Tag Archives: fashion

Huatulco

Manta Raya: Where French Design Meets the Soul of Oaxaca

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By Cathy Bergamo—

Since its inception a little over five years ago, Manta Raya has strived to capture the essence of Oaxaca in a unique way, merging the Oaxacan textile tradition with the modern vision of a brand born from a passion for fashion and textiles. My path toward creating Manta Raya was not something planned, but rather a result of my love for the art of fashion and the destiny that brought me to Mexico, specifically to Oaxaca and the coast of Huatulco.

Although my life is now deeply connected with Oaxaca, I was born in France, a country that has marked my personal history and creative vision. It was thanks to a university exchange program that I came to live in the city of Oaxaca, and my first encounter with this city and its people was a revelatory moment. The cultural richness of this state, its traditions, and especially its textile history captivated me immediately. During my time in the region, I fell in love not only with the vibrant landscapes and the endless shades of the sea, but also with the warm beach lifestyle that permeates Huatulco. The picturesque bays, its endless open-water beaches, the radiant sun, and the perfect climate inspired me to create something that reflected that magic.

This is how Manta Raya was born, a Mexican brand founded in Bahías de Huatulco, which honors the textile tradition of Oaxaca while celebrating the coastal lifestyle. Our main focus is to pay homage to the natural beauty of Oaxaca and remind people of what it means to live in harmony with the environment, encouraging more outdoor moments, and creating high-quality, handcrafted products. The pedal loom technique, which we use throughout the manufacturing process, is a tradition that has endured for generations, and through Manta Raya, we aim to preserve this legacy while adapting it to the needs and tastes of the contemporary world. We combine contemporary designs with the vibrant color palette that nature gifts us in this very special place.

The blues of the sea, the golden hues of the sun, and the greens of the mountains are the colors we seek to reflect in each of our products. Each blanket is unique because it is handmade.

As a Frenchwoman, I can’t help but carry a piece of my origin with me, and that influence is also reflected in our designs. The French Touch of Manta Raya is definitely present in our creations, based on stripes and color combinations. A clin d’oeil to our French roots.

Manta Raya is not just a brand, but an extension of my own story and connection with the beach. As the wife of a surfer, I spend a lot of time on the beach, seeking ways to stay comfortable and enjoy the environment to the fullest. The need for something practical yet beautiful, something that would accompany me on my getaways, was what drove me to create pieces that were not only useful but also a reflection of the relaxed, free lifestyle of the coast. Today, Manta Raya is perfect to carry in your bag wherever you go; it is made to be an essential for your beach days, to accompany you in your yoga class, or to use at home as a versatile blanket, on your sofa, or as a bed runner, adding a special touch to your spaces.

The philosophy of Manta Raya is clear: Slow Fashion.

Our brand identity is based on a connection with the sea and a design that celebrates outdoor living. In a world saturated by fast fashion, we bet on conscious production that respects both the environment and the artisans and our customers. We believe in the importance of creating durable products, not only in style but also in quality. Each piece of Manta Raya is made to withstand the test of time, offering something more than fashion: an object that tells a story and has a profound meaning that connects us with the land.

To purchase: http://www.mantarayamexico.com

Huatulco

María Mayoral: A Lineage in Thread

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By Bianca Corona—

There is a pace to the coast that does not translate in cities. It is slower, but never lazy. It is intentional. The light moves differently here, and the wind carries salt and sound in a way that makes you stop without realizing you have stopped. Even the fabric you wear asks you to release anything heavy and choose something that breathes. When I first sat down with María, this was the feeling that met me before she even spoke. A quiet, grounding presence. Not shy. Just someone whose voice comes from a deeper place, the kind of place most people forget to visit once they leave the coast.

Born in Pochutla, a town 45 minutes from Huatulco, Maria’s family came to the coast decades ago, long before tourism reshaped the shoreline. They arrived to work. Work that demanded patience. Work taught by hands rather than classrooms. Work that held their identity in cotton and color.

“We practically lived in the hotel,” she told me, remembering the Sheraton before it became the Barceló. She described the smell of sunscreen mixing with thread, the sound of tourists moving in and out, the constant presence of sand under her feet. Childhood for her was not divided into playtime and work. It was one space. One long rhythm set by the loom.

Her mother wove. Her father wove. And slowly, María learned too. First watching. Then assisting. Then creating. She began weaving at 12, sewing at 15. Not because someone told her to. But because the rhythm of the loom teaches by itself if you sit close enough. Press, release. Press, release. A heartbeat made audible.

But lineage is rarely a straight line. It bends. It tests. It takes you away from home so you can return with a different perspective. María left the coast to study International Design in Puebla. She wanted to understand fashion in a broader sense. “Where I studied, the approach was very artistic,” she said. “It gave me a wider range of what fashion could be.” She liked that contrast. Traditional weaving in one palm, modern design in the other. She could feel how they might meet without contradicting each other.

After graduating, she tried to stay in the city. Everyone always told her to go big or go home. To prove yourself in a larger place. To move fast. To produce more. She tried to believe it, but her heart disagreed. “I couldn’t keep up with that life,” she said. “I missed breathing.” So, she returned to Huatulco. Back to the coastline. Back to the thread.

I then asked, “What stories would you say are figuratively woven into your pieces?” She shared, the first thing to come to her mind was when her mother began losing her vision. The woman who once guided every stitch, whose presence was the essence of their workspace, slowly entered a world without images. María told this part of the story without dramatizing it. She simply explained how the workshop changed, and how she changed with it. She started weaving differently, adding dimensions that her mother could feel with her fingertips. Texture became language. Color became memory. Craft became closeness. “I changed the way I weave so she could still be part of it,” she said. Her tone held no sadness. Just devotion. A very soft but very steady kind of love.

But life never teaches one lesson at a time. While she was caring, adapting, holding her craft close, another part of her self-development broke. A brand she previously helped build was taken from her. Her designs, her work, her name. “They robbed the brand from me,” she said. And around the same time, projects she depended on slowly unraveled. Her income disappeared. Her confidence wavered. She took a job as a waitress. Long shifts. Late nights. A kind of exhaustion that demands all of you. She worried that maybe she had stepped into a life that would not offer anything beyond survival. Meanwhile her family encouraged her to come back to the workshop and begin her own brand from scratch. She was resistant at first. Pain makes us hesitate. Starting over feels heavier when the loss is still fresh.

She laughs when she talks about this now. Not because it is funny, but because distance gives shape to things. She says it taught her something very clearly. “I realized I couldn’t let go of what I love just because someone else was dishonest or because things did not work out the first time.” So, she returned to the loom. And from that return, her brand took its true name, María Mayoral. Not born from inspiration or timing or trend. Born from refusal. A refusal to shrink. A refusal to disappear.

And now, when she talks about her work, she does not speak like someone trying to sell you something. There is no presentation. She speaks from inside the process itself. “When someone wears my pieces, I want them to feel something. To feel astonished at themselves,” she said. Not astonished as in spectacle. Astonished by the soulful care webbed through the fabric. Astonished as in remembering something ancient in the body. Something warm. Something that feels like home even if you are far from it.

Because here, in Huatulco, clothes are not stiff. The heat demands breath and softness. The ocean demands movement. Cotton is not an aesthetic choice. It is the only fabric that lives well with the climate. Nature decides. The land chooses the material. The coastline decides the palette. Her colors shift with seasons and tides. The marigold dye that blooms today will not bloom the same next year. Rain changes the tone. Soil changes the shade. Emotion changes the hand. Nothing repeats. Not because she refuses repetition, but because the land does not repeat itself.

Her atelier holds eight looms of varying sizes. The sound inside is steady and meditative.

And when you watch a piece being made, you understand instantly why a garment created in this space cannot be compared to anything made in a factory. “The piece that took me the longest took three months,” she said. Three months of touch and patience and presence. Machines can imitate the pattern but not the weight of meaning. Not the warmth. Not the life. Visitors who spend time in the workshop leave with reverence because they see what cannot be massed produced… time.

Her first collection, the one that gave real shape to the brand, was inspired directly by the ocean. Not as metaphor. As literal memory. Textures that mirrored tide lines. Movement that echoed waves. Only six pieces. They sold out in two weeks. It was the beginning that confirmed everything she believed. Her next collection draws from Tangolunda and the memory of the old Camino Real. The coastline there holds a specific glow. The sand is filled with tiny spiral shaped shells. She will bring those spirals into her designs. Not traced. Remembered.

María also collaborates with families of embroiderers in the Valley. Women who carry techniques older than any written history. She respects the knowledge they hold. She asks before using something with ancestral meaning. She learns the symbols. She refuses the imitation culture that has taken root in Oaxaca’s markets. There are stitches she keeps hidden. Marks meant only for the women who will wear her pieces close to their skin. “Something just for them,” she said. A private language made of thread.

When I asked María where she sees the future of her brand, her answer surprised me. Her dream is not global exposure. It is continuity. She wants to create her first runway in Oaxaca and take her mother with her. She wants the community to rise alongside the brand. “First Mexico,” she said. “And when Mexico knows us, then the world.”

This is not a comeback story. It is a return. A realignment. A remembering of who she has always been. Her pieces are not garments. They are memory held in cotton. They are lineage moving forward. They are devotion stitched into form. They are a daughter refusing to let love, or craft, or identity be dimmed.

These pieces are woven time.

Contact for designs WhatsApp: + 52 958 587 8556
Instagram: @mmariamayoral

Photo: Elias Cruz

San Miguel de Allende

The Story of San Miguel Shoes

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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

San Miguel de Allende

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

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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.

Huatulco

The Hidden City Behind the World’s Shoes

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By Ximena Collado—

When I tell people I’m from León, they usually smile politely and ask, “Oh, where is that?” Few know that my hometown, tucked right in the heart of Mexico, is actually considered the shoe capital of the world. Not just of the country — of the world.
Not many people think of León as a tourist destination, even though it has a rich culture and great food. Yet it’s one of the closest airports to San Miguel de Allende, so countless travelers who fly in to visit San Miguel arrive through León. Many have unknowingly taken their first step in Guanajuato right here — in the city where the shoes they wear might have been made.
For those of us who grew up here, leather is more than a material; it’s part of our identity, the scent that lingers in the air, the texture of our childhood memories, the heartbeat of our city.
Some of my earliest memories are filled with that smell — the deep, warm leather that seemed to live in every corner of my house. My uncles worked with leather, crafting boots by hand in small workshops scattered across the city. When they hugged me after a long day, they always smelled like leather — rich and earthy, a scent that clung to their clothes and hands. To this day, whenever I catch that smell, it feels like home.
Walking through León, it’s impossible not to feel that connection. The smell of tanned leather still floats from old factories, and the markets shine with beautifully crafted boots and bags.
Our story with leather reaches back to the early 1600s, when León’s artisans began tanning hides and crafting goods by hand. The abundance of cattle in the Bajío region provided plenty of raw material, and the city’s location made it a natural hub for trade. Local histories suggest that Spanish settlers introduced new tanning methods during colonial times, techniques that blended with the skill and ingenuity of local craftspeople. Over the centuries, those small workshops grew into a thriving industry — and with it came a new identity. People from León earned the nickname panza verde, or “green belly,” a name said to come from the dyes and pigments that stained the aprons and skin of the leather workers. Over time, panza verde became more than a nickname; it became a badge of pride, a symbol of the color and character that define our craft.

Today, León produces millions of pairs of shoes every year, from classic cowboy boots to modern sneakers and elegant heels. But what many people don’t realize is that some of the world’s most recognized brands are made right here. I’ve even known friends who produce shoes for brands like Sperry or Steve Madden, proof of how León’s craftsmanship quietly travels the world. Their global designs are brought to life by Mexican hands — by people who’ve learned the balance between precision and intuition, between tradition and trend. If you’re looking for some beautifully made leather shoes, start with local names like Bala di Gala, Flexi, Cuadra, Dante, or Perugia — each one rooted in León’s heritage of craftsmanship and quality.
I always smile when I travel and spot a pair of shoes in a store that I know came from León. There’s something magical about seeing a piece of your city walking around the world — quietly, beautifully, without most people even knowing where it was born.
But León isn’t just an industrial city anymore. It’s transforming into a creative hub, a place where design, fashion, and culture come together. In recent years, I’ve watched boutique studios, design schools, and concept stores pop up all around the city. Events like SAPICA — Latin America’s biggest leather and footwear fair — attract buyers, stylists, and designers from all over the world. León is redefining itself: still rooted in craftsmanship, but now looking boldly toward the future.

San Miguel de Allende

Threads Through Time: Tracing the Tapestry of Naturally Derived Textiles in Mexico

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By Kary Vannice—

Mexico’s rich textile heritage is a colorful historical narrative interwoven with indigenous traditions and the imprints of European influence. From the earliest known fibers (1400 BCE) to the contemporary fusion of craftsmanship and innovation, textile weavers and designers have left their mark on the Mexican culture.

Mexican Textiles – Indigenous and Colonial Roots

The genesis of Mexican textiles can be traced to 1800 BCE, when fibers of the chichicaste plant (much like stinging nettle) were skillfully woven into fabric fragments. The pre-Hispanic era brought about the artful integration of native fibers like yucca, palm, willow and maguey. Cotton, which is not native to Mexico, made its first appearance much earlier, around 3000 BCE. Obtained through conquest and trade among ancient societies, cotton assumed a revered status and its use was restricted to the elite.

In pre-Spanish culture, textile making was not merely a technique, but a sacred gift bestowed upon women by the gods. The backstrap loom, a lightweight, mobile loom made of wood and a strap that is wrapped around the back, was exclusively operated by women, and played a central role in weaving fabrics. In those times, the intricate process of weaving, spinning, and embroidering held more than cultural significance – some fabrics were also used as currency.

The Spanish conquest ushered in a transformative era for Mexican textiles. New fibers arriving from Europe, like silk and wool, reshaped the industry. The imported foot treadle loom, often seen in Mexico today, mechanized weaving and lead to an explosion of production and a pivotal shift in the textile trade.

Mexican Textiles Travel the World

Wool and silk imports, coupled with the introduction of sheep and silkworms, catapulted Mexico into the global textile scene by the late 1500s. This period marked a significant exchange of textile knowledge and resources between Europe and the Americas.

Over time, European textile techniques became assimilated into the rich tapestry of Mexican craftsmanship. This influx of new materials spurred innovation among native weavers and resulted in a fusion of styles and patterns. Mexican textiles became sought-after commodities and unique fashion statements throughout Europe. Native weavers began exporting their diverse range of handcrafted garments and homemade items to international markets.

Their designs showcased the distinctive aesthetic of Mexican culture, characterized by vibrant colors, intricate patterns, and the use of naturally dyed fibers.

During the 19th century, the introduction of steam-powered machines opened new horizons for the textile industry in Mexico. By the late 19th century, textile production and distribution emerged as a dominant force in the country’s manufacturing sector and Mexico’s textiles became known the world over.

When industrial sewing machines became available in the early 20th century it brought about another chapter in textile production and catalyzed a new phase in the industry – the production of finished clothing.

Despite the transition to modern textile production, the influence of ancient techniques endures. Weaving has become a cultural narrative and the artisans committed to preserving traditional methods not only sustain the authenticity of Mexican textiles but also foster a sense of continuity between generations.

Mexican textiles have emerged as international representatives of cultural craftsmanship. Their global recognition reflects the adaptability of Mexico’s textile industry, which today honors its heritage while at the same time embracing contemporary trends.

Sustainable Tradition, Environmentally Ethical

Mexico’s long-standing traditional approach to textile production, rooted in sustainable and ethical practices, aligns with the growing global emphasis on environmentally conscious fashion. Mexican designers and industry leaders continue to push the boundaries of sustainable textile innovation. In 2019, the Mexico-based company Adriano di Marti, went to the Milan (Italy) Leather Fair and presented a vegan leather made from nopal cactus called Desserto. The company has developed a version of the leather called Desertex for use in automobiles; they are now working on using agave fiber, a waste byproduct of the tequila-making process, to produce a third vegan leather, Desserto Agave, for use in the fashion industry. Adriana di Marti also produces cactus yarns for woven fabrics.

The enduring history of naturally derived textiles in Mexico is a testament to the cultural richness that transcends time. Mexican textiles narrate a saga of centuries, embodying a cultural legacy that continues to flourish in the tapestry of modern life.

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

Huatulco, San Miguel de Allende

How America’s Closets (And Sometimes Runways) End Up in Mexico’s Markets

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By Kary Vannice—

Whenever I travel to a new town in Mexico, the very first thing I look for is the local tianguis market. Some people go straight to the beach or the zócalo, but I make a beeline to the used clothing stalls. There is something irresistible about those long rows of tarps and huge piles of clothing, each one holding the possibility of an unexpected treasure.

Over the years, I have found everything from soft cashmere sweaters for eighty pesos to high-end dresses like Prada and Kate Spade with the original tags still attached for under ten dollars. And every time it happens, I feel the same spark of excitement and disbelief. How did this piece, so clearly meant for a very different kind of clientele, end up here amongst the street tacos, veggies, and chingaderas?

To me, it feels like fashion magic. But what feels like magic is actually part of a far bigger story, one that starts far from Mexico’s markets and reveals a great deal about the way clothing moves around the globe.

Most people in the United States believe that when they donate clothing, it ends up hanging neatly in a thrift store, ready for a new owner. The truth is very different. Only a tiny fraction is ever resold in the U.S. More than half is bundled, compressed and shipped out of the country. Mexico happens to be one of the main destinations.

Every year, the United States exports millions of tons of used clothing. Much of it from discount retailers, thrift stores or big box stores. But you can also find unsold inventory from more upscale stores, last season’s corporate clear outs and even brand samples that never make it onto the market. A well-used T-shirt from Walmart and a designer sale sample can all end up in the same enormous stream of “fashion waste”.

Arriving in Mexico as tightly wrapped bundles known as “pacas” and sold as “Ropa Americana”, they look a lot like plastic hay bales stuffed to bursting with mostly used (but sometimes new) clothing. Vendors buy them unopened, relying on codes stamped on the plastic to guess what might be inside. A paca can hold anything from children’s sweatshirts to high quality outdoor jackets to a dress from a designer brand that never made it past the showroom. And for many families, these bales are not just bundles of clothing. They are income, opportunity and a monthly gamble they hope will pay off.

Once something enters this bulk resale circuit, it follows its own path. A single sample blouse worn once for a catalog shoot can travel thousands of kilometers and eventually land in a street market in Oaxaca, Queretaro, or Mexico City.

The Mexican tianguis shopping experience reveals something important about fashion and culture. And that is, this humble community marketplace treats all clothing the same. In the United States fashion is organized by price, privilege, and status. Here, everything becomes just another piece of clothing again. A four-thousand-dollar designer suit jacket can be found under a faded tank top from Target. Here, the fashion hierarchy completely breaks down and a shirt is simply a shirt.

This unseen migration of clothing from the US to Mexico also reflects a bigger picture. Clothing doesn’t just disappear when one person is done wearing it. It continues its journey. It moves between countries, homes, economies, and cultures. What one society considers used or outdated becomes valuable in another context and community.

In our world, discarded clothing operates as a global supply chain of waste, resale, redistribution, and revaluation. It serves as a reminder that, in fashion, value is fluid, movement is constant, and our world is far more interconnected than it appears. Here in Mexico, the tianguis culture gives us a front-row seat to something most people never see, how global waste becomes local value, and how communities creatively reshape what the world throws away into income, opportunity, and economy.

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

Huatulco

Editor’s Letter

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By Jane Bauer —

“Buy less. Choose well. Make it last” – Vivienne Westwood, English fashion designer and businesswoman.

Fifteen years ago, the first issue of The Eye rolled off the press. It was nothing more than two sheets of oversized newsprint, and the writers and I sat around a table folding each copy by hand. What pushed us to begin this project? By then, I had already lived in Mexico for more than a decade. I had married a Mexican, my daughter identifies as Mexican, and I’ve always preferred the rhythm of a small, non-touristy village to resort life. I could have continued drifting between two cultures, or I could create something that connected them. I also knew I wasn’t the only one navigating this space.

The Eye became that bridge.

Our mission is simple: to collect and share the stories, history, and layers of Mexico that readers might otherwise miss. We spotlight local businesses and give them a platform to reach new clients. We support organizations doing important work by helping them connect with volunteers and sponsors. At its heart, The Eye is about building community—not a parallel community that sits apart from the Mexican one, but a pathway into it. Learn about this place. Get involved. Participate. That has always been the purpose. And fifteen years later, it still is. We are very excited to announce the launch of The Eye San Miguel de Allende. Be sure to check it out.

This month, our writers explore fashion, a topic that can seem frivolous at first glance but is, in truth, a revealing lens through which to examine human behavior. The choice of what to wear is something each of us makes every day. Our clothes carry meaning, whether cultural, historical, or environmental. What are you wearing right now as you read this? What does your choice of fabric or brand say about you? Like all consumer goods, the items we choose to spend our money on have a rippling effect that, in an increasingly globalized world, can reach as far as the shores of Africa.

As we prepare for the New Year, let each of us take stock of the choices we make and the echoes they create.

Happy New Year, and see you in January.

Jane

San Miguel de Allende

The History of Fabrica La Aurora

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Rebecca Desiree C. —

Before becoming the center for creativity and culture known locally as La Aurora Centro de Arte y Diseño, La Aurora was once just a simple textile factory. Originally launched in 1902, Fabrica La Aurora operated as a major producer of fine cotton textiles in San Miguel de Allende.

For about nine decades, the factory would go on to provide a source of livelihood to hundreds of locals, but it would later shut down in 1991 due to declining demands for local fabrics and rising production costs.

For more than a decade following its shutdown, the factory lay abandoned until the descendants of its founders chose to put the property up for sale in the early years of the 21st century. This article will share a bit of the history of Fabrica Aurora and its transformation into one of San Miguel de Allende’s most celebrated centers for art, culture, and creative expression.
A Brief History of Old Fabrica La Aurora
Fabrica La Aurora was one of the largest and most important textile factories in central Mexico. According to local accounts, at its height, the factory employed more than 300 people and was a major player in the thread and textile market in Mexico.

The factory remained in business for most of the 20th century, dominating the textile market in central Mexico, spreading its products to the rest of the country. From the end of the 1970s, however, the factory began to face challenges that eventually lead to its gradual decline and closure. Some of these challenges included increased global textile competition, outdated machinery that struggled to keep up with modern production standards, and the economic instability that struck Mexico during the 1980s. The factory would continue to struggle for one more decade before finally closing down in 1991. While definitive archival records are scarce, local histories attribute the closure in 1991 to rising global competition, out-dated machinery and broader economic pressures in Mexico’s textile sector.

Upon the factory’s closure, most of its infrastructure was left in place, the entire facility abandoned. Things would stay this way until, over a decade later, the decision was made to sell the property. This single decision would go on to set the stage for one of the most creative and inspiring transformations in Mexico’s history.

From Abandoned Textile Factory to Hub of Creativity
In many ways, La Aurora’s transformation into one of the biggest cultural centers in San Miguel came as the result of a shared vision and a willingness to do what it takes to make said vision a reality.

The property was put up for sale in the early 2000s. Having been abandoned for over a decade, its machines corroded and its infrastructure in a clear state of disrepair, the sale was not a highly competitive one. However, this would end up working in favour of a small group of artists, designers, and investors, who shared a similar vision for the site’s revival.

For this group, the goal wasn’t to revive the factory to its glory days or even restore its facilities and infrastructure; it was to inspire. By turning this abandoned, local landmark into a cultural center, the group hoped not just to preserve a piece of San Miguel’s history but also to prove that even broken things can be transformed into something new and beautiful.

In 2004, the factory officially reopened, now under new management. Gone were the days of Fabrica La Aurora, the textile factory. In its place stood La Aurora Centro de Arte y Diseño, a haven dedicated to art, culture, and creativity.

La Aurora’s transformation from an abandoned 20th-century textile factory to the 21st-century creative and cultural powerhouse it is today didn’t happen by chance; it was the result of shared vision, determination, and unwavering belief that art could breathe new life into history.

Behind La Aurora’s transformation stand the bold artists and designers who chose to reimagine what was once a relic of industry into a living canvas of creativity. Notable names here include Christopher Fallon, Mary Rapp, Merry Calderoni, and DeWayne Youts, amongst others. Where most people saw heavily deteriorated infrastructure and machinery that had accumulated over a decade’s worth of rust and decay, these men and women saw the chance to build something extraordinary from the remnants of the past.

La Aurora Today — More Than Just a Renovated Factory
Today, the transformation of La Aurora is an inspiring example of cultural regeneration. In just two decades, the formerly abandoned factory had transformed into a creative sanctuary for artists and designers that houses a collection of art and design studios, galleries, and workshops.

Since its reopening the property has gone through a few renovations to fit its new purpose. Halls and corridors that used to house rows of looms and spinning machines now proudly display galleries and studios showcasing paintings, sculptures, furniture, and handcrafted designs from various artists and designers.

In just two decades, La Aurora had successfully reinvented itself. A quick look at the Cultural Center of Art and Design, La Aurora, today, and you’d be hard-pressed to see that century-old factory that was left unattended for over a decade. Instead, what you’d see is a thriving cultural landscape rich with art, design, and imagination; proof that even once-abandoned things can be given new life and made relevant again.

La Aurora Centro de Arte y Diseño is located just north of San Miguel’s historic center and is open to the public year-round, with regular art walks, exhibitions, and cafés within the old factory walls.