Taco Death Match 2024 is the inaugural taco festival and competition that brings together traditional taqueros, chefs of restaurants, and masters of the popup world together under the fold of the mighty taco. Today, we focus on not the food, but the artists making the festival particularly special, particularly the catrinas and catrins. For the full breakdown of the festival, click here.
The traditions of Día de Muertos have slowly become common stateside thanks to an influx of Mexican immigrants and—hate it or welcome it—the growing cultural capital surrounding the images and icons of and inspiration behind Día de Muertos. And La Catrina—birthed from the mind of Mexican printmaker José Guadalupe Posada—is one of the icons of the Day of the Dead. While there are many calaveras, the parodical skeletons accompanying the celebration of lost loved ones throughout Mexico, La Catrina is la reina—a garish lady of bone, a wide-brimmed hat with feathers atop her head, ghoulishly grinning.
But for the artists who bring La Catrina to life—lovingly called catrinas or catrins, depending on the gender expression you choose—it is much more than just bringing a symbol to fruition.
Lifting death up—rather than fearing it—is one of the main components of Día de Muertos.
For long time catrina performer Christina Sanchez, known as Catrina Christina to her tens of thousands of followers, the death of her father when whe was 25 in 2004, she learned of what she calls “the three deaths of humans.
“The first is when you stop breathing. The second is when you’re buried or put to rest. And then third is when the last person on earth that knows you forgets about you.”
Like many Mexican-Americans discovering Día de Muertos, Christina grasped that she could have control over her father’s memory. She began this by a very intimate if not outright private endeavor: She would elaborately dress herself up, symbols and signs of both Mexican culture and death interwoven between layers, and visit his grave.
“To honor him in that environment—the music, the incense—made me feel at home and peace,” Christina said. “I used to wear the basic sugar skull makeup, but each year, I would try to dress more impressively for my Dad. As soon as I tried airbrush makeup, it went viral—and that’s when work started coming in, but to this day, it remains a deeply intimate thing for my Dad. Every time I put on makeup, it is for and about remembering him.”
For the artists of Taco Death Match 2024, the spirit behind La Catrina is one worth spreading
“The weekend of your event?” Christina asked aloud. “I have seven or eight obligations.”
Christina is a busy woman—clearly. And for her, the explosion of popularity for Día de Muertos within the U.S. marks something worth celebrating adn sharing.
“When I started doing this 20 years ago, there were no Day of the Dead things you could buy in America,” Christina said. “It wasn’t commercialized. There were no movies. The Hollywood Forever cemetery was free on November 1 and 2… So it’s been a beautiful thing to witness culturally and perform as much as I do now because there are so many celebrations across the Southland.”
And to spread the love of La Catrina means extending opportunities to those who are less of a veteran in the field—including Miguel and Denise Romero, otherwise known as Catrin El Monstro and Belleza Tarasca.
“I provided them some of their first gigs,” Christina said proudly. “We often to used to perform together—not so much anymore because they have really become their own thing, which makes me so proud. Such a great family, such great people.”
For Catrin El Monstro, Taco Death Match 2024 will be his first solo performance—and it will be forever engrained with the loss of his father.
“Missing someone in heaven is a different kind of heartache.”
These are the words of Miguel, known to his followers as Catrin El Monstro. And Taco Death Match 2024 will mark the first time he has not performed with his wife, Denise, who goes by Belleza Tarasca. While it represents a loss of the familiar within his dedication to being a catrin, it also represents a new ideal—something that directly reflects the spirit of Muertos: Learning how to reexamine a loss.
Miguel’s father, who passed away 12 years ago and inspired Miguel’s love of performance as a catrin, will always be at the epicenter of his art. From writing a song about Día de Muertos to the increasingly detailed artwork of his costumes, his father remains at the heart of his creations.
“Dealing with my Dad’s death, doing Day of the Dead events and being around people whose loved ones have passed, it created a healthier healing process,” Miguel said. “We’re so proud of our Mexican culture—and one of the biggest benefits of that is finding a new connection to my Dad. And my loved ones that I’ve lost. The thing with Day of the Dead is that the connection has to be there; the connection is the entire point.”
With the increase in popularity for non-Mexican audiences, an impulse to educate becomes essential.
For Miguel, there are pros and cons to the proliferation of Día de Muertos imagery and iconography. Surely, one can argue that its commercialization and commodification have rendered its spirit toward another death: that of a capitalist joke. But the blunt reality for Miguel is that there is no way to stop its growth—which means those dedicated to Muertos are obligated to educate those around them.
“In a way, it’s only going to become bigger,” Miguel said. “This year, I have seen a lot of cities participating in it thanks to movies like ‘The Book of Life’ and ‘Coco.’ Almost every city out here [in the Inland Empire, where I live] celebrates it in some form… It’s a tradition that stretches back thousands of years and those with platforms, we need to bring awareness about what it means and what it represents.”
For him and his wife Denise, they are constantly educating in simple ways: Explaining the history. Explaining the imagery. Explaining the significance.
“Our roots stretch back to Michoacán—one of the richest states culturally in Mexico,” Miguel said. “‘Coco’ took much of its imagery from Oaxaca and Michoacán—and each have a strong connection to Muertos. So it is upon us to help those who might not know what it is we represent. For me, that is not some tiring thing; it is an honor.”
Amen.
Taco Death Match 2024 takes place on Sunday, Nov. 3, at Mosaic in Downtown Long Beach. For tickets, click here.
