention, sexual violence involving women persists as an issue.

For example, studies indicate that lesbian women experience intimate partner violence (IPV) at rates similar to or higher than those reported by heterosexual women. Some research notes that approximately 44% of lesbians report experiencing rape, physical violence, or stalking by a partner in their lifetime. Additionally, 36%–44% of lesbian women report physical violence from a partner, though many cases may go unreported due to stigma or fear of discrimination.

Similarly, studies suggest that between one in three and one in four lesbians have experienced sexual assault by a woman. Additionally, up to 60% of lesbian women report sexual violence involving physical contact. These rates are similar to or higher than those reported by heterosexual women.

Why are these numbers not widely recognized?

The simplest answer: people believe abuse among women isn’t as serious. A more comprehensive answer involves social stigma. Lesbian women often face discrimination by law enforcement, fear of coming out, internalized homophobia, and other factors.

In fact, there are higher health risks among lesbian women due to mistrust of healthcare providers.

In the end, it’s the same pattern.

Whether discussing Ruby Rose or other individuals, narratives involving sexual violence often reflect complex interpersonal power dynamics and perceptions of control. These narratives can also challenge how individuals recognize the rights and humanity of others.

It is also the appropriation of masculine codes of violence, to which many women—whether they are Katy Perry or not—adhere as a form of complicity with the aggressor.

Finally, to speak of sexual violence without addressing all the spheres in which it manifests is to fall into complacent omission. And in doing so, to collaborate with the erasure of patterns that continue to repeat themselves over and over again.

Some accomplishments end with fireworks. Artemis II ended with water.

After 10 days around lunar orbit, after the spacecraft looped past the far side of the Moon, after the world watched the spectacle of “humans returning,” the mission still had to do the hardest thing: come home safely. And the person leading that final act was Liliana Villarreal, an aerospace engineer born in Cartagena who now holds one of NASA’s most demanding jobs: Landing and Recovery director for Artemis II.

Liliana Villarreal held the job where “success” becomes a matter of life or death

Liliana Villarreal directed the landing and recovery of NASA’s Artemis II mission, which successfully splashed down on April 10, 2026, carrying four astronauts who had traveled around the Moon after passing the far side. The Artemis program’s stated goal was to return humans to the Moon after more than half a century.

Villarreal, then, was the official who “detailed the rigorous protocol” designed to guarantee the crew’s safety during the return and recovery in the Pacific Ocean.

The Artemis II return was built around terrifying numbers

The return of Artemis II was scheduled for April 10 at 8:07 p.m. EDT. Per information shared by NASA through its official channels, the spacecraft would enter the atmosphere at speeds of up to 25,000 miles per hour, and the vehicle’s job was to protect the crew while it drastically reduced speed.

NASA used a complex system of 11 parachutes—decelerators that slow down falling objects—activated one after another, to reduce the capsule’s speed to about 20 mph at splashdown, when the spacecraft lands in the ocean. The splashdown would take place roughly 60 miles off the U.S. coast, marking the end of Artemis II’s spaceflight.

Liliana Villarreal was coordinating every second of that return. She called it the “segment of greatest critical risk,” noting that an error during reentry or ocean contact could compromise the crew.

Liliana Villarreal described the hardest part with unflinching clarity

El Tiempo quoted Villarreal describing the wait for splashdown as the most demanding moment for her recovery team: “The moment that could be the most challenging of the mission for us is waiting for the splashdown after the vehicle enters the atmosphere.”

For that crucial moment, Villarreal and her team relied on decades of preparation, developing ground support equipment, operational frameworks, and procedures to ensure success.

The ocean rescue plan had to work like a clock

Once Orion hit the water and conditions were confirmed to be safe, Navy divers and NASA open-water experts began a coordinated recovery.

Villarreal explained the next step: “When the four crew members are out of the capsule, the front porch [is] repositioned to allow the astronauts to be lifted individually into a helicopter.”

After that, the recovery has two parallel goals: care for the people and secure the spacecraft. Once on the ship, astronauts go to a medical care compartment for a post-mission evaluation before being flown by helicopter either back to the coast or to Johnson Space Center.

After the crew exited, Villarreal’s team prepared Orion for towing to the ship’s well deck, ending when the capsule was secured for transport and analysis under her supervision.

Liliana Villarreal’s NASA story is one for the books

When Liliana Villarreal was 7 years old, her family took her to the Kennedy Space Center Visitor Complex in Florida. There, she first heard the story of Apollo and the astronauts who reached the Moon. According to Pluralidad Z, this visit led her toward science, technology, engineering, and math.

Villarreal grew up in Miami after moving there with her family at age 10, attended public school, and earned a bachelor’s (1996) and a master’s (1997) in aerospace engineering from the Georgia Institute of Technology. She later earned a master’s in technology management (2002) from the University of Miami’s engineering school.

A painful rejection leads to the right pivot

After dreaming of flying to the stars, Liliana Villarreal was not selected among more than 100,000 applicants who tried to become an astronaut. However, that did not stop her.

Instead, she worked at Boeing, linked to Kennedy Space Center, participated in the construction of the International Space Station and Space Shuttle, and later joined the assembly of Orion, the capsule that would carry astronauts back to the Moon.

Liliana Villarreal’s work sits inside Exploration Ground Systems

Liliana Villarreal’s role within NASA’s Exploration Ground Systems program is arguably more crucial than traveling around the dark side of the Moon. She is responsible for managing, planning, coordinating, and carrying out the operational activities both on the ground and during flight that are needed to support missions with astronauts aboard NASA’s Space Launch System (SLS)—a rocket designed to send spacecraft beyond Earth’s orbit—and the Orion spacecraft, which carries the crew.

“The fact that this is the foundation to return to the Moon and eventually go deeper into space is an enormous inspiration for me,” she said.

“Sí, we belong here” is a workforce reality inside NASA

As a Latina in an industry that still has work to do regarding representation, Villarreal has spoken about what she considers relevant inside the agency: the presence of Hispanic workers.

She said, “We are very fortunate at NASA to have a healthy and strong Hispanic workforce,” and she added that many of that group actively mentor younger generations and do outreach with elementary and high school students.

In fact, Villarreal is part of a group of Colombians holding key roles in Artemis II across flight direction, capsule recovery, propulsion analysis, and innovation.

For her, showing Hispanics and other minorities working in complex programs is not just messaging. It is a practical demonstration that a diverse team is a successful team.

What she said right after splashdown says everything about leadership

Villarreal’s reaction after Orion made contact with the ocean was an overwhelming combination of relief, pride, and realism all at once.

She said, “I feel euphoric and relieved. We still have to bring the capsule to the crew dock and to the infirmary, but our team has been preparing and working very hard; I’m very proud of all of them.”

Furthermore, she highlighted coordination with Mission Control in Houston, calling communication during the process a determining factor for the landing’s success.

Then she gave people the details they always want after a mission: what did the astronauts look like?

“We had video of them from inside the Orion vehicle,” she said. “From the beginning, when we opened the hatch, they were already out of their seats, having a good time. In the medical evaluation, they were all very well; they were even using their phones, probably talking about what they saw. There were smiles everywhere.”

Liliana Villarreal keeps her timeline tied to another woman

Villarreal is married to retired physician Timothy O’Hare and has two children, Sabrina and Miguel, both of whom are professionals. When asked about her future at NASA, she gave a concrete answer: she plans to retire when the first woman reaches the Moon, which will happen with Artemis III. Until then, she remains part of the team, making that possible.

Every few years, Coachella sells the same fantasy: a desert weekend where music and fashion meet “culture.” Everyone pretends the festival is bigger than the industries that bankroll it.

But in 2026, Karol G arrived and redefined the fantasy.

Because what Karol did on that stage went beyond a headliner set. It was a masterclass in Latin culture and the power of a Latina woman who knows her history, her audience, and what it means to take up space in a country that insists our presence is optional.

Karol G became the first Latina to headline Coachella. She did it after decades of Latin artists and groups pushed their way into the lineup. She honored that lineage through a clear symbol: a tapestry of flags from all Latin American countries. These appeared in festival activations and during her performance.

Karol G’s masterclass was in session last Sunday

The anticipation was palpable for Coachella 2026. The lineup balanced legacy names and return-to-the-stage moments, including Sabrina Carpenter and Justin Bieber. But even beyond Latino audiences, Karol G was the main draw.

And when she finally spoke to the crowd, she did so with the authority of someone naming the stakes.

“I’m Carolina Giraldo, from Medellín, Colombia, and today I’m the first Latina woman to headline Coachella,” she said. The audience looked like a sea of flags from across Latin America. “I’m very happy and very proud,” she added. But “at the same time, I feel like it’s coming late. This festival has been going on for 27 years. Before me, there were many great Latin artists who paved the way for this opportunity.”

Then she widened the frame beyond her career. “Latinos have been facing difficulties in this country lately,” she continued. “We support you. I’m proud that this brings out the best in us: unity, resilience, a strong spirit. We want everyone to feel welcome to our culture, our roots, our music. I want everyone to feel proud of their origins.”

If you grew up in this community, you know exactly what that message implied.

The takeover of “Karolchella”

Fans dubbed the Sunday-night set “Karolchella,” and the energy earned the name. The main stage’s intricate design included a three-story stone cave structure, likely nodding to the depths of the jungle in her native Colombia, and its construction reportedly took longer than expected.

While the final touches delayed her start by about 25 minutes, the crowd did not drift. They chanted “bichota” and “Karol,” waving flags from across Latin America and the Caribbean like they were holding up proof of life.

Then the show began with a story narrated by Karol in Spanish, projected in English on the screens. It was about a girl who had to break free from social expectations to find her voice, and who used that strength to create light, water, fire, and valleys. When the story ended, jets of fire shot up. Karol and her dancers launched into “Latina Foreva.”

A jungle, a cave, and a road that looked like a warning

As part of her latest album Tropicoqueta, Karol offered a retrospective of Latin American women’s musical history. She emerged from the stage surrounded by symbols of indigenous cosmogony, including jaguars and a visual connection to the earth.

The stage also featured a cracked asphalt road, cutting through the jungle and caves, like a visual argument about movement, about the journey, about what this country keeps calling “civilization” while denying the cultures that built it.

In that setting, she performed songs like “Papasito,” “Son de la Negra,” and “Ese Hombre es Malo.” She did more than sing: from there, she built bridges—toward mariachi and reggaetón pioneers, into rock, and to the women watching and those onstage.

The set was huge, and the choices precise

Over 90 minutes, Karol delivered 20 of her own songs, including “TQG” and “Amargura.” She moved through six costume changes, from caveman-inspired outfits to tropical-chic looks, across four distinct stage setups. Parris Goebel’s choreography drove the performance, with Rolling Stone describing the movement as aggressive yet sensual.

She covered Gloria Estefan’s “Mi Tierra.” Reggaetón pioneer Wisin delivered a four-song mini-concert. Mariachi Reyna de Los Ángeles, the first all-female professional mariachi group in the United States, appeared as part of the show.

Mariah Angeliq joined Karol for “El Makinon.” Becky G took the stage for a mariachi version of “Mamii.” Greg Gonzales of Cigarettes After Sex joined for “Después de Ti.” Cuban-American jazz musician Arturo Sandoval played trumpet during “Ivonny Bonita.”

It was a powerful ecosystem on stage.

The not-so-subtle female focus

Male dancers appeared at times, but the deliberate focus on women shaped the show’s atmosphere. Even the audience near the stage looked like a statement: Young Miko, Lizzo, Camila Cabello, and Becky G watched intently from close range.

Amid it all, the performance moved with overt sensuality: hip-shaking, twerking, and elaborate, skimpy outfits. The night’s indulgent center was a small, shallow stone-carved pool lit like quartz. There, Karol and her dancers became water goddesses in tiny silver bikinis.

This was intentional sensuality for the female gaze, directly contrasting with the way American culture typically portrays Latina sensuality, making a clear statement about agency and self-representation.

From tribute to authorship

In her first Coachella performance in 2022, Karol paid tribute to icons like Selena, Celia Cruz, Daddy Yankee, and others through a medley of their most popular songs.

In 2026, she went further. She made Latin culture the structure of the night: the narrative, the set design, the guest list, the language, the pacing, and the epicenter.

As the flags of Latin America and the Caribbean waved over the crowd, many wore black-and-white Colombian straw hats known as sombreros vueltiaos. She took over the venue with the ease of someone who knows she belongs there.

An ending that became a promise

During “Si Antes te Hubiera Conocido,” Karol announced she had to wrap the show and said she wanted to perform “Provenza,” a song she debuted during her Coachella 2022 performance. The finale exploded into Tiësto’s remix, then confetti. Karol took a final bow with her dancers, vulnerably showing her excitement.

For the critics, the performance’s success was undeniable. They agreed she “undoubtedly demonstrated why she deserves a place in the festival’s hall of fame.”

But the unavoidable conclusion is this: Karol G’s purpose on that stage was not to prove Latin culture’s legitimacy. She performed to show that Latin culture has always been present.

Verónica Rodríguez did not enter sports journalism through a polished “dream job” door. She entered through the most Latino doorway imaginable: family, fútbol, and a stadium ritual that felt like a second home.

“I was studying journalism because I loved soccer,” she told FIERCE. In her house, the sport was not a hobby. It was “part of our identity, of our family, the noise in the house, the reason for the family gathering, why you go to grandma’s house.” Her bond with her father ran through those Sundays. “My strongest relationship with my dad was through sports,” she said. “Sitting at the table with him, going to the stadium every two weeks.” She would go with her dad, her grandfather, and her sister to watch Pumas, then return home for the family meal and the post-game analysis. “We’d analyze the match, whether they deserved the win,” she remembered. Today, she gets to live that feeling “every day” through her work. “It feels like a blessing.”

She built a career on a paradox: shy, but fearless on camera

Rodríguez describes herself as shy, even as her career has been built in front of millions. “I didn’t plan to be on camera because I’m a bit shy,” she said. “I can pretend perfectly that I’m not shy, but I’m very shy.”

Her first on-camera interviews were then different from what people used to see in sports coverage. They were a human exchange. And she got a season’s worth of tickets for the team she loved. “They offered me on-camera interviews in exchange for tickets for the entire season for the team of my dreams, which were Pumas,” she said. “So I said yes.”

She did them, nerves and all. “With all the embarrassment, I did them, and it went well,” she told us. Then the doors started opening. And once she realized she could do it, she leaned in. “They can take the embarrassment away from me because I’m starting to really like it,” she said. “It excites me to be the link, to tell the stories.”

@tntagencyReady for the #worldcupdraw ✨ Veronica Rodríguez glam by #tntagency #MundialTelemundo #Somos26 #SorteoMundial

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The question every woman in sports media gets, and the work it takes to answer it

For years, women in sports media have had to clear a credibility checkpoint that men never face. Rodríguez knows it first-hand.

“The typical question for a woman in sports journalism is: ‘But do you actually like soccer, or are you there because you want to be on TV?’” she said. She heard versions of that for a decade, sometimes longer. The “prove it” test followed. “If you wear a Metallica shirt, people say, ‘Name three songs.’ It’s the same with sports journalism: ‘What is offside?’ ‘What does VAR mean?’”

However, Rodríguez did not bite. She decided to let her work speak for itself. Sports journalism, she argues, demands a kind of immersion that you cannot fake for long. “You need to be completely passionate about sports because it’s a career where you won’t have weekends,” she said. “You won’t go to your cousin’s wedding.” You will invest “hours and hours and hours.”

“You show up to an interview with a background of having watched the 30 matches of the player you’re interviewing,” she said. If the passion is not there, she believes the audience can tell. “Studying it from a text is noticeable,” she said. “It’s not the same.”

How she earned a seat at the debate table

Rodríguez’s story is also about the determination the kind women develop because the system rarely hands them an open chair.

Early in her career, she wanted what often stays guarded: the debate table. “How do I get into the debate and have credibility?” she recalled thinking. She also remembers the insecurity of entering a space built by men who had dominated it for decades.

So she created an entry point. “I told the producer, ‘What if I do an editorial, and we debate off that as the first debate?’” she said. That became her way in: show up with an argument, then stay because you can hold it. “That’s how I earned my place at the debate table,” she told us, not as a token, but as an educated voice.

@telemundodeportes😎 ¿Qué prefiere Cruz del Toro? 😜 Vero Rodríguez se dio a la tarea de descubrir si al luchador mexicano le gustan los tacos o la salsa verde previo a #WrestleMania. ✨ ¿Tú cuál prefieres? #wwe #cruzdeltoro #wrestlemania39 #luchalibre

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Fox Sports opened the door. Telemundo propelled her

Her early work in Mexico led to a major leap. “I was at a small channel called MVS,” she said. “Fox Sports called me, and that’s when my big career really exploded.” She spent 10 years there, and at the time, the network reached across Latin America. That era widened her range of sports, too, from fútbol to motorsports and wrestling.

But when Rodríguez talks about Telemundo, she talks about something else: institutional belief. Not just a new job, but a door opened without her having to beg for it.

She moved to the United States after marriage, with anxiety about what would happen to her career. Then, in one of those life moments that feels scripted, she got the call from Telemundo the same day she received her work authorization. “I got my Social Security, and I could work,” she said. “Like the best day in the world.”

Telemundo, she explained, required a different kind of sports storytelling. It is not a niche sports channel. It is a broad network where sports have to meet the whole household. “In a sports channel, it’s more analysis,” she said. “On a channel like Telemundo, you find all kinds of audiences, and you have to do your content so everyone can enjoy it.”

That means speaking to the superfan and the abuelita who stayed after the telenovela. It means making sports feel like a community, not a gated club.

Why Spanish sports coverage is not a “nice-to-have”

When Rodríguez explains the power of Spanish-language sports coverage in the United States, she talks about identity, not translation.

“The Spanish-speaking audience is one of the most passionate about sports,” she said. And if we are talking about fútbol, she insisted, it is not “something Latinos like.” It is “the identity we have.” It is “the excuse to talk to your grandma.” It is the reason you gather.

So when you deliver those stories “in the language you hear at home,” she said, it means everything. The references have context, and the jokes actually make sense. Even the emotional register shifts. She offered a simple example that made the point fast: “It’s not the same to curse someone out in English as in Spanish,” she said, laughing. “It doesn’t feel the same.”

In other words, it’s a way of cultivating a sense of belonging.

@telemundoniLas mujeres detrás del fútbol: Cómo Vero Rodríguez de Telemundo Deportes desafía los roles de género en los medios deportivos Vero Rodríguez, una de las muchas mujeres detrás del fútbol, comparte cómo combate la discriminación de género en el periodismo deportivo.

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The women’s sports audience was never the problem. The industry was

Rodríguez rejects the idea that women are a niche audience for sports. What needed changing was not women’s interests, but the industry’s willingness to recognize them.

“I’ve seen how we’ve torn down those taboos,” she said. The numbers tell a story, too: women’s sports and women’s sports audiences keep breaking records. “The fans are there,” she said. “The knowledge and credibility on the other side are there. The success and the skills and the conditions as athletes, we’re there.”

What’s missing is access. “We need those spaces to open and for them to give us those seats,” Rodríguez said.

“Sí se puede” behind her career strategy

Toward the end of our conversation, we asked Rodríguez what she wanted included in the piece, what she wanted to be said clearly about her trajectory. Her answer was as simple as genuine.

“There’s something that has always accompanied me,” she said. A cheer that follows Mexican sports culture: “Sí se puede. Sí se puede.”

For her, it has run parallel to her career, especially in rooms where she felt like the first, the only, the test case. “I remember the first time I sat at the debate table, and I was shaking,” she told me. “I kept thinking, ‘Sí se puede.’’ A woman at the table.”

She remembers the surprise on the faces of people who had spent decades in sports media and had never had a woman sitting beside them in debate. And she remembers the grind behind every moment of competence: the extra reading, the extra research, the hours required to walk into a room of veterans and contribute something real.

Then Telemundo did something that crystallized her argument about what access can unlock. Rodríguez became the first woman to commentate on an NBA game on Spanish-language broadcast television in the United States, she said, after the network later confirmed it through research.

It was all the proof she needed.

“I was nervous,” she said. “I’d fall asleep watching basketball every night, because it’s one thing to know the topic and another to talk through it on a broadcast.” When the message came confirming she was the first, she cried on the plane. “I don’t know why I cry on flights about everything,” she confessed. But the emotion made sense.

The point of her story is bigger than one career

Sports media still tries to sell the idea that women are guests in a men’s world. Rodríguez’s career argues the opposite. Women have always been in the stands, in the living rooms, in the group chats, building sports culture in real time. The industry simply took too long to treat that truth as normal.

Rodríguez’s story also shows how Latina visibility changes the ecosystem. It changes who feels invited, the language, and even the reference points. It changes the future talent pool because younger women see a life that looks possible.

Or, as she would put it, the only way it ever moves: “Sí se puede.”

In many Latino families, discussions about sex and relationships are still taboo. Young people often grow up discovering their sexuality on their own, with very little access to sexual education beyond the internet. Even more, when parents do talk about sex, it’s often related to potential negative consequences rather than establishing healthy relationships, developing communication skills, and understanding pleasure.

This lack of communication between Latino parents and their kids may have established a greater gap than we can imagine. Having open conversations about sex not only provides children with knowledge but also helps them make better partner choices, establish boundaries, and even feel safe when speaking about sexual or intimate partner violence.

However, a study indicates that Latinas still experience higher levels of psychological and physical abuse and violence than other demographics. The report showed that 23.4% of Latinas will experience intimate partner violence in their lifetime, with 48% reporting that intimate partner violence (IPV) increased after immigrating to the United States.

So, where does it all start? How do we change it?

A good place to start would be en la casa.

The first step Latino parents can take is to eliminate marianismo

You’ve surely heard of machismo, but are you familiar with marianismo? This cultural framework has long shaped expectations of Latina womanhood and femininity. Within this ideology, the “ideal” woman is nurturing, family-oriented, religious, submissive, and, most importantly, sexually modest. Under this idea, desire is not something that a woman should explore openly. On the contrary, it should be regulated, contained, and silenced.

While marianismo primarily affects women, it also affects men, generating the idea that the “right” woman must adhere to these principles, and anyone who steps outside of them is considered “impure.” Research shows that marianismo “influences attitudes about, experiences of, and responses to intimate partner violence” among Latinas, showing that those who were raised under these ideals often faced higher rates of IPV and experienced greater psychological distress.

By eliminating marianismo from the equation and establishing households where children, regardless of their gender, can feel comfortable speaking about sex and desire without retaliation, we take a first step toward helping them shape healthy relationships in their future.

Establishing positive communication patterns

It’s time to open communication channels when it comes to relationships and sex. Yes, we understand that communication isn’t going to suddenly make all relationships healthier, and there are bigger generational fish to fry. Still, it’s the first step to breaking a pattern that isn’t serving our community.

When young people are given the space to talk openly about sex and relationships, they’re not just receiving information; they’re learning their voice matters. They are also learning that communication can help them establish boundaries, solve problems, and resolve disagreements with words rather than violence.

Starting is the hardest part, but it can be done progressively. Latina sexologist Rebecca Alvarez-Story, founder of Bloomi, shared some tips with mitú on how to speak to conservative parents about sexual wellness.

“The best way to become more comfortable with sex conversations in general is to have lots of small, casual discussions over time instead of one big awkward talk (the way that many of us assume it has to be),” she says. “Second, is to start finding/building a community of like-minded and/or open-minded people (who are supportive of you) over time. This type of network is especially helpful as you navigate new relationship structures and sexual experiences.”

Identifying the red flags

Many Latino parents, particularly mothers, may find it difficult to discuss relationships and sexual wellness due to their own experiences. As we mentioned above, Latinas face some of the highest rates of IPV and often the greatest barriers to leaving abusive partners, which can include socio-economic and mental health barriers.

In Inter-Generational Transmission of Violence in Latino Families: The Role of Mothers in Navigating the Cycle of Abuse, Zarah Zurita Quiroga states that “Mothers and children love and fear their abusers simultaneously, therefore, leaving can be healthy and painful. Children become a predominant source of resilience for mothers to heal from intimate partner violence.”

While these experiences may be painful to share or discuss, they can also become the foundation for helping future generations of Latinos identify red flags in their relationships and create positive, healthy bonds.

Some ways to help teens identify red flags and establish healthier relationships include:

• Giving direct rather than indirect advice. Instead of saying things like “be careful” or “respect yourself,” explicitly define healthy vs. unhealthy behaviors. Name things to avoid, like controlling behaviors, jealousy, and pressure.

• Invite open conversations about unacceptable behaviors from peers, friends, and even family members.

• Encourage your child, regardless of gender, to prioritize mental peace over the idea of “fixing” a partner or suffering in silence.

• Build trust through open dialogue, and ask them how they would like to feel in a relationship or what they would like their relationships to look like.

Transforming shame into strength

A new wave of healthy relationships in our community is possible—we just have to start from the root. While there is much more to relationships than upbringing, Latino parents can start early in teaching their children what they should strive for in the future, and most of all, that no matter what happens, their support system will be there.

It’s time to transform shame into strength and empowerment on these topics, and now more than ever, we have the tools to make it happen.

When Marilyn Monroe “appeared” on the cover of Playboy magazine, the publication still carried the subtitle “entertainment for men.” It was 1953, and the archetype of the sex symbol finally made the “readers’” dreams come true: her nude “Golden Dreams” photos were inside. Hugh Hefner purchased the images for $500 from a calendar company without Monroe’s direct consent, as she had posed for them in 1949 while struggling financially.

Ironically, it was Marilyn’s cover that gave Playboy its legitimacy. It was that precise cover that launched Hefner’s media empire, but it also solidified Monroe’s iconic status, despite the savage exploitation of her image.

Since then, Pamela Anderson, Anna Nicole Smith, Carmen Electra, Darine Stern, Madonna, Drew Barrymore, Farrah Fawcett, Kim Kardashian, and Lindsay Lohan, to mention a few, have transformed appearing on a Playboy cover into a rite of passage: from stars to icons, from women to crowned sex symbols.

Where Latinas Fit in the Playboy Mythology

Latinas, for their part — and while they have always been the token of sexualization — were not invited to the party until recently. While Playboy México and other Latin editions have always featured Latinas on their covers, the American Playboy has only featured a few. Stacy Sanchez was Playmate of the Year in 1996. Ten years later, Jessica Alba appeared on the cover of the March 2006 issue. The first Latina Playmate of the Year was Raquel Pomplun in 2013.

And now, Karol G.

Karol G, Playboy, and the New Paradox of Legitimacy

However, Playboy is not the same magazine it was over 70 years ago. The uncomfortable paradox of legitimacy has transformed the publication into a Variety of sorts, with texts people actually read. And Karol G’s is one you shouldn’t miss.

Just days before making history at Coachella, the Colombian star told Paola Ramos she’s no longer interested in playing it safe. “Last year… life threw me to the floor, kicked me, pushed me, stood on me, spun me around,” she confessed. Now, she decided to do the cover because “I grew up inspired by how beautiful the women in the magazine looked and now I have the opportunity to be that beautiful,” or sexy, mamasota, as she said in Spanish.

And yes. This statement might be an impossible tautology for anyone who didn’t grow up inside the Latino community. A badass woman feels empowered by what began 70 years ago as a system of oppression for half the population. However, Latinas know there’s a unique power in owning your sexuality and your beauty. That, my friends, is a force that can build or bring down empires.

The Part Karol G Refuses to Apologize For

And this is precisely the sort of empowerment Karol G has spearheaded for years now, while struggling with heartbreak, impossible expectations, and coming to terms with her own history. From sold-out world tours to a heart-wrenching yet inspiring documentary, we knew she was ready to leave the apologies behind. Moreover, we intuitively knew she was ready to cut the generational curses imposed by the Latino mindset, including emotional dependence in relationships and the fear of el qué dirán.

“I’m letting go of everything,” she said, while adding that her newly single status is particular fuel on its own. “I’ve always thought that my most evolutionary moments come when I’m alone. As a good Latina from a traditional family, you're taught to give yourself fully to relationships, to the point where you can even lose yourself… I think you have to work a lot on yourself so the relationship can work. You also have to do the work so that you can walk away when you recognize it’s not going to work. When I finished my last relationship, I initially felt like, ‘Wow, I’m here again.’ But then I saw it as, ‘Wow, how beautiful that I had the courage to say that I no longer wanted to be there.’”

That mindset helped her let go of the pressure to “feel behind” for not having kids and allowed her to “be curious.” She’s now ready to receive what the world has in store.

Coachella, Consecration, and the Beginning

And that precise world seems to agree. She was expecting Coachella to be her consecration, but now that she holds the reins, she actually feels “like it’s the beginning.” “This is the first time in my life that I feel I’m going to see myself as the artist in the same caliber as the stage that I’m stepping on,” she says in her interview with Playboy.

“When I received the call, I felt like a huge weight fell on me… I feel very blessed to be part of a generation that is trying to change the narrative and raise our voice for the community… I feel like it’s a show for my community, for the world, but it’s a show that’s very much for me.”

And it makes sense. After all, what is empowerment, true empowerment, but self-love? Many people, including she who writes these words, often thought the idealization of Playboy and its Playmates by women was complicit in the oppression of patriarchy; it was a passive way of feeding the machinery of sexual violence. And hey, it might well have been years ago. But you cannot even attempt to see Karol G’s Playboy cover and interview and not feel proud and inspired by a woman whose self-awareness and humility transform into a unique beauty and intimacy only a Latina could pull off.

By Nicole Young.

Retirement? In this economy? For a lot of us, the idea of chilling on a beach at 65 with a margarita in hand feels about as realistic as owning a home with a walk-in closet and a pantry that isn’t also your laundry room.

Especially if you’re a first-gen Latina balancing your own bills while also helping out mamá, your siblings, or that one tío who somehow always needs “just a little help this month.”

But here’s the thing no one told us growing up: retirement isn’t just for rich people or corporate execs, it’s for us too. And the sooner we understand how these systems work, the sooner we stop leaving money on the table.

So we tapped five Latina financial experts who actually get it.

They broke down everything from what a 401(k) actually is to how to make peace with investing while still showing up for your family. Think of this as your no-BS, slightly chismosa guide to finally understanding retirement accounts.

So… What is a 401(k), Actually?

At its core, a 401(k) is a retirement account offered through your employer in which you contribute a portion of your paycheck for your future. However, most of us were never taught this in plain language.

Kim Duran, an HR and benefits specialist, explains, “A 401(k) is a retirement account through your job where you save money from your paycheck and invest it for the future.”

Maria Melchor, author and first-gen money advocate, adds an important detail that often gets overlooked. She says a 401(k) isn’t just something tied to one job forever: “It’s an investment account your employer helps you manage while you’re with them, and you take with you when you leave.”

So yes, it’s workplace-based, but it’s still yours. And it’s not just a place to park your money. It’s an investment account, which means your money should grow over time rather than just sit there.

Investing, But Make It Make Sense

Inside your 401(k), investing simply means choosing where your money goes so it can grow. That might be index funds, target-date funds, or other options your employer provides.

“If you’re not actually investing the money inside your 401(k), you’re missing the point,” Duran says. “It means the money you contribute doesn’t just sit there.” Instead, it’s invested in things like funds that spread your money across many companies, helping it grow over time.

Jannese Torres, a Latina money expert, puts it even more plainly: “If you don’t choose investments, your 401(k) is basically acting like a savings account, which is not what it’s designed to do.”

The takeaway here isn’t to become an investing expert overnight. It’s to make sure your money is doing something. Even choosing a simple target-date fund is enough to get started.

The Employer Match Is Literally Free Dinero

If there’s one universal message from every expert, it’s this: Do not ignore the employer match.

“The biggest mistake is not contributing enough to get the full employer match,” says Brittney Castro, certified financial planner. Across the board, our experts described the match the same way: it’s free money, an instant bonus, and extra income that’s part of your benefits package.

So how does it work?

You contribute a percentage of your paycheck, and your employer matches some or all of it, up to a limit. Torres explains why this matters so much. When your employer matches your contributions, “you are doubling your contribution, but only paying for half of it.”

Genesis Hinkley, founder of Money Mami Bootcamp, brings it down to real numbers. “If I contribute $50 and my employer matches at 50%, they will contribute $25. Eyy! Now imagine that over time.” It adds up quickly, and yet, people still skip it. “They don’t even sign up,” Torres says.

And honestly, it’s one of the easiest ways to lose out on money you’ve already earned.

If your job offers a match, contributing at least enough to get the full amount isn’t just a good idea; it’s the baseline.

401(k) vs. IRA, The Non-Confusing Version

Once you’ve got your 401(k) somewhat figured out, the next question is: What else should I be doing? This is where IRAs come in. These are retirement accounts you open on your own, outside of your job.

There are two main types, and the difference comes down to taxes. A Traditional IRA gives you a tax break now. “It can help reduce your taxable income today,” Castro explains, which can be helpful depending on your financial situation.

A Roth IRA flips that benefit to the future. You pay taxes on your money now, but when you withdraw it later, it’s tax-free. Torres emphasizes why that’s powerful: “It means the money you see in that account in retirement is actually yours to use, without taxes taking a cut.”

So which one should you choose? Instead of overcomplicating it, our experts are aligned here. If you can, do both. Hinkley sums it up best, “A little bit here, a little bit there.” The goal isn’t perfection. It’s building multiple streams for your future. And if your job doesn’t offer a 401(k), IRAs become even more important. As Melchor points out, “they’re a way to take control of your retirement savings on your own terms.”

But What If You’re Helping Your Family Right Now?

Here’s where this conversation becomes culturally relevant: for many Latinas, money isn’t just personal; it’s collective. Castro notes that more Latinas are thinking about retirement, but they’re also balancing the responsibility of supporting family members. That can make it feel like you have to choose between helping now and preparing for later. “Our culture taught us to be humble and grateful,” Hinkley says, “but to build wealth, you need to be a little selfish.”

Torres frames it in a way that’s hard to ignore: “You have to put your oxygen mask on first.” Because if you don’t build your own financial stability, you risk continuing the same cycle you’re trying to break. But Melchor offers a practical solution that feels doable: “Separate your personal financial goals from your family support.” That way, one doesn’t completely derail the other. You can still show up for your people, but you also have to protect your future.

No 401(k)? No Problem

Not everyone has access to a 401(k), and that’s okay. Whether you’re freelancing, self-employed, or working somewhere without benefits, you can still invest for retirement. Castro says, “A traditional IRA makes sense for those who don’t have a 401(k).” Melchor adds, “A Roth IRA is another strong option, especially if you want tax-free income later.” And if you’re feeling like you don’t have enough money to start, this is your reminder that you don’t need to go big right away. “Start with just $25 a month,” Hinkley says. The goal is to build the habit, not to be perfect.

The Mindset Shift We Actually Need

At a certain point, this stops being about accounts and becomes about mindset, because many of us were raised in survival mode and told to save what you can, help where you can, and don’t take risks. But that mindset can make it harder to invest, even when it’s exactly what we need.

“You can invest for your future and still enjoy your life today,” Castro says. It doesn’t have to be all-or-nothing. And Duran reminds us that this isn’t out of reach. “Investing and building generational wealth is attainable for us, too.” That shift — from thinking it’s not for us to realizing it is — is everything.

So, Where Do You Start?

If you’re ready to actually do something after reading this, start with the basics. Hinkley suggests, “Calculate your net worth,” so you understand where you’re starting from. Then open your accounts, whether that’s a 401(k) through your job or an IRA on your own. Automate your contributions so you don’t have to think about it every month. Melchor adds, “If your employer offers a match, sign up. If not, open an IRA and start contributing what you can.” And Torres says what we all need to hear, “The best time to start was yesterday. The second-best time is today.”

The 401(k) Truth

This isn’t just about retirement accounts; it’s about giving yourself options. Even small steps, like contributing to a 401(k) or opening an IRA, can start to shift your future in a real way.

As Melchor says, it’s about “taking control of your retirement savings on your own terms.” Not perfection, not doing everything at once, just deciding your future deserves a place in your priorities, too.

Coachella is here, and we are ready.

Every year, the desert turns into a runway, a playlist, and a personal branding exercise all at once. And in 2026, the trend cycle feels extra loud. According to HOLA, the big themes floating to the top include futuristic boho, Y2K nostalgia, Western core, sheer layers, thrifted and DIY looks, and comfort-first styling. Vogue adds a very specific correction: the boho energy is back, but it has to look 2026-worthy, meaning less costume, fewer one-and-done “festival fits,” and more repurposed pieces you would actually wear again.

So yes. We did the homework.

Below are the Coachella 2026 fashion predictions, plus an actual shopping guide that gets you dressed without spiraling into a 47-tab crisis.

Prediction No. 1: Desert Western is back, but it wants to look effortless

E! News calls it Desert Western, and the point is simple: cowboy boots, denim, fringe, sun-washed neutrals. The difference in 2026 is styling. Less “Halloween cowgirl.” More “I woke up like this, but this outfit has been living on my private Pinterest for months.”

Shop the vibe

Affordable cowboy boots that do not look like a prank

These Amazon cowboy boots are the easiest anchor piece if you want Western without committing to a full character arc. Pair with a mini skirt, a slip dress, or jorts and call it a day.

The skirt that makes boots make sense

A mini skirt is the fastest way to make cowboy boots feel intentional instead of random. This foldover-style skirt gives you that “styling happened here” silhouette without asking you to suffer.

Ruffle mini energy for when you want cute, not cosplay

If you want the Western look to read more flirty than rugged, a ruffle mini does the trick. Add boots and a simple top, and let the proportions do the talking.

Prediction No. 2: “Futuristic boho” is the new default boho

HOLA describes this as flowy silhouettes plus metallics, reflective accessories, and techy details. Think ethereal, but make it slightly cyber.

Shop the vibe

The lightweight poncho that looks like you planned layers

A crochet poncho reads boho immediately, but it also solves the desert problem: hot in the day, weirdly cold at night. Throw it over a tank, bikini top, or bralette and keep moving.

The linen tank option for when you want breathable, not fussy

If you want the “flowy” part of boho without the dramatics, a linen tank keeps you cool and still looks festival-ready once you add accessories.

Prediction No. 3: Y2K is still alive, but now it’s mixing with everything

HOLA calls out low-rise cargos and baby tees. Her Campus goes further: micro bottoms, belts, layering, and early-2000s pop princess energy. The key is to choose one Y2K signal and let it carry the outfit.

Shop the vibe

Cargo shorts for the full Y2K mood

If you want that throwback silhouette without committing to low-rise pants all day, these Y2K-style cargo shorts give you the vibe while keeping the fit practical.

A top that does the “going out” thing without overheating

This strappy-back top reads early-2000s in the best way. Pair it with cargos, a mini skirt, or denim, and you have an outfit without trying too hard.

Prediction No. 4: Sheer layers are still the easiest way to look “festival”

HOLA puts sheer pieces front and center because the desert demands light fabric. Vogue also signals sheer, breezy styling, but with a smarter approach: wear what you already own, repurpose and rework, and stop buying single-use costumes.

Shop the vibe

The poncho again, because it doubles as a sheer layer

Yes, we are repeating it. That is the point. One good piece that you can throw over anything is the difference between “I packed wrong” and “I have range.”

Prediction No. 5: Comfort-first is winning, because, in the end, the desert does not care about your outfit

IYKYK: Coachella style is evolving toward outfits that can survive the walking, the heat, the dust, and the long days. You can look good and still protect your feet.

Shop the vibe

Bohemian sandals for the moment your boots start feeling personal

These are the “I need a break” shoes. Keep them in your bag, switch when you need to, and save your nervous system.

The five outfit formulas that will actually work

If you want to stop overthinking it, pick one of these and build around it:

1. Cowboy boots + mini skirt + simple tank + sunglasses

2. Cargo shorts + strappy top + sneakers or sandals

3. Poncho layer + mini skirt + boots

4. Linen tank + ruffle mini + boots for night, sandals for day

5. One statement piece, everything else neutral

By: Ashley K. Stoyanov Ojeda

I used to think I wasn’t a history person. Turns out, I just didn’t see myself represented in the history that the teachers taught me. I went through my entire education in New York City public schools without a single Latine teacher or learning the name of a single Latina who changed history. The textbooks, I realized, didn’t include us. The timelines skipped over us. And when you’re a kid, you don’t question what’s missing. You just assume there’s nothing to find.

Then, in college, I took a class called Latina Women. It analyzed how Latinas are portrayed in the media, how we’ve been reduced, flattened, and made invisible. And something clicked. I got an A. One of my only As in school. (The others were music business, PR, and publishing, go figure.) It wasn’t that I couldn’t do the work; it’s just that no one had ever given me material that had anything to do with me.

When I finally saw myself reflected in what I was learning, I showed up differently.

As I was co-writing The Book of Awesome Latinas with Mirtle Peña-Calderón, the memory of growing up in the United States school system kept coming back to me, over and over again. Profile after profile, I kept finding women whose stories I’d never heard, women who changed the course of history in their countries and were then deliberately written out of it. Not forgotten by accident but erased on purpose.

This made me so angry. As a Latina who understands how powerful we women can be, I wanted to yell.

But as I was researching, one story stopped me in my tracks: Margarita Mbywangi’s. She is an Indigenous Aché woman from Paraguay who was taken from her community as a child during a period when her people were being systematically hunted and enslaved.

She was separated from her family, stripped of her language, raised in a world that tried to erase her people. By the time she returned to the Aché community as a young woman, she no longer spoke her own language. She felt like a stranger among her own people.

But she didn’t let that stop her. She trained as a nurse and went on to become a leader. She was elected cacique of her community, guiding forty families. She fought illegal logging and defended Indigenous land. And in 2008, she became Paraguay’s first Indigenous cabinet minister.

Latina stories are brimming with fire, spirit, redemption, and a serious amount of grit

When I read her story, I had to sit with it. I thought about what it means to have your identity taken from you and still find a way to lead. I thought about how many women like her I’d never heard of, and how that silence was never an accident. When you look at the pattern, it’s undeniable.

Across centuries and countries, Latina and Indigenous women have built, fought for, and created things, and then watched as their own nations tried to make them disappear.

In the 1880s, Peruvian writer Clorinda Matto de Turner founded her own press staffed entirely by women and wrote a novel so powerful in its defense of Indigenous communities that the Catholic Church excommunicated her and mobs burned her books. Peru exiled her.

In the 1930s, Argentina’s Victoria Ocampo founded Sur, one of the most influential literary magazines in Latin American history, and became the first woman admitted to the Argentine Academy of Letters.

In the 1970s, Cristina Peri Rossi fled Uruguay after a military regime banned her name from the media. She kept writing from exile. Teresa Martínez de Varela became the first Afro-Colombian woman to publish literary works in her country, yet when she passed, her decades of literary work were all but deleted.

These women published, created, and led. Their countries punished them for it, silenced them, or refused to remember them on their own terms. That pattern, unfortunately, didn’t end with them.

Dolores Huerta co-founded the United Farm Workers and coined the slogan “Sí se puede.” At 95, she is still using her voice, most recently to tell a truth she carried in silence for sixty years. Her courage is a reminder that our stories don’t expire, and neither does our right to tell them.

What we’re seeing here is a vicious cycle, and right now, it’s accelerating

Book bans are rising across the country, disproportionately targeting stories by and about communities of color. DEI programs are being dismantled. Latino history remains barely a footnote in most U.S. classrooms. And in the rooms where publishing decisions get made, only 4.6% of staff identify as Hispanic or Latino.

We’re not just underrepresented in the stories being told. We’re underrepresented among the people deciding which stories get told at all. Here’s what I want to push back on: the idea that advocacy has to look one way. That fighting erasure means you have to be on the front lines of a march or leading a protest.

Some of us will do that, and we need them. But we also need writers and educators who refuse to skip over our history. We need artists who keep documenting what happened so the next generation doesn’t have to start from zero. We need the person who isn’t afraid to pick up the phone and call a government official. We need the tía who tells stories at the dinner table so her nieces know where they come from.

Every woman I just named resisted in her own way. Some picked up pens. Some picked up megaphones. Some built entire institutions from nothing. The through line wasn’t the method. It was the refusal to be silent.

The prolonging of our history depends on all of us preserving our stories

So what can you do right now? You can start writing your own story. I don’t mean that in the abstract, inspirational poster sense. I mean literally. Write it down. Your family’s story. Your abuela’s story. The things that happened that nobody ever recorded because nobody thought they were important enough.

They are. They always were. And then share someone else’s. Talk about these women at dinner. Bring them up in a classroom. Post about them. Recommend a book. Refuse to let the silence win.

Because erasure only works when we cooperate with it. It wins when we accept that the stories aren’t there and move on. It wins when we don’t ask why we were never taught this. It wins when we let the silence feel normal.

It’s not normal. It was designed. And the moment we stop telling our stories is the moment someone else decides whether they matter.

They matter. They always have.

Ashley K. Stoyanov Ojeda is a first-generation Latina author, business strategist, and community builder. She is the author of Jefa in Training and co-author of the recently released The Book of Awesome Latinas with Mirtle Peña-Calderón. She writes about identity, entrepreneurship, and what it means to build something from scratch — for yourself and for your community.

Every few months, the internet rediscovers Becky G and asks some version of the same question: Why isn’t she bigger?

This week, that conversation picked up again on X, mostly in Spanish, with people arguing that Becky G lacks a defined musical identity, shifts genres too often, sounds too American for Latino audiences, or walked away from the wrong lane at the wrong time. Some insisted she should have stayed in English pop. Others said she should have doubled down on reggaetón. Others still argued that she is somehow too “Hollywood” to feel believable as a Latina star.

That whole debate reveals something, alright.

Because the Becky G question has never really been about talent, and it has never really been about whether she has had hits. She has, in fact—many of them. Billboard’s artist pages credit her with 29 top 10s on Latin Digital Song Sales, and Billboard just announced she will be honored at the 2026 Latin Women in Music event, which is not exactly something that happens to artists who failed to connect.

The real issue is that Becky G has spent her whole career sitting in the exact place this culture still does not know how to metabolize: the middle.

Too gringa for Latinos, too Latina for gringos

That tension is not new. Becky G herself explained it beautifully in her 2022 Teen Vogue cover story, when she brought up that scene from Selena where Edward James Olmos tells Jennifer Lopez, “You’re either too Mexican for the Americans or too American for the Mexicans. It’s exhausting.” Becky then added, “It’s this unspoken thing that you can’t be in the middle.”

That is the whole story, right there.

A lot of the commentary around Becky G still treats bilingual, bicultural identity as if it is a branding problem she failed to solve, rather than the actual condition of millions of Latinos in the United States. When she made English pop, plenty of people treated her like a generic industry product. When she pivoted into Spanish-language music, others started policing whether her Spanish sounded native enough, whether her aesthetics felt authentic enough, or if she had somehow “remembered” she was Latina only when it became useful.

That standard is impossible by design.

And it is worth saying clearly that this scrutiny is deeply gendered.

Because nobody is sitting around with this level of forensic obsession about whether Peso Pluma is too this or too that for crossing markets, or whether a male artist’s bilingualism makes him less legible, men get framed as versatile, global, strategic. Women, especially Latinas, get framed as confused, manufactured, or unserious the second they refuse to stay in one tidy box.

The Becky G discourse is really about gatekeeping Latina authenticity

Some of the takes circulating now are not even especially subtle. People are saying she does not “look Latina,” does not sound Latina enough, does not pronounce things the right way, or does not connect because she feels like a flattened export version of Latinidad.

And forgive us for calling a spade a spade, but that is identity policing.

And it gets uglier when you notice how selective the policing is. Eva Longoria has built an enormous mainstream career in the United States without having to prove herself in quite this way every five minutes. Yes, maybe because she had her breakthrough in a very stereotypical show, but still. For her part, Jennifer Lopez played Selena and was embraced as a star powerful enough to carry that cultural symbol. Yet, she has borne the brunt of the worst facet of public scrutiny. Becky G, meanwhile, is still somehow asked to stand there and explain her Mexicanidad, her Americanness, her Spanish, her market choices, and her right to exist in both worlds at once.

That is not because Becky G is uniquely unclear. It is because bicultural Latina women still get treated like they have to pass an authenticity exam that never ends.

Now, let’s make something crystal clear: Becky G is not an almost-star. She is a star whose center of gravity changed

Part of what makes this conversation so irritating is how much it depends on pretending that Becky G somehow never “made it.”

She did. She just did not stay frozen inside the version of success some people preferred.

Teen Vogue reported that after “Shower,” the multiplatinum English-language hit that introduced her to the mainstream, Becky G spent years caught in what she described as “many moving pieces,” including complex contract issues and legal trouble surrounding her early career. She said that point in her life felt like being “tied to a sinking ship.” Most people must’ve forgotten that part, because it complicates the fantasy that she simply wandered away from a perfect English-pop path out of indecision.

Similarly, the shift to Spanish was not a random detour. As she told Teen Vogue, she found “career freedom” performing in Spanish.

And the results were evident. “Mayores” and “Sin Pijama” were major records. Billboard previously noted that “Mayores” and “Sin Pijama” both hit No. 1 on Latin Airplay, and “Sin Pijama” became a top 10 hit on Hot Latin Songs and even crossed onto the Hot 100.

That is not what a stalled career looks like, is it?

So when people ask why Becky G does not have Karol G’s exact career, they are asking the wrong question. These are not interchangeable artists who got graded on the same test. Karol G built one of the clearest and most disciplined emotional brands in pop over the last several years. Becky G built something different. Not better; not worse. Just different.

The “no identity” critique misses the mark by miles

There is a lazy way to read Becky G’s catalog and say it sounds like a blender of genres. English pop here, reggaetón there, regional Mexican somewhere else, Spanglish somewhere in the middle.

But there is another, more honest way to read it. What if her identity is the blender?

That is what second- and third-generation Latino life in the U.S. often sounds like. Not neat purity or a stable genre lane. Not one language used in one socially-approved proportion. Becky G’s career has often mirrored the cultural reality that the discourse keeps trying to punish her for representing.

Teen Vogue described her as a “second-generation Mexican American pop superstar” whose power lies precisely in her bilingualism and multiculturalism. Anitta told the magazine that Becky represents “all the Latinos that live here in America” because “you feel like you belong to both places.”

That is not the absence of identity, if you ask me. That is an identity that many people still do not know how to value unless it is packaged more clearly.

And yes, it is fair to say some listeners prefer one Becky G mode over another. Some like the English-pop Becky G of “Shower.” Others prefer the reggaetón run. Others lit up when she moved into regional Mexican music. That is normal, and very Latino, by the way. Listeners do not have to love every turn. But that is very different from pretending the artist herself lacks shape.

The shape, my gentle readers, is bicultural risk.

When did we collectively decide the Girl Code was dead? I know it’s been years since we’ve been debating its boundaries, but the recent Summer House drama made us rethink the approach once more. After all, that’s what reality TV does.

On March 31, Summer House stars Amanda Batula and West Wilson confirmed their relationship in a joint statement shared on Instagram Stories: “We’ve seen the growing online speculation, so while this is still very new, we wanted to provide some clarity,” they wrote, adding, “It was never our intention to purposely hide anything.”

If you’re a bit lost on the context, let’s put you on: West previously dated Ciara Miller, who is also (or was) best friends with Amanda. In the hours after the statement went up, coverage across entertainment media turned into one loud question: Is the Girl Code officially out the window?

The Girl Code has always been kinda obvious

Since, well, forever, the Girl Code has lived in the space between friendship and dating, which means it lives in ambiguity on purpose. But let’s revise the rules, shall we?

Rule #1: Keep your friends’ secrets like they are sacred. If she trusted you with something private, you do not recycle it for entertainment, you do not “process it” out loud with your partner, and you do not let it slip just to be interesting.

Rule #2 (and the core of our discussion): Do not date the exes, the situationships, or the “I think I like him” crushes. If your friend ever had feelings there, or history there, or even a bruised spot there, you do not go shopping in that aisle.

Rule #3: Tell the truth, even when it is inconvenient. If you know her partner is cheating, you do not play dumb to keep the peace. If she asks whether the outfit works and it does not, you do not lie to protect your own comfort.

Rule #4: Hype her up like it is your job. Treat her wins as evidence that good things can happen to women you love. Do not compete, do not compare, do not quietly resent her when she shines.

And finally, rule #5: Defend her in public, then correct her in private. If she is being dragged, you do not join the pile-on to look fair or “balanced.” You stand with her, then you pull her aside later if you think she moved wrong.

Yes, these rules are rarely defined until someone gets hurt. But do we even have to get to that point?

The Summer House situation is a case in point

Amanda and West tried to thread the needle publicly. They framed their relationship as something that “grew out of a genuine, long-standing friendship,” and said they wanted to “approach this with care,” acknowledging that it “has had an impact beyond just us.”

But if the impact extends beyond them, we are already in Girl Code territory, where friendship becomes collateral damage, and the audience starts assigning blame like in a courtroom. In the end, every relationship has two components. And yes, the audience always prosecutes the women first.

Can the Girl Code be weaponized?

A Debate Mag piece calls out how Girl Code often claims feminist intention while placing “all of the onus on the woman in the equation,” even though two people are making choices. A friendship might be jeopardized, but, more often than not, especially in the straight community, there’s always a man playing the innocent.

That dynamic has always been there. The code tends to operate as a policing mechanism rather than a protection mechanism. It frames women as the managers of everyone’s boundaries, the gatekeepers of community stability, the ones who must “behave” so men can keep floating through the story untouched.

So when something breaks, the blame travels the familiar route. Woman to woman. Friend to friend. Public to woman.

The Vogue question still hangs there: Is Girl Code dead?

Eileen Kelly asked “Is Girl Code Dead?” in a Vogue column last year, and the question reads differently in 2026 because the culture has moved even further into surveillance dating: group chats, soft launches, Instagram follows (and unfollows).

What we are watching now is less about a “code” and more about a public negotiation over what friendship is allowed to cost. Maybe the “public” part is more harmful than anything else.

Kyle Cooke’s “Instagram vs. Reality” post shows how the internet turns pain into a sport

In the middle of the swirl, E! News reported that Kyle Cooke posted a photo with Ciara Miller captioned “Instagram vs. Reality,” and tagged the location as “Psych Ward.” At the same time, online speculation continued to spiral around Amanda and West.

People are treating the entire situation like a live poll on loyalty.

That is the part no one admits: Girl Code used to be enforced in private. Now it gets litigated in public, in real time, by strangers who confuse parasocial outrage with ethics.

If Girl Code survives, it needs to be rewritten as accountability

Here is what still holds up: if you claim friendship, you owe honesty. You owe a private conversation before a public reveal. You owe your friend enough respect to treat them as a person with a nervous system, not an obstacle. You owe it to yourself to be willing to hear “this hurts” without turning it into a debate over technicalities.

But the Girl Code cannot keep pretending men are background characters. If West made choices that affected Ciara, that accountability belongs to him, too. If Kyle’s marriage ended and the aftermath turned into a storyline, that does not erase the emotional reality for anyone involved.

A “code” that only disciplines women is not sisterhood. It is patriarchy with cute branding.

We have spent years being taught to sweeten what is hurting us.

That is why the Black Coffee Rule resonates like a church’s bell with women of color. On the surface, it looks like another internet-born metaphor, the kind social media loves because it can fit inside a carousel, a Reel, or a caption that sounds wise at 11:11 p.m. But beneath the aesthetic, the rule is getting at something much older and bitter: how often women, and especially women of color, are trained to tolerate what should have sent us walking.

The phrase has been circulating in a few different versions. In one, black coffee means accepting people exactly as they are, without asking them to dilute themselves for comfort. In another, it means getting honest about what you actually want, instead of describing life through everything you are trying to avoid. But the version that keeps lingering for me is the simplest one: stop adding sugar to things that are inherently bitter.

That sounds almost obvious until you realize how much of girlhood depends on teaching us the opposite.

The Black Coffee Rule is really about the stories we tell ourselves

We wouldn’t dare call it self-betrayal at first. We call it patience, grace. Maybe even emotional intelligence. We call it being understanding, being strong, being ride-or-die, being the bigger person, being realistic, being committed, being mature. And sometimes, just “being the eldest daughter.”

We say the job is just stressful right now. We say the relationship is complicated, or our friend is going through a lot. We say the family dynamic is cultural, and silence is temporary. We say the disrespect is not that deep. We say we are being flexible when what we are really being is slowly rearranged around someone else’s comfort.

That is what the Black Coffee Rule exposes. Sugar does not transform the thing itself. It only helps you swallow it longer.

And that’s the thing.

Because bitterness is not always the problem, sometimes bitterness is the information. It is the body clocking what the mind is still trying to negotiate away. It is the part of you that already knows something is misaligned, draining, humiliating, deadening, or wrong.

Women of color get taught to sweeten reality for everybody else

For women of color, the pressure is rarely just personal. It is structural. We are raised inside systems that keep telling us our rawness is too much, our anger is dangerous, our clarity is harsh, our directness is ungrateful, our boundaries are rude, our standards are unrealistic, and our truth is disruptive.

So we learn how to translate ourselves into something more digestible.

We make ourselves easier to manage at work, despite the toll it takes on us. We force ourselves to be softer in relationships and less intense in rooms that were never built for us.

We learn how to coat reality so everyone else can keep consuming it comfortably.

That is why black coffee feels like such a useful metaphor here. Just as black coffee does not apologize for being strong, we should not show up pre-diluted. Black coffee does not ask if you prefer it sweeter before it tells you what it is.

Maybe that is exactly the lesson.

The Black Coffee Rule is not about becoming cold

There is a version of this conversation that always goes wrong in the same way. Women get tired of being accommodating, and suddenly the culture starts romanticizing hardness as the only alternative. “Be ruthless,” some say. “Be savage. Cut everyone off. Stop caring. Become untouchable.”

That is not what I think this rule is asking for. After all, black coffee is not cruel. It is clear.

The point is not to become emotionally unavailable or perform strength through detachment. The point is to stop lying to yourself about the taste of what you are consuming. The point is to stop calling poison “complicated,” and stop dressing up depletion as destiny. Maybe it is time to stop converting your own discomfort into proof that you are “spiritually evolved.”

That is different.

And honestly, it is harder. Because it requires discernment. It requires you to trust your own palate and admit that some things looked right on paper and still felt wrong in your body. It requires you to leave before the ending becomes catastrophic enough to finally justify your exit to everyone else.

There is a bodily cost to all that sweetening

Chronic stress has been linked to a range of health problems, including autoimmune disease, and women shoulder a disproportionate share of autoimmune illness. NIH says nearly 80 percent of people with autoimmune disease are women, and NCCIH notes that chronic stress has been linked to the development of diseases, including autoimmune conditions.

That does not mean every difficult relationship becomes a diagnosis, or that every compromise becomes a symptom. But it does mean the old fantasy that silence is harmless has never really held up. The body keeps score in ways culture likes to dismiss until the consequences become undeniable. Think of it as the dairy you insist on putting in a coffee that's best served black.

So yes, there are moments when optimism helps. Delusion has its place. Manifestation, if we want to call it that, can be a survival tool. But there is a difference between hope and self-abandonment; between believing in possibility and sweetening something that is steadily eroding you.

What the Black Coffee Rule asks us to do now

Maybe the point is not to make life bitter on purpose. Maybe the point is to stop interrupting the truth the moment it tastes strong.

If the relationship is wrong, let it register as wrong.

If the opportunity is misaligned, let it register as misaligned.

If the room requires you to shrink before it can tolerate you, let that information do its job.

If the life you are building keeps demanding that you betray yourself in small, elegant, socially acceptable ways, stop calling that ambition.

Because the right things may still challenge you, they may still demand work, discipline, humility, and sacrifice. But they will not require that constant chemical operation so many women know by heart, the one where you keep adding sweetness to make a harmful thing feel normal.

That is the real appeal of the Black Coffee Rule. It is not cute. It is not really about coffee. It is about deciding that clarity matters more than comfort.

And for women of color, especially, that may be one of the most radical decisions available to us.

To stop sweetening.

To stop translating our pain into something prettier.

To stop assuming truth needs softening before it can be spoken.

To trust that we can handle the taste.

When people talk about bilingual Latino households in the United States, the conversation usually starts from the same assumption: English is the center of gravity, and Spanish, if it survives, should feel grateful for the leftovers.

That assumption has shaped parenting advice, school policy, children’s products, and the broader culture for years. It also helps explain why so many Latino parents say they want their children to speak Spanish, yet still find themselves navigating an ecosystem built around the expectation that English will take over eventually.

That is the real shift underneath the growing Spanish-first conversation. Some Latino families are no longer treating Spanish as enrichment, nostalgia, or a soft cultural add-on. They are treating it as the foundation of their children’s identity, and a way to preserve the roots. However, they do so in a country that has not yet built enough infrastructure to support them.

Spanish-first families are pushing past the old bilingual script

Lucía, the founder of Pato Pato, describes her work as helping families raise “Spanish-first, bicultural kids.” In her words, the goal is to help parents “prioritize Spanish in their homes so it doesn’t get replaced by English, which happens by default if we aren’t heavily intentional.”

For years, many Latino parents got fed the same fear-based message that if they centered Spanish too much, their children would fall behind in English, struggle in school, or miss out socially. Lucía says that fear still drives the conversation. Parents worry “that if they prioritized Spanish (short or long term) their children would be ‘behind’…that they wouldn’t speak English, wouldn’t succeed academically, and a lot of fear-based messaging that still exists in this space to this day.”

But what she is seeing now is a move from vague desire to deliberate action. “Before, a lot of parents would say, ‘I want my child to speak Spanish,’ but there wasn’t always a clear plan behind it,” she said. “Now, families are becoming much more intentional.”

That means the questions have changed. Families are no longer stopping at whether Spanish matters. Instead, they are asking, “How do I teach my child to read in Spanish? Can their education be in Spanish? How do I build a life where Spanish is actually the main language?”

The Spanish-first movement starts at home, then runs into a system gap

In practice, Lucía says, Spanish-first begins with “one clear decision: Spanish is the primary language in our family.” From there, the model expands. Parents commit to speaking Spanish consistently. They protect the Spanish-only stage instead of panicking about English. They teach reading in Spanish first. Some homeschool in Spanish. Others build Spanish literacy around English-dominant schools. They look for peer groups, co-ops, and community spaces where their children can hear the language used socially, not just inside the house.

That progression, however, reveals the actual problem. Once families decide to center Spanish, they quickly discover how few resources exist for children who are already being raised in Spanish and need to deepen it.

Lucía explains it from her own experience: “There are plenty of tools for learning Spanish as a second language. There are ‘bilingual’ toys and games, but they lack depth for families like ours.” What is missing, she says, are tools “designed for children who are being raised in Spanish and need to develop it further…reading, math, social-emotional learning, and critical thinking.”

Research on Spanish-first education keeps pointing in the same direction

The politics around language may swing back and forth, but the research stays far steadier than the public discourse.

According to the Ohio State University Crane Center for Early Childhood Research and Policy, emergent bilingual students who spoke Spanish at home and received instruction in both Spanish and English in dual language immersion programs showed stronger outcomes in English vocabulary and reading. The Crane Center highlighted these findings, adding bilingual education “enhanced EB students’ English reading skills” rather than hindering them.

That cuts against one of the most persistent myths driving parental anxiety: English is not the fragile language in this equation. Spanish is.

Lucía says families are starting to recognize exactly that. “English is not at risk. Their children will learn it. It’s everywhere. Spanish is the language that requires intention and protection.”

The Century Foundation’s latest abbreviated report reaches a similar conclusion from a policy angle. It argues that current pushes toward English-only schooling under the Trump administration run directly against decades of evidence showing bilingual settings serve English learners better. The report notes that in 2023, nearly 22 percent of U.S. children spoke a non-English language at home, over 15 percent spoke Spanish, and 5.2 million students were formally classified as English learners.

The broader perspective makes clear that this is not a niche question affecting a tiny corner of the country. It is a structural issue touching millions of children.

Spanish-first parents are also reclaiming culture, not just language

That is why Lucía keeps pushing the conversation beyond vocabulary lists and pronunciation drills. In her framing, the stakes are not limited to fluency. Parents want their children to access “their own stories, history, humor, and traditions in the language they belong in.”

She sees many families approaching this work through grief as much as aspiration. Some parents, she says, feel they “lost something along the way, or that it was never fully passed down to them,” and now want something different for their children.

The Century Foundation’s research helps explain why that desire keeps surfacing so strongly. In its 2024 poll, nearly 70 percent of Latino respondents said they would choose bilingual education if it were available, compared to 15 percent who preferred English-only education. In a newer California-based study, respondents’ interest in bilingual education averaged 7.9 out of 10, while interest in dual-language immersion averaged 7.8. Fully 94 percent of respondents with multilingual children said it was “extremely” or “very” important that their children maintain their primary language as they reach English proficiency.

Put differently, families are not resisting bilingualism. They are asking for a fuller version than the current system typically offers.

And they are not asking for it only in gestures. They want schools, literacy tools, teachers, peer networks, and learning environments that treat Spanish as capable of carrying big ideas. Lucía makes that point directly when she says, “Teaching our children academic Spanish ensures they can think, question, and dream in our language.”

The Spanish-first gap is now forcing families to build what institutions did not

That is where Lucía’s phonics game, Lettería, comes in. She created it, she said, because families trying to teach reading in Spanish often end up “piecing things together, translating resources, or trying to adapt English-based systems that don’t fully align with how Spanish works.” The result, she says, is that many parents give up.

Lettería is her attempt to close that gap. She describes it as “a 2-in-1 phonics-based game to teach children the basics of reading in Spanish,” built to be simple, hands-on, and usable across different ages.

These kinds of products are key for families trying to build a Spanish-first ecosystem in a country that still assumes English-only outcomes are the natural endpoint. Parents are becoming the planners, teachers, translators, community organizers, and curriculum designers because the broader system has not caught up.

The good news is that there will always be an ingenious Latina who will find a solution.

A new report out of California is saying out loud what women of color in health care have been living for years: the state’s workforce shortage is not only about empty positions. It is also about who gets a real shot at training, credentials, and advancement.

The report, Pathways and Priorities in California’s Healthcare Workforce: Insights from Black Women and Latinas, was released by Black Women Organized for Political Action through its Training Institute for Leadership Enrichment (BWOPA TILE) and Hispanas Organized for Political Equality (HOPE), and it draws on the experiences of more than 800 young women across California.

The findings show a sharp contradiction: Black women and Latinas describe health care as meaningful, stable work, yet they also describe a system that keeps putting obstacles in the way.

A health workforce shortage, and a question of who gets access

The report opens with its central premise: “California’s healthcare workforce shortage demands urgent action, and equity must be central to the solution.” It argues that “workforce capacity is not only about filling vacancies; it is about ensuring that education, training, and advancement pathways are clear, affordable, and aligned with the realities of the communities most ready to serve.”

California Black Media situates that urgency inside a broader national crisis. The Association of American Medical Colleges projects the United States could face a shortage of more than 85,000 physicians by 2036. At the same time, advocates and researchers argue that building a stronger pipeline for women of color does double duty: it expands staffing capacity and helps address health disparities.

Women of color are still underrepresented, even in a majority-Latino state

According to the study, Latinos make up about 40% of California’s population but hold only 10% to 16% of key health care roles. Black Californians represent about 5.3% of the population but occupy 3% to 3.9% of physician positions and as little as 2% to 4% of midwifery roles.

“California’s healthcare workforce shortage is not just a staffing issue; it is an equity issue,” the report reads. “Who has access to training, paid pathways, and advancement determines who can serve our communities.”

The vocation is there. The supports are not.

The report makes a point of stating the obvious: “Interest in healthcare careers is strong among Black women and Latinas. What’s missing are the supports that turn interest into credentials, careers, and long-term leadership.”

The study was conducted by EVITARUS and included a statewide survey of Black women and Latinas ages 18 to 29, as well as online focus groups. It is described as the third installment in a multi-year initiative examining healthcare access and workforce equity.

And the women surveyed did not sound uncertain about the value of health care. Around 80% of respondents said health care jobs are highly important to their communities, and 85% described the profession as a stable career pathway.

The barriers equal the cost of living

Participants named concrete pressures that shape every decision in their lives: housing, bills, school costs, and time.

Nearly all participants (98%) cited the rising cost of living and housing affordability as major obstacles. Four in ten respondents said reductions in financial aid or job losses had negatively impacted their ability to pursue healthcare careers.

The report connects those realities to the pipeline itself, arguing that women of color run into barriers “at every stage of the education-to-career pipeline,” including “high training costs,” “seat caps in impacted programs,” “unpaid or inaccessible internships,” and “workplace conditions that make persistence and advancement difficult, especially for women balancing work and caregiving responsibilities.”

“Discouraged” before they even start

Money is one barrier. Direction is another.

According to the study, more than half of respondents said family members, teachers, or counselors discouraged them from pursuing health care careers, and fewer than half said they had received encouragement to enter the field. The report also calls out what participants described as missing from the system: mentorship, guidance, and career navigation that reflects how people actually move through education when they have responsibilities and limited margin for error.

“This research makes clear that Black women and Latinas see health care careers as meaningful pathways to serve their communities and achieve economic mobility, yet the systems designed to support them are not keeping pace,” said LaNiece Jones, State Executive Director of BWOPA TILE. Jones added: “Removing systemic economic barriers, expanding accessible training pathways, and strengthening workplace supports are essential to closing representation gaps. When we invest in their success, we strengthen families, communities, and California’s healthcare system as a whole.”

What women of color said would actually help

The report does not leave the reader with a generic call for “more investment.” It lays out practical fixes. In fact, respondents ranked expanding financial aid and loan forgiveness as the top priority, followed by increasing affordable transfer pathways into health care degree programs and improving workplace conditions. Other recommendations include expanding early STEM and health career exposure and increasing paid healthcare internships.

Inside the report, the language becomes even sharper about what counts as essential: “Paid training, flexible pathways, clear transfer routes, and culturally responsive mentorship are not extras; they are essential to building a stable healthcare workforce.”

The report’s roadmap is simple: build pathways that match real life

During a webinar held on March 11 to discuss the findings, health care professionals echoed every single finding in the report.

“This study is extremely affirming and validating,” said TaNefer L. Camara, a health care professional who participated in the discussion, according to California Black Media. “It mirrored my own experiences entering the healthcare field and navigating my post-undergraduate education while trying to map out a career.”

Myeshia Jefferson, a health equity navigator, also pointed to the gap between funding and access. “There’s funding available. The question is how we ensure it reaches the areas that resonate with communities and creates real opportunities for Black women, Latinas, and other women of color to enter the health care field,” Jefferson stated.

Josephine Appiah of BWOPA TILE summarized the report’s emphasis on lived experience and practical barriers: “The report highlights the lived experiences of Black women and Latinas across the state,” Appiah said during the webinar, according to California Black Media. “When we address the social and economic barriers they face, from scholarships to educational support, we create real opportunities for individuals to pursue the healthcare careers they intend.”

Netflix’s new documentary “Inside the Manosphere” is the perfect weekend watch if you want to feel enraged and informed. The Louis Theroux documentary takes viewers deep into the manosphere, a term for a network of male influencers who are peddling toxic masculinity and misogyny as strength. Theroux spent time with HSTikkyTokky (Harrison Sullivan), Justin Waller, and Myron Gaines (Amrou Fudl) to understand what makes the manosphere tick and the dangers the content poses to young men and children.

Netflix’s “Inside the Manosphere” is pulling back the curtain on a toxic corner of the internet

Social media is an ever-present part of life these days, and the lack of regulation allows for anyone to share their views as facts. This is increasingly true for men sharing their misogynistic, sexist, homophobic, and bigoted views to impressionable young followers. Major influencers such as HSTikTokky (Harrison Sullivan), Justin Waller, and Myron Gaines are featured in the documentary.

Louis Theroux managed to set up times to hang out with the three influencers to see just what they believe and what is for show. The documentary is a stunning look at the kinds of messages these guys are sharing that lead to clips of young boys approaching them in public, shouting phrases like, “F*** these women” and “Kill the gays.” It is also a way to understand how the toxic content is encouraging men and boys to behave in ways that exacerbate the male loneliness epidemic.

Overall, the men featured in the documentary were misogynistic, childish, and far from being deep thinkers. They are the perfect representation of men who were coddled so hard as children that they don’t know how to be functioning adults. Unfortunately, they have the eyes and ears of millions of young men and boys that they are grooming to be the same misogynistic, homophobic, and racist people.

The documentary shows that these men don’t love women, not even the women in their lives

The whole point of the manosphere is to tell young men and boys that masculinity is the only desirable quality. It is inherently anti-feminist, misogynistic, homophobic, transphobic, and racist. Watching the documentary, viewers see the manosphere subjects fight for their lives to defend their views.

Hypocrisy and fragility underline everything that these influencers create. They offer nothing of substance and routinely default to degrading women for clout and views. Sullivan, for example, owns a company that manages women with OnlyFans accounts. Yet, at the same time, he calls the women disgusting and degrades them while they make him money. He even said he would disown his daughter if she did the same thing.

Waller claimed that women haven’t contributed anything to society. He went on to add that women have not invented or built anything. Rather, Waller believes that women are only concerned with finding husbands and having families. He must not know about Hedy Lamarr, who pioneered technology that is the foundation for Bluetooth and Wi-Fi. Waller relies on this woman’s contribution to society so he can make money by belittling women and selling bad financial advice.

Fudl offered the wildest take on women from the manosphere point of view. The streamer claims that women want one thing: a man who can dominate them. The idea that women are meant to be subservient is one of the lowest-intellect takes a man can have. During his interview, he brags about how his girlfriend cleans for him and does what he says. But what he thinks is strength is really just a little boy unable to take care of himself.

The manosphere agrees on one thing: one-way monogamy.

All of the influencers and the men who idolize them who were interviewed think that one-way monogamy is a valid relationship. Being in an open relationship is one thing, but one-way monogamy is just ridiculous. All of the men take pride in being able to sleep with as many women as they want, while their partners are not allowed to do the same.

Waller was the biggest advocate for one-way monogamy. He made sure to bring it up at the beginning of his interview in an attempt to shock Theroux. Instead, Waller’s impassioned defense of one-way monogamy made the documentarian laugh at its preposterous claims. It clearly triggered Waller.

Fudl, along with one-way monogamy, made a claim that blurs the line between consent and rape. While being interviewed, he stated, “I dictate when I put my d**k in you.” This caused Theroux to take a pause and repeat it back to Fudl for clarification. Instantly, the braggadocious person vanished, and he instantly started to backtrack, realizing that he might have said the quiet part out loud.

The biggest takeaway is that the manosphere is filled with grifters

One of the things that everyone in the manosphere pointed to was financial advice and investment opportunities. This was especially prevalent in Sullivan’s life. He often tells people about an investment platform he works with and brags about the money that he has made.

However, as Theroux exposes, the platform is just another scam being run by Sullivan. He gets a cut when people make investments through his link. This means he makes money regardless of the investment portfolio he holds. Theroux decided to see if it was worth it after reading reviews online warning people that it was a scam and just a way for Sullivan to make money. Theroux put in $500 and was promised by Sullivan that he would make money. Instead, Theroux lost his $500.

The unchecked spread of social media among young men and boys is dangerous

The manosphere influencers, mere servants of the algorithm and followers, offer nothing of substance to society. They peddle hate as if it were enlightened thinking. They rely on shock and violence but say it is the parents’ responsibility to prevent teens from watching the content.

The three men were angry when Theroux suggested that teenage boys are the largest demographic in their audience, and the algorithm is intentionally serving that content to them. There could be a lot of reasons why teenagers are getting fed that content specifically. For one, the influencers behave more like teenage boys than they do like men. Their ideas about the world are as stunted as their own development.

The kind of antics and flashy living they curate for their social media content doesn’t resonate with real men. This is why, when pressed, the self-proclaimed tough guys crumble very quickly. They can’t stand to be questioned about their beliefs.

The manosphere isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, but Netflix’s documentary offers the first deep look into what the darkest corner of social media is doing to men. These extreme views about the world are only further isolating men from the rest of society.

If spring is supposed to mean “light layers,” somebody forgot to tell our nervous systems.

This week, we want softness. We want waistbands that forgive us. We want pants that feel like a deep exhale but still look like we tried.

So here’s the roundup of our fav soft pants: affordable, easy, and wearable in real life. Prices and availability can change fast, but as of publish time, these are the soft-pants standouts.

Walmart understood the assignment

If your goal is “airport comfortable” without looking like you rolled out of bed, Walmart has a shockingly solid option. The longantii Women’s High Waist Wide Leg Linen Palazzo Pants lean into that breezy, wide-leg silhouette, with an elastic drawstring waist and side pockets, which is basically the holy trinity of soft pants.

Get your longantii for $11.99 here.

Best for: spring errands, vacation days, and that “I need to look cute, but I refuse to suffer” mood.

Rare find: the yoga pant that reads like a trouser

Hesayep’s Women’s Wide Leg Yoga Pants sit in that sweet spot between lounge and “I can pretend these are tailored.” The product listing calls out a high elastic waistband, a wide straight leg, and a curved split hemline detail that makes them feel a little intentional, even if you’re wearing them like pajamas.

Get your Wide Leg Yoga Pants for $17.99 here.

Best for: dance class, travel days, long work-from-home stretches, and “I might leave the house, don’t pressure me.”

Our favourite deal: Old Navy’s PowerSoft trousers moment

Old Navy’s High Waisted PowerSoft Trouser Pants are for anyone who wants soft pants with a bit of structure. The brand positions PowerSoft as “light compression” with “peachy-smooth, sweat-wicking fabric,” and the details lean practical: pull-on style, elasticised waist, hip pockets, and a pocket for your phone.

Get your PowerSoft Trouser Pants for $19.99 here.

Best for: commuters, teachers, office days, and anybody who wants stretch without announcing it.

Zara’s “soft touch” palazzo pants are the polished option

When you want soft pants that still look crisp, Zara’s Soft Touch Palazzo Pants do the job. And the composition reads like a blend built for ease: 55% polyester and 45% cotton.

Get your Soft Touch Palazzo Pants for $39.90 here.

Best for: dinner plans, “jeans are a no” days, and the office when you want to look expensive on purpose.

Out-of-the-box pick: Classy Cozy Cool’s drawstring pants

If you want soft pants with that boutique energy, Classy Cozy Cool has the Sand Dollar Seas Drawstring Pants. The drawstring waist makes them adjustable, and the vibe feels very “put together in a coastal way,” even if your plans are just coffee and emails.

Get your Sand Dollar Seas Drawstring Pants for $46.00 here.

Best for: weekends, casual hangs, and the person who wants comfort without looking sporty.

Higher tier, still practical: Quince barrel pants

Quince’s Organic Stretch Cotton Twill Barrel Pants are the “I want shape, but I also want to breathe” pick. The listing describes a high-rise, relaxed leg, tapered ankle, and functional pockets, made with 97% organic cotton and 3% spandex.

Get your Organic Stretch Cotton Twill Barrel Pants for $59.90 here.

Best for: elevated basics people, capsule wardrobes, and anyone trying to stop buying disposable pants.

Writing a novel is a test of discipline and patience. Juggling multiple deadlines while also managing a personal life and family is demanding. Yet, in the end, a finished product is something to be so proud of. That is what Karla Montalván is feeling these days. She can now call herself a published author with the release of her debut novel, “The Sun and All the Other Stars.” The book took two years to complete, and the journey there was as exciting as the finished product.

“The Sun and All the Other Stars” by Karla Montalván was inspired by a moment in her life.

“The Sun and All the Other Stars” is a love story, but not a romance. Better yet, it is inspired by reality. In an interview with FIERCE by mitú, Montalván opened up about her debut novel, the inspiration for the story, and the journey in her personal life that led to its completion. It was after her 30th birthday and freshly laid off that Montalván found herself looking for her next chapter in 2024. After a birthday road trip from Madrid to Milan, Montalván started on a novel, an endeavor she has always wanted to pursue. The original manuscript, however, wasn’t “The Sun and all the Other Stars.”

That year, a friend of hers made a goal of finding a boyfriend and roped Montalván into it. The friend convinced her to download Bumble Premium, and she matched with a man in Florence, Italy. The two first connected over going to the same college, The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.

The conversation then moved to social media, and they made a plan to meet in Florence.

“Actually, when we met, it felt like we had known each other for a really long time. Like, you know, one of those things where you meet somebody and it feels like you’ve known them forever,” Montalván recalls. “We had a really good time. But then the last day, the day that I was meant to leave, when I got to the airport, my flight was cancelled.”

Unfortunately, her date had plans that day, so she was left alone in the city without a companion. Yet being there and experiencing the moments together with her Bumble date inspired her.

“I walked the entire city, but I was feeling this crazy nostalgia, like this really deep sadness,” Montalván remembers. “Then this idea started to come to me of one of the characters whose name is Beatrice. Just this girl in the Renaissance period who was a painter. She was like a hidden painter. I bought a notebook, and I just started writing [in it.] I wrote the first chapter of the book, which is now not the first chapter, but the idea came to me, and then it just kind of flowed, and I remember I couldn’t stop crying.”

For Montalván, the book was a chance to craft a character she’s never seen.

The main character of the book is Marisol, the daughter of Cuban immigrants. However, she didn’t want Marisol to go through the often-told experience for children of immigrants. One that is beholden to the same trials and tribulations of paying back their family’s sacrifices at the expense of her own joy. She also wanted to create more Cuban stories that didn’t center on the revolution and its hardships.

“I myself, as a Cuban, have struggled a lot. But I didn’t want to have a character who was centered on that,” Montalván says. “I wanted to have a character that was a product of immigration that came here, but that now wanted to forge her own path.”

Instead of following the same journey of falling in love within the community and living near home, Marisol spreads her wings and determines her own destiny.

“However, I wanted her to have been born in the States, and then she chose to migrate to Madrid, right? So, she chooses to leave the place that her family has had to establish themselves in and that they have chosen to live in because of need,” Montalván explains. “I have her choose to live in another city because she wants to, because she likes it. So she later immigrates because she wants to see what’s there. I want to explore immigration from a different vantage point and [...] from a vantage point of prosperity.”

Like all art, Karla Montalván created “The Sun and All the Other Stars” while living her own life.

Any novelist will let you know that the process of writing a book takes years. Between the first draft, edits, additional drafts, reframing, digging deeper, and creating a finished product. Some advice Montalván got early in the process that helped was to just write. Get it on paper and edit it later. During that time, life is happening in the background. For the writer, it was no different. It all came into clearer focus when her editor gave her insight into each character’s emotional state.

“When my editor gave it back to me, she said, ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your characters are all going through the different stages of grief,’” Montalván explains. “I wrote the book in one period of my life, right? Then I edited the book at another point in my life. And in that period, I was grieving because I had just had a miscarriage. I actually got the manuscript back the day that I found out that I was miscarrying.”

Through her own grief, Montalván saw the book’s structure differently because of her life experience. Without meaning to, she created multiple storylines about grief and sadness, set against a backdrop of love and romance. Additionally, the characters, like the author, were grappling with the human experience of life being different from the expectations they each had for themselves.

“I think that is something that we all struggle with; the life that we wanted and the life that we have, or is presented to us. There’s not really one path of way of living,” Montalván says. “That was the story that I needed to tell, and I think that was the message that I needed to tell. When you have to tell a story, that story will push you there, I mean, the book is very esoteric in that sense of energy and like finding your destiny and your path.”

More than love, the book is rooted in art and self-love.

The author wanted to lean into representation and art when it came to the book cover. She also wanted people to get some ideas of the themes and moments within the book. She partnered with Argentine illustrator Sol Cotti to create the cover art.

“The back jacket is kind of like the hair, and it’s sort of like the reflections of the soul and the poppies and all of the pieces that have to do with lots of little Easter eggs about the book,’ Montalván explains. “But, also, the cover, the title of the book, ‘The Sun and All the Other Stars,’ is a play on the last phrase of Dante’s Paradise.”

She adds, “We really wanted it to be very obvious that this book is about the soul and that it’s about love and not just romantic love, but just like love of family, love of yourself, love of your life that you’re living right now in the present.”

“The Sun and All the Other Stars” is out, and you can order your copy here.

On the morning of March 18, after reading the last word of Dolores Huerta’s statement, I felt my heart break and a heavy knot form in my throat. I rushed downstairs with my phone in my hand to tell my parents. My Colombian father’s face fell into disappointment. He lowered his eyes and admitted with sadness, “Machista men have held too much power. I’m not surprised.” I got ready for work, and I couldn’t hold back the tears that fell down my cheeks behind the wheel. Why did this feel so personal?

And then it hit me: I thought she was safe. I thought Dolores Huerta had been protected, even when she was the face of a movement considered dangerous by the establishment. I naively thought that my devotion, and that of millions of Latinas who know what she sacrificed and the power of her fight, would have protected her from what we have all experienced one way or another. And I see it every day. The days go on, and more women in my life share their experiences. It happened to me when I was a young girl, and I grew up to become the friend who had already been through it, so my close friends felt comfortable enough to tell me their stories.

It is as if being subjected to sexual misconduct has become a rite of passage for young women. Worse still, as much as we speak out, the more we realize this system is not designed to defend and protect us. Yet we persist, even while we are still healing.

Dolores Huerta, Ana Murguia, and Debra Rojas are not victims. They are survivors, just like me, just like hundreds of millions of women. They kept their silence in the name of an entire movement, and it burdened them like stones in the pockets of a drowning man. No one should carry that weight. Not them, not the hundreds of girls trafficked by Jeffrey Epstein, not me.

The farmworker movement was pivotal for my community. It humanized us and transformed labor rights, mobilizing thousands of people who joined with other communities in civil rights efforts. It secured better pay, safer conditions, and recognition for exploited agricultural workers. It empowered Mexican Americans and Filipinos to fight against poverty, discrimination, and powerlessness. It also gave us political identity and power. It started in 1962 through the cult of personality, one in particular: César Chávez.

Chávez became a beacon of hope for millions. While the uncomfortable silences that often arose when discussing César Chávez Day were familiar to all of us, we needed that figure. We all heard about his disdain for undocumented immigrants and Filipino workers. Latino outlets would remain silent. For God’s sake, people would compare him to Martin Luther King and Gandhi. We had “one of our own,” and we were proud. Maybe not of him, but of the force of the movement he had set in motion.

Because we have always known we are more than the stereotypes and the vilification of governments and media alike. We know the value of our community, and having someone in the public sphere who was “fighting the good fight” was a life raft in an ocean of desperation.

Now, that figure has crashed at our feet, this time with horrible accounts, stomping on our hearts and forcing Dolores Huerta to say out loud the horrors she suffered in silence to protect such an important movement for our community.

“I carried this secret for as long as I did because building the movement and securing farmworker rights was my life’s work,” Huerta said in her statement.

“I wasn’t going to let Cesar or anyone else get in the way. I channeled everything I had into advocating on behalf of millions of farmworkers and others who were suffering and deserved equal rights.”

This is happening at a moment when many U.S. Latinos are so desperately grasping onto any source of home, inspiration, or haven. It is also happening at a moment when our own government is at the center of a whirlwind of sex trafficking allegations and millions of documents that are evident proof for everyone except those in power. And we are enraged. But we have a similar situation within our own community, so I wonder: is it time to face our history for its facts, not for what it could better serve in public discourse?

I can’t help but think about California’s Governor Gavin Newsom’s statement: “The farm workers movement and a labor movement are much bigger than one man — and we celebrate that, and that will be our focus as we process what the next steps are.” And that’s precisely it: it is much bigger than one man. In fact, it is much bigger than any man.

As survivors, we face the scrutiny of people in disbelief—people who are either uncomfortable with the truth or want to protect the perpetrators. More often than not, the United States court system fails to advocate for our stories. In other instances, it is even more traumatizing to proceed with a legal case and have your entire life opened up for interpretation and debate by a bunch of, again, men.

Dolores Huerta, for example, had to find out she was not the only survivor through The New York Times investigation, and that devastated her. That’s how the system works. Yet she spoke. She refused to remain “calladita,” and more than 60 years later, she still reminds us that “sí, se puede.”