Category Archives: San Miguel de Allende

Chinese New Year and Mexico’s Forgotten Past

By Kary Vannice—

The presence of Chinese New Year in Mexico is not a new-age novelty or recent cultural appropriation. It’s steeped in history and honors the tens of thousands of Chinese immigrants and their descendants’ migration story that started over a century ago. A story that unfolded through cheap labor recruitment, entrepreneurship, discrimination, expulsion, adaptation, and survival. To understand why Chinese New Year has a place in Mexico’s public calendar, it’s important to understand the impact that Chinese immigrants have had upon Mexican history.

Chinese immigration to Mexico began during the presidency of Porfirio Díaz. Railroads were expanding, mining operations were growing, and agricultural production was increasing, and like many countries undergoing rapid development, Mexico faced a labor shortage.

Chinese workers, primarily from Guangdong province in southern China, began arriving in Mexico in the 1880s and 1890s. Most didn’t come directly from China, they were already working in countries like United States, Canada, and Southeast Asia. Because of this, they were actively sought out by labor recruiters to work in northern Mexico.

By the early 1900s, it was estimated that there were between 13,000 and 20,000 Chinese immigrants living in Mexico, with the highest concentrations in northern states such as Sonora, Baja California, Sinaloa, and Coahuila. These numbers were small relative to Mexico’s total population, but their presence was highly visible in certain northern regions.

Chinese immigrants tended to settle where economic opportunity was most accessible, working in agriculture, railroad construction, mining, and commerce. Mexicali, in northern Baja California, became one of the most significant centers of Chinese settlement. Over time, Mexicali developed La Chinesca, a neighborhood that became home to Chinese businesses, associations, and families. At its peak, Chinese residents made up the majority of Mexicali’s population, and La Chinesca was considered one of the largest Chinese communities in Latin America.

Many Chinese men married Mexican women, forming families that blended language, customs, and traditions. Chinese businesses became permanent fixtures of local economies. This transition from laborers to neighbors marked a turning point in Chinese-Mexican history, and not a positive one.

What had been tolerated, even welcomed, began to be seen as a social and economic threat. Anti-Chinese sentiment began to grow, in the aftermath of the Mexican Revolution.

By the 1920s, anti-Chinese movements had gained momentum, particularly in Sonora. Chinese immigrants were accused of unfair business practices, economic exploitation, and moral corruption. Propaganda portrayed them as unclean, dangerous, and incompatible with Mexican identity. Because of this, women who had married Chinese men were also targeted and portrayed as immoral, corrupted, or disloyal to their nation. These women were publicly shamed, pressured to dissolve marriages, and stripped of all social standing.

Several Mexican states passed laws that banned marriages between Chinese men and Mexican women, restricted where Chinese people could live, and limited the types of businesses they could operate. And these laws named the Chinese immigrants explicitly.

The same Mexican government that once encouraged Chinese immigration to help modernize Mexico, just a few decades later, labeled Chinese migrants as undesirable and even dangerous. And between the late 1920s and early 1930s, thousands of Chinese immigrants were expelled from Mexico, often with little warning and minimal legal protection. Entire families were affected. Mexican wives were forced to choose between remaining in Mexico or following their husbands to China. Children born in Mexico were deported to a country they had never known.

The Chinese population in Mexico dropped sharply. Thriving communities that had taken decades to build were dismantled in a matter of years. By the mid twentieth century, the once visible Chinese presence in many parts of Mexico had almost disappeared. Some families returned decades later. Others assimilated quietly into the local culture, and their histories and stories were lost…or deliberately forgotten.

And yet, not everything disappeared.
In Mexicali, Chinese-Mexican cuisine continued to evolve, becoming a defining feature of that city’s identity. Old world Chinese recipes were adapted to regional tastes and ingredients. What began as a way for families to survive became local tradition. Today, Mexicali is known nationally for its Chinese food, even by people who know little about how or why it came to be.

In recent years, Chinese migration to Mexico has increased again, though under very different circumstances. According to Mexico’s 2020 census, there are just over 10,000 Chinese-born residents living in the country today. Migration authorities report a steady rise in temporary and permanent residency permits issued to Chinese nationals since 2019.

This contemporary migration is driven by trade, manufacturing, education, and globalization rather than labor recruitment. Some arrive to work in Chinese-owned factories tied to North American supply chains. Others come seeking opportunity, stability, or a jumping off point to countries like the United States or Canada.

Alongside this renewed presence has come a renewed visibility. Chinese New Year celebrations in Mexico today are not just cultural performances. They are acts of recognition. Chinese immigrants are part of the history that shaped this nation, and their story, like so many migration stories, includes welcome and rejection, contribution and contention, loss and renewal.

The red lanterns and dragon dances seen in communities around Mexico are not a new chapter in that story, they’re what remains visible after more than a century of perseverance, persecution and integration.

Kary Vannice is a writer and energetic healer who explores the intersections of culture, consciousness, and daily life in Mexico.

Looking for the Encounter: An Equine Photographer at Work

By Estefanía Camacho—

To stand in the presence of a horse is to confront its grandeur. How do you translate, into a single image, the velvety texture of its coat, the gleam of its mane, the musculature that unfolds through agile, precise movements? How do you capture its fierce gaze, its distinct personality? It is no easy task. Yet María Fernanda Garza, a 28-year-old equine photographer from Monterrey, has been refining what she seeks to convey through her work since she was ten years old, when she first began riding.

Her beginnings
“There was never a clearly defined boundary between the two,” says Mafer, as she prefers to be called, referring to her practice of both dressage and photography. The interview takes place via video call from Pamplona, Spain. She recalls bringing her camera to the riding club and, after riding, photographing the horses with a bodily awareness shaped by her equestrian training.

“I’d take off my helmet, and the first thing I’d grab was the camera.”

She later earned a degree in Professional Photography, specializing in equine photography, at Universidad LCI Monterrey.

Mafer began by photographing horses at sporting events. “To understand a horse, you also have to understand the sport and how horses move. Otherwise, how can you expect to see a horse in freedom and photograph it aesthetically?” Although she no longer focuses on competition portraits, she considers that experience essential to her work.

Her influences
Among her visual references, she cites Baroque painters Caravaggio and Diego Velázquez, as well as contemporary equine photographers Ekaterina Druz (Russia), Katarzyna Okrzesik-Mikolajek (Poland), and Rita Fernández (Portugal).

“Their work taught me that horses can be portrayed from a more intimate, more sensitive place,” she explains. Mafer took photography courses with both Druz and Fernández, experiences that deeply shaped her perspective. “I’m interested in photography as a universal language — a way of thinking about the world.”

Patience and humility: working with horses
For Mafer, photographing horses demands patience above all else.
“Learning to read them — how they move, how they use their bodies, how they tell me ‘I’ve had enough.’ They speak through their own language.”

She describes the work as humbling, requiring her to adapt to the animal’s sense of time, mood, and breath. “I let the horse tell me when to be present and when not to be. My job is to stay attentive, available, and to accept that many times the photograph happens simply by watching. If the horse turns or moves, the image appears.”
Unlike with other animals, she notes, it is not always obvious when a horse is uncomfortable or at ease.

“When a horse considers a pasture its territory, sees you as an intruder, and decides to charge at full speed — and you have to remain still with the camera. Sometimes, because of the focal length, you misjudge the distance. I have to remind myself: ‘Move now,’ because it can crush you.”
She has not been immune to accidents: she has been kicked and bitten. She considers them occupational hazards.

Earning a horse’s trust
In 2016, a study from the University of Sussex showed that domesticated horses can distinguish between human facial expressions of anger and happiness, and that their heart rate increases when exposed to angry faces. For those who work closely with horses, the finding comes as little surprise.
Mafer confirms it through experience. “Trust stops being a goal and becomes a state.”

To cultivate that trust, she arrives early, sets up her equipment, and allows the horse to become accustomed to her presence. “I let it see me, feel me. The camera becomes a tool that doesn’t interrupt but accompanies both the horse and me.”

She avoids forcing situations. If a horse seems unsettled, she steps away and returns later to see whether its disposition has shifted.

That was the case with Fandango — a six-year-old colt, she estimates. “Very canijo,” she recalls. He tried to bite and step on her. She moved away, continued working, and later returned to find him lying down. She entered the stable and lay beside him.
Her team panicked when they couldn’t find her. “What do you mean she’s with Fandango? He’s going to kill her,” they said. Soon after, they found them together: Fandango resting, Mafer leaning against his abdomen.

“It was a magical moment for me,” she says. “In the morning that horse wanted to do all sorts of things to me, and by the afternoon he was calm. Since then, he’s been one of my favorite horses.”

The horse as subject, not aesthetic object
“How does my way of working change when I think of the horse as a subject rather than an aesthetic motif?” Mafer repeats my question.
“It changes everything. From the beginning, I don’t see the horse as something merely aesthetic; I see it as another living being. A horse with a history, with memory, with a presence that deserves to be heard, with a story that deserves to be told. My work starts there, from deep respect—because beyond aesthetic admiration, it’s about never crossing boundaries. It can be dangerous for both of us. Through photography, its story can find a place in the world,” she explains.

When the horse is treated as a subject, she continues, the photograph stops being a formal exercise and becomes a relationship. “I’m no longer looking for the image; I’m looking for the encounter,” she says frankly.

What still needs to be said about horses in 2026
For Mafer, there is still much to discuss about horses in 2026. How far would we have come technologically and socially — particularly in Mexico — without them? Horses also remind us of our relationship with time: the pause, the calm, the act of simply being.
In an era defined by speed, technology, and control, horses demand patience and presence. “You can’t be distracted when you’re with a horse — it can be dangerous,” she says.

“They remind us that some bonds only exist through trust. That not everything can be dominated. And that it is possible to inhabit the world without violating it.”

Clarice Lispector writes in Seco Estudo de Cavalos: “What is a horse? It is freedom so untamable that it becomes useless to imprison it to serve humankind… it allows itself to be domesticated, but with a simple rebellious toss of the head, it shows that its innermost nature is always fierce, limpid, and free.”
While images of strength and power can be striking, Mafer notes that calm, stillness, and vulnerability carry equal weight. “The vulnerability horses sometimes reveal to me is extraordinary. For me, the truth of photographing a horse lives in that tension between strength and serenity.”

Mafer is currently pursuing a master’s degree in Curatorial Studies at the University of Navarra in Pamplona, Spain. She has exhibited in four museums in Mexico and has received multiple awards, including an Honorable Mention at the International Photography Awards for her series Lancelot.

To see more of Mafer’s work visit her Instagram: http://www.instagram.com/fgphotographyyy

 

San Miguel’s Oldest No-Kill Shelter: The Lifesaving Work of the S.P.A.

By Megan Gabel—

The Sociedad Protectora de Animales de San Miguel de Allende, A.C. is the oldest no-kill shelter for cats and dogs in San Miguel de Allende. Since 1980, we have provided food, care, and a safe place for stray, abandoned, and homeless animals. Today, we are home to 35 dogs and 20 cats. Our volunteers and staff offer daily love, attention, and support to every animal in our care.

We have a lower-cost in-house clinic with a full-time veterinarian who provides medical care to our shelter animals as well as pets belonging to others in the community. The clinic is open to the public and offers puppy, kitten, and adult wellness packages to keep veterinary costs manageable.

As a no-kill shelter, the S.P.A. is committed to finding homes for all of our animals, no matter how long it takes. We encourage adoptions through a very reasonable all-inclusive adoption fee. Our adoption fee is only 600 pesos, far less than the out-of-pocket costs we incur for tests at intake alone. When we are able to accept an animal, we request a donation to help defray expenses. We are mindful that when a shelter animal is adopted, it saves two lives: the animal who goes home and the one who now has space to come in.

We warmly welcome volunteers and value their help socializing cats and dogs and taking dogs for walks. The feedback we receive from volunteers is extremely positive—they enjoy their time at the S.P.A. and are complimentary about our animals and facilities. The best way to arrange a volunteer visit is to write to info@spasanmiguel.org, so we can exchange information and schedule an interview.

Our adoption process is simple. We encourage potential adopters to explore our website (www.spasanmiguel.org) in advance to see the animals currently available. It’s helpful for us to know who caught their eye and which animals they’re most interested in meeting. Upon arrival, we begin with a brief interview to learn more about the potential adopters and what kind of life they can offer a cat or dog. We also ask what qualities they’re looking for—small, medium, or large dog; male or female; preferred age range; preferred energy level. We know our animals well and can guide adopters toward the best match. Cat adopters are then invited into the cattery, where our adoptions/volunteers coordinator helps them meet potential companions.

For dog adoptions, potential adopters sit in the Jardín, where staff bring out dogs that match their preferences. After each meeting, we ask a few questions to determine whether we’re heading in the right direction. The only time constraint is feeding time, around 1:30 p.m., when dogs are far more interested in their food than in greeting new people. Adoption hours are Monday–Saturday, 11 a.m.–2 p.m.

Once a cat or dog is chosen, the next step is payment of the adoption fee, an optional adoption kit (250 pesos), and an exit exam by our veterinarian. A mandatory free two-week follow-up visit is scheduled, and our Adoption Return Policy is signed.

Although we are not a rescue organization, we do work with rescuers. Maria and Yaba are examples of dogs taken in through rescue partnerships. We frequently receive Facebook messages about abandoned or mistreated animals, with people asking us to send someone out to help. As much as we would like to, the S.P.A. cannot directly intervene—we lack the personnel, finances, and, in some cases, legal authority. Space, particularly for dogs, is extremely limited, and we cannot create room when we are full.

We accept animals from rescuers and Canine Control when space allows. Beyond space, we must also consider health, adoptability, and temperament. Before admitting any animal, our veterinarian performs a thorough exam, including parvo and distemper tests for all dogs. We cannot accept feral cats, and we must assess each animal’s level of socialization before making a final decision.

Mocha and Bonnie are examples of stray dogs now safe at the S.P.A. and waiting for forever homes. Lucky and Jazmin were saved from near-certain death at Canine Control. Litters of homeless kittens—like Ollie, Diego, Zara, and Darcy—have found refuge and warmth with us.

If you encounter abandoned puppies or kittens, we can guide you. It’s a difficult situation—walking away is painful. If you choose to rescue an animal, that animal becomes your responsibility. Call us, and we will let you know if we can take one or more of the animals or offer alternatives. Even when we are full, we can add your rescues to our waiting list.

The S.P.A. is a private non-profit organization. Donations are our only source of income. We receive no government support. Our major annual fundraiser is the Pet Food Money Bank, launched each May to raise the funds needed to feed our shelter animals for the year. Thanks to our generous supporters, we have reached our goal every year since 2015.

Our clinic provides top-quality veterinary services, led by our excellent full-time veterinarian, Dr. Omar Córdova. We offer routine care (checkups and vaccinations), diagnostics, x-rays, lab work, sterilizations, other surgeries, and emergency care. The clinic is open Monday–Saturday from 9 a.m.–3 p.m., and until 4 p.m. on Tuesdays and Saturdays (our discount days). Adoption hours are Monday–Saturday, 11 a.m.–2 p.m.

We are located at Los Pinos 7, near the bus station. Phone: 415-152-6124
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Visit our website for a map: http://www.spasanmiguel.org
Stop by—we’d love to meet you!

Letter from SMA

By Ximena Collado—

It’s the start of a new year.
This issue has me thinking about new beginnings. Beginnings can be exciting and scary. How do you know when it’s time to start something new? Not everyone has the privilege of starting something new by choice, but for those fortunate enough who do, how can they know?

Enthusiasm toward the desired change must be greater than the comfort of staying where you are now. Comfort can be a beautiful place, but when it starts to quiet your curiosity, it may no longer be serving you. Enthusiasm, on the other hand, carries movement. It propels you forward.

But enthusiasm is not always comfortable. One of the ideas I return to often, inspired by the semiological approach of Alfonso Ruiz Soto, is that what is true is not always what is easy. Real enthusiasm does not necessarily feel light or effortless. It can coexist with fear. It can appear alongside grief for what is being left behind. It can even exist without the approval or understanding of those around you.

And yet, it remains.That persistence is what differentiates enthusiasm from impulse or passing emotion. An impulse burns fast and disappears just as quickly. Semiological enthusiasm stays. It returns quietly, again and again, even when doubt is present. Even when the path is unclear. Even when staying where you are would be simpler.

Enthusiasm is not a promise of ease or success. What it offers instead is direction. It functions as a compass, not a map. It doesn’t explain every step, but it consistently points somewhere meaningful.

So how do you know what to start? Follow what genuinely enthuses you—not only what excites you in the moment, but what continues to call your attention over time. Follow what feels alive, even if it feels inconvenient. Often, clarity does not come before movement. It comes after the first small step, once you allow yourself to begin.

Thank you tosome of the people who have helped me and opened their doors to me with this new project.

Roger Jones, our dear family friend, who always takes the time to welcome us at his breakfast table at his beautiful boutique hotel, Casa Angelitos.

Susana Alonso, an incredible glass artist with whom I spent hours talking at her studio and who made me feel completely at home.

Mike Solof, one of our incredible writers, who simply brings me so much joy.

To everyone who is reading this issue and who read the previous one, thank you. I wish you a beautiful start to 2026.Let’s start this Year of the Horse with strength, fire, and enthusiasm.

See you in February,
Ximena Collado

Growing Up Escaramuza: My Path Through Charrería

By Ana Domínguez

My story as a rider began at age nine. I first learned to ride astride, using a standard saddle, and did not belong to any escaramuza—I simply enjoyed being around horses and riding.

Escaramuza means “skirmish” in Spanish, referring to a small fight or brief combat, but in a Mexican cultural context, it specifically describes a team of women performing synchronized, choreographed maneuvers on horseback, riding side-saddle in traditional attire, as part of the national sport of charrería (charro horsemanship). More than an equestrian ballet, it is a tradition that gallops with strength and color at the heart of charrería.

Charrería is considered one of the most complete sports, as it is practiced outdoors and engages every muscle in the body—from the moment the horse begins to move to the application of strength in direct interaction with the animals involved.

This equestrian discipline, unique in the world, represents the feminine expression of Mexico’s national sport: charrería. It is a visual spectacle that blends athletic discipline with the richness of Mexican folklore and history.

I had experience in multiple equestrian disciplines before becoming a high-performance escaramuza rider. I practiced show jumping and barrel racing. However, escaramuza fully met my expectations and became my sport.

Before the term escaramuza existed, there were women known as Adelitas or Soldaderas who participated during the Mexican Revolution—not only as nurses and followers, but also as brave combatants. They rode horses, led troops, and carried out heroic acts, showing strength and courage on horseback in both battle and military life. Alongside the charros, they were a fundamental part of the Revolution’s identity.

On the haciendas of that era, many women rode horses sidesaddle. This was not a sporting choice, but a social imposition: long dresses, etiquette, and the norms of the time required women to ride this way. However, this style of riding became the first expression of feminine horsemanship. Despite its limitations, many women developed remarkable skill in controlling their horses, maneuvering difficult terrain, and executing agile movements while maintaining the rigid posture society demanded. Unknowingly, they were laying the foundations of what would later become a formal discipline.

In 1921, the first formal charro associations were founded, and throughout the 1920s and 1930s, events and regulations were consolidated, giving rise to modern charrería. Although women did not yet participate officially, they began appearing in exhibitions during patriotic celebrations and regional festivities. The true starting point of the discipline came in 1953, when the first organized female groups began to be documented—groups that trained and performed mounted routines at charro events. These were exhibition performances, but for the first time, there was systematic work: uniforms, defined formations, regular training, and a shared objective.

During the 1960s, these groups multiplied and began to be called escaramuzas. By the end of that decade, it was common to see them included in the programs of state charro associations, although still without a formal rulebook.

Growth accelerated during the 1970s and 1980s, when escaramuza evolved from a purely visual spectacle into a competitive discipline. Teams from different states began training more rigorously, developing more complex maneuvers and seeking their own identity within charrería. This led to a decisive milestone: the publication of the first Official Escaramuza Rulebook in 1992 by the Mexican Federation of Charrería. This document formally established the rules still in effect today, including team size, required maneuvers, scoring system, penalties, attire, and the importance of puntas as a scored element. With this regulation, escaramuza transitioned from stylized performances to a formal sport.

From the 2000s onward, the discipline entered a phase of professionalization. Riding schools, specialized trainers, and youth and junior categories emerged. State, regional, and national championships— and the National Olympiads — incorporated escaramuzas as a core part of their programs. International recognition also grew, particularly within Mexican communities in the United States.

Finally, in 2016, with the recognition of charrería as Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, escaramuza gained a new level of significance. It represents not only a sport, but a living symbol of Mexican identity and the only space within charrería where women hold a leading role—affirming their strength, discipline, and historical participation.

Escaramuza charra is the only charrería discipline performed exclusively by women. It combines equestrian precision, group synchronization, and a profound sense of tradition. While it may appear visually like a dance on horseback, it is in fact a highly technical routine that demands absolute concentration, mastery of the horse, and perfect coordination among the eight riders that make up the team. Each team consists of eight riders, one substitute, a trainer, and staff responsible for supervising the horses’ welfare and needs to keep them in optimal condition, as they are high-performance athletes.

Each rider uses a sidesaddle charro saddle (albarda charra), — the traditional feminine style inherited from the 19th century. Despite this seemingly restrictive position, riders perform tight crossings, rapid turns, and complex formations that require leg strength, lateral balance, and constant communication between horse and rider. During the approximately three-minute routine, the team executes a sequence of twelve pre-designed maneuvers (suertes). These include emblematic figures such as the fan (abanico), the flower (flor), the strainer (coladera), the ladder (escalera), and spins, all performed at high speed and with minimal distance between horses.

The routine begins with the puntas, a controlled sliding stop that leaves a straight mark in the arena and demonstrates the horse’s responsiveness, often contributing crucial points to the final score.

Riders wear long dresses in the Adelita style or traditional charra de faena attire, and on gala occasions, china poblana or formal charra dresses. Each outfit is crafted in accordance with Mexican traditions while honoring the style of our roots. All costumes are unique, handmade pieces with intricate embroidery, sometimes using gold and silver thread, and distinctive designs that set each one apart.

These garments are designed to allow mobility without compromising safety. Although visually striking, they are strictly regulated: they must not include elements that could catch, must cover the legs, and must coordinate with the team’s colors. The charro hat—rigid and decorated within specific guidelines—not only completes the attire but serves as the most important piece, functioning as a helmet. Along with it, a single ponytail adorned with a matching bow represents the group’s identity. Boots, made of suede or leather, are designed to withstand the lateral pressure of the foot when riding sidesaddle.

The horse also plays both a visual and functional role. Quarter Horses are commonly used, breeds known for their speed, agility, and ability to execute tight turns. Their presentation is sober and elegant, with carefully groomed manes and tails to ensure a uniform team appearance. Saddles and tack (reins, headstall, bit, protective gear, saddle) are identical across the eight riders, reinforcing uniformity. Beyond aesthetics, the true value lies in training: the horse must respond smoothly, remain steady during long stops, and maintain a consistent rhythm while the rider performs technical movements.

While the rulebook is detailed, the most important scoring elements include puntas, suertes, synchronization, and presentation and discipline. The final score is calculated by adding earned points and subtracting penalties. While details may vary annually according to the current regulations of the Mexican Federation of Charrería, the essence remains the same: to reward impeccable technique and group harmony.

Today, escaramuza has national and international presence. In Mexico, teams compete in state and regional championships and in the National Charro Championship—the country’s most important event—where the best escaramuzas from each state face off to determine the national champions.

There are also competitions and special exhibitions outside the Mexican Federation of Charrería. Although not officially affiliated, these events have had a significant impact on the discipline’s development, pushing teams to pursue greater difficulty and higher performance levels. The growth of children’s and youth categories has allowed girls as young as four or five years old to begin training, ensuring the continuity of the tradition.

At twelve, I had the opportunity to join the Tuitán team in Querétaro, where I was trained by Miguel Ángel García Castro, a key figure in my development as a rider. I learned the true art of riding and became a high-performance athlete. With Tuitán, we won several tournaments in our category, and a particularly meaningful achievement for me was winning the 2019 National Olympiads, where we earned one gold medal and one silver medal, with me serving as team captain.

Later, I was invited to join the Chiapas charra team—an organization with a strong trajectory that allowed me to continue growing. Eventually, I received another call to join Escaramuza Charra del Pedregal in Mexico City, trained by Heriberto Sáenz Romero, an outstanding coach who plays a crucial role in the continuation of my career. It is a team rich in tradition, history, and presence within the discipline, where I continue to develop my craft and my passion. Being part of maintaining the competitive and athletic level of this team is a great responsibility for me as a rider.

Charrería has given me incredible fulfillment and unforgettable moments both inside and outside the arena—sensations that are impossible to describe, filled with adrenaline, emotion, and joy. I would not trade it for anything. For me, the bond you form with your horse is deeply special. Being in contact with horses is the greatest feeling that exists, it is absolute peace and an unparalleled connection. A horse embodies nobility, strength, empathy and is simply unique.

Editor’s Letter- January 2026

By Jane Bauer—

“We did not weave the web of life; we are merely a strand in it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves.”— Chief Seattle

It’s the New Year… again.

Suddenly it is 2026, and at times I feel as though I’m living in a science-fiction film. The kind where a woman goes to sleep and wakes up to find that ten or twenty years have passed. Everyone looks a little older, the world is a little less shiny, yet the headlines remain stubbornly familiar. Immigration crises. War. Corporate takeovers. The looming threat of environmental collapse. Will we ever learn?

As humans, we try to make sense of the world by dividing it into fragments. We divide the vastness of space into time — years, months, days, minutes, seconds. We divide land into countries and cities, drawing imaginary lines that we then defend and fight over. We separate ourselves by identity, ideology, belief. And in all this dividing, we search for meaning: Who are we? What is our purpose? Why does harmony feel so elusive?

There is no shortage of resources on this planet for all of us to live well. And yet, as a species, we continue to make decisions from a frequency of lack. We are taught, explicitly and implicitly, that things are limited, that if someone else has more, there will be inevitably less for us. I believe scarcity is something we have learned, reinforced by systems that benefit from fear and competition rather than trust and cooperation.

This year, according to Chinese astrology, is the Year of the Fire Horse, a cycle that comes around only once every sixty years. Rare, not quite a Halley’s Comet moment, but close. The Fire Horse (Bing-Wu) is associated with vitality, momentum, and spiritual transformation. It represents a powerful alignment of motion and illumination, a time when people feel called to take bold steps, to embark on pilgrimages, and to pursue both outer and inner journeys. So what does this mean for us?

Perhaps it means that speed is no longer the answer. That moving faster, consuming more, and fragmenting the world into ever-smaller pieces has not brought us closer but only further from one another. The Fire Horse does not ask us to escape what feels difficult, but to meet it with courage, clarity, and movement that has direction, not reaction, but intention.

Fire does not simply destroy; it illuminates. Let us step out of patterns rooted in fear and into a different way of being, one where there is enough when we move in alignment rather than competition.

Let us choose presence over paralysis, connection over fragmentation, and curiosity over certainty. To take our own quiet pilgrimages, inward or outward, and to participate more consciously in the systems we belong to. Not to fix the world all at once, but to move differently within it. Sometimes, that is where real change begins.

See you next month,

Jane

The Rise of Perrhijos and Fashion for Pets

By Ximena Collado—

Over the past few years, something interesting has happened in the world of pets. Dogs and cats have become a huge part of our families — and for many young adults, they’re basically our perrhijos. Because of this, the way we care for them has changed, and so has the way we express our love for them. Pet fashion has grown a lot, becoming a fun and personal way to show who we are through the pets we love.

Today, things like bandanas, leashes, and collars aren’t just simple accessories. They add personality, color, and identity to a dog’s everyday life. More and more people want meaningful pieces that feel special: well-made items, sustainable materials, and products created with intention. Pet fashion has become an extension of our lifestyle. A small accessory can say a lot about the bond we have with our pets and how important they are to us.

But while pet fashion keeps getting more popular, there’s another reality in Mexico that can’t be ignored. Millions of dogs live on the streets without food, protection, or medical care. Mexico has one of the largest stray dog populations in the world, and most of these dogs will never find a home. Rescue groups work incredibly hard, but adoption alone is not enough. Animal welfare experts agree that the only true long-term solution is mass sterilization. Sterilizing dogs is the most humane and effective way to reduce suffering and prevent new litters that continue the cycle.

For one of Amikoo’s founders, this issue became personal the day he and his girlfriend went to a local shelter to adopt a dog. When they arrived, they were shocked to find more than 100 dogs waiting for a home. The staff explained that most of those dogs would never be adopted. Among the hardest to place were big, black, male dogs — often overlooked because of their size, appearance, and stereotypes. Despite this, the couple chose exactly that: a large, black, male dog who immediately won their hearts. That experience stayed with them. It opened their eyes to the magnitude of the problem and planted the seed for what would later become Amikoo.

In the middle of this mix of love, concern, culture, and creativity, Amikoo was born — a brand that blends pet fashion with real purpose. Their products are beautiful, but what makes them special is the story behind them. Amikoo works closely with artisan women from Chiapas who create the textiles for their dog bandanas using telar de pedal, an ancestral weaving technique passed down for generations. This traditional process takes hours of careful work, resulting in unique pieces full of cultural meaning. By using telar de pedal, Amikoo helps preserve a technique that has been part of Mexico’s identity for centuries.

But Amikoo’s support doesn’t stop at paying fair wages. They also run health campaigns so the artisans can access medical checkups and basic care — something that is often difficult to get in their communities. This shows how committed the brand is to taking care of the people behind every product.

Amikoo also designs dog collars made with cactus-based vegan leather, an eco-friendly material created from the nopal cactus. It’s durable, soft, sustainable, and proudly Mexican. This material reflects Amikoo’s mission: to care for animals, support communities, and protect the environment.

Most importantly, Amikoo uses part of its funds to run sterilization campaigns for stray dogs, directly contributing to the only long-term solution experts believe can reduce the suffering of millions of animals on the streets. This gives every purchase real purpose and real impact.

Amikoo started with a simple but powerful goal: to help dogs and help people at the same time. Their work supports artisan families, protects cultural traditions, and funds sterilization efforts across Mexico. Every product supports these efforts and makes a real difference.

If you want to be part of their mission and bring a touch of color and meaning to your dog’s style, you can find Amikoo’s products on Amazon. Every purchase helps the artisans, the dogs, and the communities involved.
Shop Amikoo on Amazon: Click Here

 

The Story of San Miguel Shoes

By Ximena Collado—

Walking through the cobbled streets of San Miguel de Allende, it’s easy to believe that memory has a sound—the soft percussion of footsteps on stone, the hum of voices carried by warm air, the slow rhythm of a town that still takes its time. Somewhere in that rhythm lives the story of Don Santiago and Martha, two dreamers whose love gave life to San Miguel Shoes. For them, every pair was more than footwear—it was affection made tangible, a way of stitching home and heart into something you could carry wherever you went.

More than twenty years ago, Don Santiago arrived from León, a shoemaker in search of a new beginning. He found it in San Miguel de Allende, its light, its color, and the woman who would become his lifelong companion, Martha. Together, they imagined shoes that would accompany people through their days – comfortable, enduring, and made with care. The first sandal he crafted for her wasn’t just built to withstand the uneven stones of the city; it became a symbol of their life together – steady, resilient, and full of quiet devotion. Their dream soon grew into a small workshop where every design was shaped with patience and purpose. Each pair was meant to last—to travel through years and stories, just as Santiago and Martha did, side by side.

That same spirit still guides San Miguel Shoes today. Now led by their children, the brand has evolved without losing its soul. The workshop hums with the rhythm of more than fifty artisans, most of them women, whose skill and dedication have turned comfort into an art. From the start, sustainability wasn’t a slogan—it was instinct. Every process is designed to minimize waste, every material chosen for comfort, flexibility, and responsibility.

These shoes aren’t made of leather but of soft, adaptive fabrics that move naturally with the foot. Their light yet durable structure provides a sense of ease and stability, offering the kind of comfort that makes each step confident—even across the cobblestones of San Miguel. Women who wear them often describe the same feeling: a secure, effortless stride that carries them through long days without strain or hesitation. The shoes are made not for fleeting trends but for real lives—workdays, travels, and moments in motion.

Created for women of all ages, San Miguel Shoes blend versatility with timeless style. These are shoes made for real life, practical yet elegant, refined yet easy to wear. Every design reflects the brand’s belief that true luxury lies in quality, comfort, and longevity.

Color, too, plays its part, not as fashion, but as expression. Each year, San Miguel Shoes introduces a new palette inspired by the town itself: the soft blush of morning walls, the golden tones of afternoon light, the earthy reds of sunset. For 2026, the collection turns toward teal, blues, and green tones that capture the freshness of water and the calm of shade on a bright day.

Beyond their beauty, San Miguel Shoes sustains a community. The brand provides dignified work, preserves ancestral techniques, and empowers women who have become masters of their craft. Each pair is unique, an imprint of many hands, shaped by patience and pride. And at the heart of it all remains the story of Don Santiago and Martha. Both passed away during the pandemic, only a month apart. Those who knew them say their love was simply too strong to be separated. Their spirit walks on in every shoe, in every step taken by those who wear them.

Today, anyone can take a piece of that story on their own journey. Each pair is a promise, made to last a lifetime, just like the love of Don Santiago and Martha.
http://www.sanmiguelshoes.com.mx

“As Long as You’re Buying…”: Mexico and the Endless Fast Fashion Loop

By Estefanía Camacho

The other day I read someone saying that their excess clothes and plastic didn’t really count as fast fashion if they didn’t throw them away. In a way, they had a point — but it also completely ignores how we got here in the first place. This year I wrote a feature piece about what fast fashion is, where and how it started, and what we can actually do about it. That helped me understand the whole know-how behind it.

Buying clothes and simply not throwing them out is not really the answer. Even Marcelo Claure, the global vice president of the Chinese ultra fast-fashion company, told El Universal that they manufacture only 100 to 200 units of each product and then increase production depending on sales. Claure also confirmed that Mexico and Brazil are among its top five global markets, after the United States.

If you’re unsure what fast fashion means to this day, it’s basically when companies copy high-fashion designs and reproduce them on a massive scale, at low cost, using mainly outsourced labor — all within 15 days or even less.

The impact of imports on Mexico’s textile industry
This is true in the United Kingdom and in Mexico. Everything depends on how each country regulates the entry — and the disposal — of imported goods, especially in industries it could produce itself. So with lax rules for textile imports, it’s not surprising that the national industry has declined, just as it has in countries in the Global South like Chile, Ghana, or Kenya.

Mexico’s INEGI (National Institute of Statistics and Geography) documented this in May 2024: between 1995 and 2000, the textile and clothing industry’s GDP grew an average of 6.5% per year, boosted by NAFTA. But in 2001 — the year China joined the World Trade Organization — that momentum dropped sharply and stayed low for the next decade.

Recently, while researching autonomous vehicle manufacturing, I realized something funny: the cars aren’t even on the roads yet, and developers are already planning how they’ll be disposed of at least a century from now. Meanwhile, the textile industry — especially fast fashion — never thought this way about clothes. Even the cement industry has disposal solutions.

Measures against fast fashion: tariffs and environmental proposals
In Mexico, digital access is still uneven, but you’ll still find second-hand shops almost anywhere with a sign that says, “We take Shein orders here.”

At the end of 2024, President Claudia Sheinbaum announced a temporary 35% tariff on textile imports from countries without free trade agreements. On the surface, it looks like part of a larger tariff war with China, but internally it also affects how Shein orders arrive in Mexico.

This basically ends the tax loophole that allowed imports under $50 USD to skip duties.
Rafael Zaga, president of the National Chamber of the Textile Industry, told Forbes that the Mexican textile sector loses $3.2 billion per year due to imports from online platforms like Shein. China is the main origin of Mexico’s textile imports (35.4%), followed by the United States (24.6%).

Mexico City: new practices for collecting textile waste
Denmark, for example, collects clothing directly from people’s homes and sends it to companies that sort what can be reused or recycled — but only after an awareness campaign that teaches households how to prepare the textiles. It’s still a very new system: it only began in July 2023.

Mexico City recently joined other regions working to properly collect textile waste. In September 2025, Mexico City’s Congress approved changes to the Solid Waste Law to officially recognize textile waste. It also authorized the Ministry of the Environment to create agreements with the industry to promote collection, treatment, recycling, reuse, and finally the disposal of textile waste. And, just like Denmark, it plans to promote collection programs through awareness campaigns on proper sorting.

In Europe, a person bought an average of 6 kilos of new clothes per year in 2020. And in Mexico City alone, 3.7 billion tons of textile waste are discarded each year, including bedding and curtains.

But these proposals will also need to consider the problems that other Global North countries have already faced with parts of this process. For example, the sorting phase requires workers who specialize in this job, and these tasks are usually done by nonprofits or private companies with their own interests because it’s minimized.

Europe sends much of its textile waste to sorting centers located in countries with lower labor costs, mainly in Eastern Europe or the Middle East. And that matters because the better this sorting process is, the more opportunities there are for reuse, resale, and recycling, but if this specialized work depends on underpaid workers, it might not be as useful or advantageous as we urgently need it to be.

Fast fashion, fast rewind
The term fast fashion is basically the same age as Taylor Swift — it was coined by a journalist in New York in 1989, when Zara opened its first store in that city and outside Spain for the first time. So, if you think about it that way, reversing this practice is not impossible; it’s not like we’ve been overconsuming for centuries.

The woman online who said she wasn’t contributing to pollution as long as she didn’t throw clothes away wasn’t totally wrong: wearing an item as many times as possible is the first solution given when trying to tackle this situation. The problem is that fast-fashion materials are lower quality so the cycle continues, lasts less, and even pollutes when washed.

But that doesn’t mean the garment can’t get a second life. You can repurpose it, mend it, redesign it, or give it another cycle. And if you’re part of the group that uses their clothes 37% less before discarding them, consider selling them on digital platforms or donating them if they’re still in good condition.

And if you finally decide the item is trash — even after waiting for it to cross the ocean, accumulate CO₂ emissions by air, sea, and land — then, before tossing it with everything else, check for local textile recycling centers or ask your waste collector if you can separate it.
Meanwhile, we’re also waiting for governments to adopt stronger measures, like the ones proposed in France, which would require fast-fashion companies to display environmental disclaimers on their websites or set a limit on how many new items they can upload per day, as well as their marketing.

In Mexico –where we don’t need a lot of justifications to keep on partying– we know this famous phrase first told by rancheras singer Vicente Fernández: “Mientras sigan aplaudiendo, yo sigo cantando” which means “as long as you keep clapping, I’ll keep singing”. It reminds me of the fast fashion cycle and how it sometimes feels like companies think exactly like Chente: “as long as you keep buying, I’ll keep producing.”

Estefanía Camacho is a freelance Mexican journalist working across media and digital magazines. She is a specialist in gender, SMEs, economics, and business.