El hangover, dos reruns
The Mexican is still trying to shake off the Herradura from the previous year, so I’m reprinting this week a favorite column of mine from el pásado. To make up for my siesta, though, I’m bringing back the YouTube edition of this column, where I’ll take the questions of the nonanonymous brave and ramble muy funny. Just visit www.youtube.com/askamexicano every Thursday for the latest edition!
I just don’t get Mexicans and their grooming. The men slick their hair with baby oil, gel or Vaseline, or just shave it all off. The women wear it in ponytails with neon-green hair bands or in pigtails, or they wear bangs created with the biggest curling iron in the world. Do they see themselves in the mirror before leaving home? Do they realize everyone is staring ’cause they look bad?
Not only do we stare at our hair in the mirror, but we also blow kisses to our reflection and whisper, “Ay papi chulo, you’re más bonito than those gabachos feos.” If there’s one body feature that Mexicans can boast about—besides the glorious guts of our men and the asses grandes of mujeres—it’s follicles. Kinky, straight, curly or wavy, the Mexican head is pregnant with possibility, and Mexicans do everything possible to draw attention to what humans can do with a comb and 3 pounds of gel. Some hairstyles are utilitarian: The Mexi-mullet protects the neck from the brutal sun. Other styles, like indigenous pigtails or the Zack de la Rocha’s frizzy ’fro, sing the body Mexican. But the best Mexican hair involves Three Flowers brilliantine, the lightly scented petroleum jelly revered by generations of Mexican for its tight hold, its pleasant smell and a shine that rivals a flashlight. Women use it to slick their hair into buns, men to sculpt Morrissey-esque pompadours. Class: Thy name is mexicano. Oh, and contrary to popular belief, no self-respecting Mexican man shaves his head: That’s the domain of pendejo cholos and their Chicano cousins.
I am a nice-looking white girl with a great job and life. I recently starting seeing a Mexican guy, who I’m pretty certain I scare the crap out of. He has never dated a white woman before and seems very nervous around me. He also asks me about the education and status of my ex-husband and previous boyfriends. I really feel like he thinks he is not good enough for me, although I don’t know why. He is gorgeous, hardworking and so kind. I have never been one to care about what someone does, where they are from or how much money they make. How can I get this guy to see that I really like him as a person and just relax?
Dear Gabacha in Love:
The first draft of my answer to your question ended this way: “You want to soothe your Mexican man’s frayed nerves, Enamorada? Give him a blow job.” Thinking this was too glib, I wrote a second draft in which I explained the minefield of race and class that you and your beloved will have to cross. I noted that dating a gabacha is the pinnacle of a Mexican man’s sexual life, proof that he can navigate bedrooms as easily as borders. I cited the Orson Welles’ classic Touch of Evil (notice white-hot Janet Leigh is married to Mexican protagonist Mike Vargas—played by Charlton Heston in brownface) and I considered norteño supergroup Los Tigres del Norte’s “El Mojado Acaudalado” (The Wealthy Wetback): “Decí-a una güera en Florida / ‘I love you Mexican men’” (“Said a white woman in Florida / ‘Amo a ustedes hombres mexicanos’”). By the time I’d worked through all of that, I concluded that my first answer was best: Nothing eradicates ego and all of its clunky superficialities (race, class, culture), nothing says “I love you,” nothing says “Welcome to America” like an old-school blow job.