El Espejo America Tv Series And Commercials#

El Espejo America Tv Series And Commercials

He has shot in practically all available cinematographic formats. Juan Hernández, a member of the Spanish Society of Cinematographers, AEC and also a member of the Spanish Academy of Cinematographic Arts and Sciences, has built a career as a freelance cinematographer since 1996, shooting mostly feature films, documentaries, episodic drama series and commercials.

I glanced up at her and nodded. “It’s going to be really short, like really close to your scalp,” she warned. She asked me twice if I was truly ready to cut it all off. Para leer este ensayo en español, desliza hacia abajo.I sat in my hair stylist’s chair, taking a last glance at my shoulder-length relaxed hair in the mirror. In this piece, writer Natalia Pérez-Gonzalez shares how she learned to understand the intersectionality of being Afro-Latina.

My mother, a spunky Puerto Rican woman, always taught me to fiercely embrace my cultural roots. Latinos identify as Afro-Latino, Afro-Caribbean, or being of African descent with roots in Latin America, but of those who identified as Afro-Latino, only 18% said they were Black, while 39% identified as white.It took me a long time to become a part of the 18%. According to a 2016 Pew Research Center survey, a quarter of all U.S. Besides wanting to uphold the Eurocentric cultural beauty standard that straight hair represents, I believed that, being a darker-skinned Latina, relaxing my hair was the only way I’d look “ Latina enough.” I always thought that if I went natural, people would go from asking, “Is she mixed?” to not even wondering at all.I’m not the only one who’s struggled with how to accept my Afro-Latinidad. It had taken me until my senior year of college to realize my hair was not defective, not “bad hair” — pelo malo, as I'd heard my Spanish-speaking community call it.

I’d felt I constantly needed to prove myself, especially to other Latinos, that I was one of them, that I spoke our language, and that their culture was just as much mine as it was theirs. “Do you even speak Spanish?” “Are you sure?” “Say a few words for us.”The more I navigated white spaces, the more I was prompted to defend and explain my Afro-Latinidad. “So, are you Latina or are you Black?” my classmates would ask. I learned this in college at Southern Adventist University, which was the third most diverse university in the South at the time. And yet, as a preteen playing The Sims, I’d always trade my darker skin and thick, kinky hair for my avatar’s long, brown waves, light brown eyes and white skin — features I felt met the standard of Latina beauty in a way I didn't.But regardless of how I and other Afro-Latinos present ourselves, the world will always see us as Black. She’s lighter-skinned, with soft, wavy hair, and she always made sure to remind me that my features, though different from hers, were just as beautiful, and that I was just as much Latina as she is.

In sending those texts and kind words, my friends were acknowledging the Blackness in me in a way I still hadn’t with myself.Mourning George Floyd prompted me to more deeply understand the intersectionality in being Afro-Latina. They were checking in on how I was feeling, offering to pay for coffee, and assuring me they were there for me if I needed to talk. But then, my best friends, college acquaintances, and a few of my cousins started sending me long texts offering condolences and encouragement, affirming that they stood in allyship and solidarity with me. After all, I’d spent 20 years shamefully separating myself from my Blackness.

And, just like my hair, I allow myself to take up a lot more space now. Embracing the Blackness in me, while beautiful and complicated, celebrates my full story as a Latina. But my beauty, my ancestry, how I instantly feel at home with R&B and jazz, and how much of myself I see in strong, confident, biracial Black women like Elaine Welteroth and Yara Shahidi speaks to the Black woman in me, too.It’s been four years since my big chop, and today, I sit at my hairstylist’s chair with a shoulder-length ’fro, more comfortable in my own skin, more confident in my Afro-Latinidad. But both my identities have influenced my experience and worldview, and both will influence how I process tragedy, how I approach social issues, and the ways I advocate for and celebrate both identities.My family and my culture — the food, the shows, the music — will always make me Latina.

'Va a ser muy corto, muy cerca de tu cuero cabelludo', advirtió. Me preguntó dos veces si realmente estaba lista para cortarlo todo. Solo tenía que aprender a aceptarme a mi misma.Me senté en la silla de mi peluquera y eché un último vistazo a mi cabello lacio, que llegaba hasta mis hombros, en el espejo.

'Entonces, ¿eres latina o eres negra?' mis compañeros preguntaban. Aprendí esto en la Southern Adventist University, que era la tercera universidad más diversa del Sur de Estados Unidos en ese momento. Sin embargo, cuando era preadolescente y jugaba a Los Sims, siempre cambiaba mi piel oscura y mi cabello espeso y rizado por largas ondas marrones, ojos castaños claros y piel blanca en mi avatar, características que sentía cumplían con el estándar de la belleza latina de una manera que yo no las cumplía.Pero independientemente de cómo nos presentemos yo y otros afrolatinos, el mundo siempre nos verá como negros. Ella es de piel más clara, con cabello suave y ondulado, y siempre se aseguró de recordarme que mis rasgos, aunque diferentes a los de ella, eran igual de hermosos y que yo era tan latina como ella. Solo hablábamos español en casa, ella me cantaba himnos puertorriqueños y celebrábamos con todo la Navidad, como hacen la mayoría de sus coterráneos. Mi madre, una puertorriqueña valiente, siempre me enseñó a abrazar ferozmente mis raíces culturales.

Al enviar esos mensajes de texto y palabras amables, mis amigos estaban reconociendo la negrura en mí de una manera que yo todavía no lo había hecho.El luto por George Floyd me impulsó a comprender más profundamente la interseccionalidad de ser afrolatina. Me preguntaban cómo me sentía, ofreciéndose a pagar por un café y asegurándome que estaban ahí por si necesitaba hablar. No fue hasta que mis mejores amigos, conocidos de la universidad y algunos de mis primos comenzaron a enviarme largos mensajes de texto ofreciendo condolencias y aliento, afirmando que me apoyaban, que eran mis aliados en esta lucha. Después de todo, había pasado 20 años separándome vergonzosamente de mi negritud. Por el contrario, nunca sentí que tuviera que defender mi negritud porque eso era todo lo que la gente veía cuando me miraba.El proceso fue dolorosamente invalidante, pero cuanto más lo procesaba, más pensaba: “❺ quién estoy tratando de demostrarle algo? ❾llos o yo?” No fue hasta que Derek Chauvin asesinó a George Floyd y se produjeron las protestas de Las Vidas Negras Importan que vi claramente cuánto se cruzaba mi negritud con mi identidad latina.Cómo latina negra, lamenté profundamente con la comunidad negra, pero no sabía si podía reclamar plenamente el dolor de ver a Floyd asesinado. Sentía que constantemente necesitaba demostrarme a mí misma, especialmente a otros latinos, que yo era una de ellos, que hablaba nuestro idioma y que su cultura era tanto mía como de ellos.

Pero mis dos identidades han influido en mi experiencia y cosmovisión, y ambas influirán en cómo proceso la tragedia, cómo abordo los problemas sociales y las formas en que defiendo y celebro ambas identidades.