La Catrina Garbancera: Tradition or Trend?

As part of my daily research (or time wasting, as some may call it!) I roam social media groups and posts. One post in particular caught my attention over the weekend. A heated discussion about Catrina makeup. The skull makeup adorned with flowers that has become a staple of costumes every October/November in recent years. Some comments went from cultural appropriation (which I will discuss some other time) to traditions and beliefs. Whilst most opinions were valid and some gave artistic interpretations of Mexican Dia de Muertos traditions, I found something really interesting. Most youngsters (I'm past 45, not quite a spring chicken!) thought that dressing and painting oneself as a Catrina was a tradition. Moreover, on another post where tradition was the topic, a few other people claimed Catrina was just a fashion and not really a part of our identity... so, is dressing up as Catrina a tradition or a trend?

Every November, Mexican streets fill with Cempasuchil, flickering candles, and ofrendas scented with bread, copal, and a hint of nostalgia. Among the colors and traditions stands an unmistakable figure; elegant, smiling, and hollow all at once. She is La Catrina, with her white-painted face and empty eyes: a symbol of death that doesn’t frighten, but fascinates us.

The story of La Catrina doesn’t originate from the ancient peoples of Mexico, but from the satirical pen of José Guadalupe Posada, an engraver of early 20th-century Mexico. He created La Calavera Garbancera as a critique of the upper classes who denied their Indigenous roots to imitate European customs. “Death makes us all equal,” his biting art declared, reminding viewers that beneath luxury, we all end up as bones.

Decades later, Diego Rivera revived the image in his mural Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in the Alameda Central (1947). He dressed her in feathers, renamed her La Catrina, and placed her alongside Mexico’s historical figures. From that moment, the elegant skeleton became a mirror of Mexican identity as a visual irony about life, death, and the desire to transcend them both.

Now closely linked to the Day of the Dead, La Catrina was not originally part of our Dia de Muertos celebrations. Indigenous communities honored their departed through offerings, prayers, and vigils; never through face painting or costumes.

The custom of painting one’s face like La Catrina emerged only in the late 20th century, driven by artists, festivals, and media. What began as a visual tribute to Posada evolved into an act of self-expression. The practice began in Aguascalientes, Posada’s birthplace, where the Festival Cultural de Calaveras was established in 1994. There, parades of Catrinas became a central attraction. Soon, other cities followed. In San Miguel de Allende, local families began organizing Catrina parades and contests in the early 2000s. And since 2014, the Mega Procession of the Catrinas in Mexico City has turned the image into a national icon. Each fall, thousands of people take to the streets, turning death into a collective work of art.

In contrast, regions with deeply rooted Indigenous traditions -such as Michoacán or Oaxaca- focus on the spiritual aspects of the holiday. There, the night belongs to candlelight vigils and altars for the dead; Catrina makeup appears mostly in tourist areas, not in the heart of the ritual.

Calling Catrina makeup a “tradition” may seem bold if we think of ancestral customs. It wasn’t born in Indigenous rituals, nor does it have centuries of history. But traditions, like languages or myths, evolve. They survive by being reinterpreted by each generation.

Today, La Catrina is part of Mexico’s popular imagery. Her face decorates murals, bread, films, and even runways. Her spectral elegance bridges art and ritual, humor and identity; perhaps the clearest proof of how Mexico turns death into beauty.

Painting oneself as La Catrina is no empty fad. It’s a contemporary gesture that combines Posada’s satire, Rivera’s artistry, and the colors of ancestral offerings to remind us of something essential: death is not to be feared, but embraced.

Born from social critique and dressed in art, La Catrina Garbancera has earned her place as a modern tradition, one that celebrates life by painting a smile on death.

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