I got my wish: New York University accepted me, and I spent several years immersed in the New York City scene, absorbing everything that an expensive American education promises: intellectual rigor, professional networks, the intoxicating energy of a global city. 

It was a wonderful experience, but it broke the bank and sent me through the spiral of New York City extremes: late nights, hustling ambition, ruthless competition — and some intense partying. When I look at my student loan balance today, I can’t say there are no regrets.

Now, decades later, I find myself on the other side of the equation, as a college professor running a business in Mexico City. I’ve started asking questions I never thought to ask as a teenager: What does higher education look like here in Mexico? What is the price range? What programs are Mexican universities strongest in? How are schools here different from universities around the globe? And, perhaps most importantly, how are these schools regarded internationally and in the workplace? 

The landscape of Mexican higher education

Mexico has 1,250 registered universities serving a nation of 128 million. At the apex sit institutions largely unknown to Americans but integral to Mexican society and Latin American academia.

Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México (UNAM) is a giant: Founded in 1551, it’s one of the oldest universities in the Americas and enrolls over 350,000 students. Its brutalist architecture main campus, a UNESCO World Heritage site, sprawls across former lava fields in southern Mexico City. This is where Mexico’s presidents, intellectuals and Nobel laureates have been educated for generations.

Then there’s Tecnológico de Monterrey, known as “el Tec.” Founded in 1943 by Monterrey industrialists, it’s Mexico’s premier private university, with 26 campuses nationwide: Think Mexico’s Stanford, focused on innovation and entrepreneurship.

The Instituto Politécnico Nacional (IPN), founded in 1936, serves as the public counterpart, specializing in engineering and technical fields. The Metropolitan Autonomous University (UAM) in Mexico City focuses on social sciences and humanities. Private institutions like Universidad Panamericana and Anáhuac University cater to upper-middle-class families seeking Catholic educational values and smaller class sizes.

Yet by global metrics, Mexican higher education remains invisible. Not a single Mexican university appears in the top 100 of the QS World University Rankings or the Times Higher Education World University Rankings for 2025–2026. UNAM has slipped to No. 136 on QS’s rankings. Tec de Monterrey ranks seventh in Latin America, but No. 187 worldwide. Compare this to MIT’s near-perfect scores or Oxford’s century-long prestige and the gap between Mexico’s universities and these academic titans seems unbridgeable.

The price of prestige

Undergraduate programs in Mexico paint an encouraging picture: UNAM charges a symbolic cuota of approximately 0.25 pesos (practically free) per year, plus minor fees like 490 pesos for the admission exam. For many Mexican students, it’s highly accessible. IPN operates similarly, with semester fees around 400 pesos, making technical education accessible to working-class families historically locked out of professional careers.

The private institutions tell a different story. Tec de Monterrey charges around 350,000 pesos (about US $19,600) annually; expensive by Mexican standards but accessible to the growing middle class via scholarships. Universities like Anáhuac and Panamericana reach around 150,000-200,000 pesos (about US $8,500–$12,000) per year.

Even at the high end, these prices seem quaint. A single semester at NYU now exceeds $60,000. Full cost of attendance pushes $90,000 annually.

This creates a paradox that global rankings can’t measure: accessibility versus prestige. While I was accumulating debt that takes decades to repay, Mexican students were earning degrees for a fraction of the cost. The question becomes: What is that prestige worth?

Why the rankings gap persists

The machinery of global university rankings operates on assumptions that favor wealthy, English-speaking institutions. Statistics such as research volume and the number of academic citations per faculty member carry enormous weight. Many of these metrics require sustained funding, international collaboration networks and publication in high-impact English-language academic journals. Mexican universities, operating with tighter budgets and publishing primarily in Spanish, find themselves automatically disadvantaged.

Internationalization presents another barrier. Elite institutions assemble diverse student bodies and faculty from around the world. Mexican universities serve primarily Mexican students, a model that makes a great deal of sense for a national education system but reads as provincial in global metrics.

Reputation perpetuates existing hierarchies. Academic and employer panels recognize names they already know: Harvard, Oxford, the Sorbonne. It’s a self-reinforcing cycle where prestige begets prestige.

What rankings miss

Yet Mexico’s academic world reveals what rankings cannot capture. UNAM houses world-class researchers in fields from astronomy (it operates major telescopes) to anthropology (its scholars lead excavations of pre-Hispanic sites).

Tec de Monterrey has pioneered educational models focused on entrepreneurship and practical innovation, emphasizing problem-based learning and industry partnerships. IPN has educated generations of Mexican engineers from modest backgrounds who went on to lead the country’s industrial development.

These institutions serve their own societies in deeply impactful ways. They train the doctors, engineers, lawyers and teachers that keep a nation functioning. They conduct research on local problems — water management, earthquake engineering, Indigenous language preservation — that might not generate citations in international academic research but that matter to millions.

The broader question

This raises questions about how we value education globally. The rankings industry has created a monoculture of aspiration, where universities worldwide chase the same metrics, often at the expense of contributions to their local communities. These universities pour resources into attracting international students and faculty, into publishing in English, into research areas favored by citation indices, all to climb a few spots on a list that may or may not correlate with actual educational quality.

Meanwhile, the debt crisis in American higher education continues to worsen. The average U.S. student now graduates owing nearly $30,000, and many owe far more, whereas a Mexican student who graduates from UNAM debt-free, with a solid education and connections to their country’s professional networks, may well have better long-term prospects than their American counterpart drowning in loan payments despite a degree from a “better” institution.

Looking forward

As I advise my own students now, I find myself questioning the assumptions I never thought to question at their age. The global higher education system measures international visibility but not local impact, research citations but not teaching quality, prestige but not accessibility.

Mexican universities may not currently crack the global top 100. But perhaps that says more about the limitations of our ranking systems than about the quality of education these universities provide. In a world increasingly questioning the sustainability of elite higher education’s cost structure, institutions that deliver quality education affordably might represent the future.

Monica Belot is a writer, researcher, strategist and adjunct professor at Parsons School of Design in New York City, where she teaches in the Strategic Design & Management Program. Splitting her time between NYC and Mexico City, where she resides with her naughty silver labrador puppy Atlas, Monica writes about topics spanning everything from the human experience to travel and design research. Follow her varied scribbles on Medium at medium.com/@monicabelot.

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Yet Friedeberg’s work is held in the permanent collections of over 50 museums, including the Museum of Modern Art, the Musée du Louvre, and the Smithsonian American Art Museum. He has participated in over 100 exhibitions and continues to collaborate with brands like Montblanc, Jose Cuervo and Corona. 

Despite this institutional recognition and commercial success, however, he remains relatively “under-the-radar” compared to his contemporaries who garnered more fame, like Salvador Dalí. But this distinction seems to suit him just fine.

Friedeberg’s biography: European roots

Born in Florence in 1936 to Jewish parents fleeing Mussolini and escaping the Holocaust, Friedeberg arrived in Mexico City as a 3-year-old. His grandmother, who had settled in Mexico years earlier in 1911, introduced him to art books, featuring works such as Arnold Böcklin’s “The Isle of the Dead.”

These early influences — including Renaissance architecture, Gothic forms and, later, the Aztec codices he discovered in his adopted homeland — would create the visual vocabulary and symbology that permeate his work.

In 1957, Friedeberg enrolled in architecture school at Universidad Iberoamericana but resisted his professors’ insistence on strict symmetry and conventional forms; instead, he leaned toward his imaginative impulses. 

He began drawing fantastical, impossible architectural designs: houses with artichoke roofs, and buildings that appeared to twist and fold in on themselves. These sketches caught the attention of Mathias Goeritz, a renowned painter and sculptor who encouraged Friedeberg to leave his architectural studies to pursue art.

Through family connections, he met surrealist artists like Remedios Varo and Leonora Carrington, becoming part of Los Hartos (The Fed-Up Ones), an irreverent collective that rejected the political and social realism dominant in postwar Mexican art, in favor of art for art’s sake.

The romantic tumult of his personal life — four marriages, including one to Polish countess Wanda Zamoyska that he described as surreal, as a circus and as crazy, but tiring — eventually melted into a quieter domestic rhythm.

With his last wife, Carmen Gutiérrez, whom he described as “a very serious woman,” he raised two children. Fatherhood changed him, curtailing the nights of drinking and worldwide travel that had characterized his earlier years. 

Practical yet absurd

Friedeberg is most famous for his work “Hand Chair” of 1962. The piece is both furniture and sculpture, practical and absurd: a giant wooden hand inviting you to sit in its palm, using the fingers as backrest and armrests. 

The chair exemplifies Friedeberg’s philosophy of useless beauty, transforming a functional object into something delightfully impractical. Today, giant Hand Chairs sit atop prominent buildings in Mexico City, while authorized and unauthorized reproductions are carried in design showrooms and flea markets around the world.

But to focus only on “Hand Chair” would be to miss the breadth of Friedeberg’s prolific practice. His work spans a wide variety of ideas and influences: paintings filled with optical illusions and hybrid symbols, intricate prints drawing on everything from the Torah to Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, furniture that appears to sprout human appendages, psychedelic album covers and montages where impossible architecture incorporates symbols from Catholicism, Hinduism and the occult.

Each piece is produced with detailed technical precision. Friedeberg works entirely with traditional media, using rulers, pencils, erasers and protractors, like the craftsmen of another time. 

“I admire everything that is useless, frivolous and whimsical,” Friedeberg once said, and this philosophy extends to his opinions on contemporary art. He hates minimalism with a passion, calling it “a hoax,” and insists that art should not be reduced to the abstract. 

This stance put him at odds with figures like Luis Barragán, whose colorful, simple modernist architecture Friedeberg has openly disdained. 

Friedeberg wouldn’t call himself a surrealist, per se. It’s a typical response from an artist who has spent his career humbly resisting categorization, even as the label “the last living Surrealist” follows him. But perhaps the resistance to classification makes sense: Friedeberg’s work — with its geometric precision, architectural impossibilities and almost psychedelic imagery — feels like the meticulous constructions of a trained architect who simply refuses to acknowledge the laws of physics.

What makes Friedeberg so fascinating is this contradiction: He’s an artist of incredible technical skill who dismisses meaning and symbolism in his own work, a surrealist who rejects the label, a creator of impossible architectures who never completed his architecture degree, a maker of useful objects designed to be useless. 

In an art world often dominated by conceptual gestures and theoretical abstractions, Friedeberg offers something increasingly rare: pure craft in service of pure whimsy, meticulously rendered worlds where nothing makes sense — and that’s the point.

A 2022 Netflix documentary simply titled “Pedro,” tells the tale of how filmmaker Liora Spilk Bialostozky spent a decade documenting the artist’s life, capturing both his public persona and the more tender, private self. The film offers an intimate portrait of a man who describes his work as “a commentary on other people’s art,” even as his technical genius and originality remain undisputed. 

It’s worth watching for anyone interested in one of the last true intellectuals of our time, an artist who consults the I-Ching daily and maintains a collection of saints despite identifying as an atheist, who creates art that references centuries of visual culture while remaining stubbornly, unmistakably his own.

Still building impossible worlds

At 89, Friedeberg shows no signs of slowing down, still granting interviews and maintaining his rigorous studio practice, while his work continues to be displayed in new gallery showings. Friedeberg lives in the same Colonia Roma home where he works in Mexico City, a maximalist sanctuary he once jokingly called “un museo de basura” (a museum of garbage) filled with art by Man Ray, José Luis Cuevas and Rufino Tamayo alongside his own creations and collected curiosities.

It seems Friedeberg will keep doing what he’s always done: creating his fantastical worlds, one impossible structure, one absurd hybrid creature, one useless beautiful object at a time. For an artist who insists that art is dead and nothing new is being produced, he seems committed to proving himself wrong.

Monica Belot is a writer, researcher, strategist and adjunct professor at Parsons School of Design in New York City, where she teaches in the Strategic Design & Management Program. Splitting her time between NYC and Mexico City, where she resides with her naughty silver labrador puppy Atlas, Monica writes about topics spanning everything from the human experience to travel and design research. Follow her varied scribbles on Medium at medium.com/@monicabelot.

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There’s also no better way to get the pulse of another country than through its local voices, and podcasts are one of the most accessible and dynamic ways to do it. They’re also a surprisingly effective way to practice your Spanish comprehension if it’s not your native language (it helps to turn down the speed of the podcast to 0.5x). Beyond that, they offer fascinating insights into the cultural priorities, humor and storytelling style of Mexico today.

Below, we’ve vetted a variety of podcasts based in Mexico that are on our radar today. There’s something for everyone, ranging from salacious gossipy productions with mass appeal to serious podcasts with business-focused insights, tales of horror, self-improvement content and hilarious storytelling. 

Without further ado, here are some of the most engaging Mexican podcasts of the moment worth adding to your queue.

La Magia del Caos

La Magia del Caos takes its name from the tagline “Sin caos, no puede haber cambio. Sin cambio no hay evolución” (“Without chaos, there can’t be change. Without change, there is no evolution”), capturing its focus on growth through life’s messiness. Hosted by Mexican actress Aislinn Derbez, the show mixes candid, heart-centered conversations with therapists, artists and public figures. What feels like friends “shooting the shit” carries a deeper intention: exploring behavior, awareness and self-improvement with humor and vulnerability.

Drawing on Derbez’s personal experience, the podcast tackles themes like relationships, motherhood, trauma and growth. Each episode offers emotional insight and practical wisdom that help listeners turn chaos into evolution.

Accionables

Accionables with Orlando Osorio is a fast-paced podcast for startup and tech enthusiasts, offering deep insights into Latin America’s venture capital scene, founder journeys and the region’s technology ecosystem. Each episode features influential VCs, founders, operators and tech leaders who break down growth marketing, go-to-market strategies, team building, management tactics, productivity tools and the latest industry trends.

The show is a gem for ambitious listeners navigating Mexico City’s booming startup ecosystem, and for those seeking tips on growth, productivity and innovation. A standout episode features Natalia González, a Mexican-born and U.S.-raised venture capital investor, who shares personal stories, practical advice and her perspectives on the future of investing in the region.

Leyendas Legendarias

Leyendas Legendarias is a cult favorite for good reason. The show fuses true crime, paranormal mysteries and humorous history with irreverent comedy. Hosted by José Antonio Badía, Eduardo Espinosa and Mario Capistrán, the trio dives into notorious cases like “La Mataviejitas” and legendary phenomena — always with a focus on the bizarre and offbeat. The latest episode I caught was titled “El Defecador Serial” (“The Serial Defecator”) and if that doesn’t make you chuckle, you have no soul.

Since launching in 2019, it’s become one of the most popular Spanish-language podcasts, topping Spotify rankings in Mexico and ranking among the most downloaded across Latin America.

Cracks Podcast con Oso Trava

Cracks Podcast, hosted by entrepreneur Oso Trava, is known for deep-dive interviews with Mexico’s business, tech and arts elite. Guests range from billionaire Carlos Slim to 87-year-old surrealist painter Pedro Friedeberg, as well as other avant-garde creatives and industry heavyweights. Trava’s style is direct but thoughtful, bringing conversations on success, resilience and personal philosophy. With his wide range of guests, Cracks gives us insight into Mexico’s entrepreneurial and creative circles. The podcast has plenty of food for thought, with over 350 episodes, and has gained high acclaim.

Querida Valeria

Hosted by Mexican actress and psychologist Carla Cardona, Querida Valeria is an intimate, emotionally-focused podcast that provides listeners with self-help tools and candid explorations of mental health topics like vulnerability, heartbreak and self-acceptance. It’s an intimate, emotionally grounded podcast that feels like getting letters from a wise friend. Inspired by Cardona’s own life, every episode feels personal and encourages listeners to lean into their emotional journeys and growth.

A recent fascinating episode features Mexican sports legend Lorena Ochoa — the former world #1 ranked professional golfer — who speaks not only about her athletic career but also delivers some inspiring tips on resilience and self-belief.

Dementes Podcast

Dementes (meaning insane, crazy or demented) is hosted by Diego Barrazas and is intended for those who defy traditional career paths. It features practical conversations with industry leaders who have carved unconventional routes to success, sharing challenges, lessons learned and actionable advice. With its energetic, inclusive tone, the show resonates strongly with ambitious millennials in Mexico, blending career development, creativity and entrepreneurship.

Since launching in 2016, Dementes has grown into one of the top podcasts in its category with over 15 million downloads. Guests range across diverse industries, but the focus is consistent: long-term entrepreneurship, cultivating creative skills and embracing the mindset of being an “outsider” as a strength. It gives TED Talk energy but is more casual.

Territorio Rojo

This one will have you on the edge of your seat. Territorio Rojo is one of Latin America’s most impactful and chilling true crime podcasts, which covers the dark reality of narcotrafficking and organized crime in Mexico. It’s not sensationalist. It takes a serious, journalistic approach to stories that are unfortunately real, uncovering the violence, corruption, insecurity and the complicity networks that sustain the infiltration of organized crime into institutions. 

Episodes delve into high-profile incidents like the 2012 Cadereyta massacre, acts of citizen resistance such as Alejo Garza’s stand against cartel gunmen, and the infiltration of organized crime into institutions. The podcast takes an investigative, ethical approach, highlighting both atrocities and the human stories of courage, grief and resilience.

Growth, entertainment and a new perspective

It’s no surprise that podcasts have exploded by 718% over the last decade. Podcasts are entertaining and informing today’s multitasking listeners. Think of them as cultural time capsules, giving us a glimpse into how a society laughs, reflects, functions, grieves, hustles and dreams. 

So next time you lace up your sneakers or hop in the shower, consider pressing play on a Mexican podcast. You’ll be entertained, challenged, and — most importantly — invited into another way of seeing the world.

What are your favorite Mexican podcasts? Share them in the comments below, and stay tuned for Part II of Mexican Podcasts of the Moment.

Monica Belot is a writer, researcher, strategist and adjunct professor at Parsons School of Design in New York City, where she teaches in the Strategic Design & Management Program. Splitting her time between NYC and Mexico City, where she resides with her naughty silver labrador puppy Atlas, Monica writes about topics spanning everything from the human experience to travel and design research. Follow her varied scribbles on Medium at medium.com/@monicabelot.

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Produce in Mexico tastes so much more like itself, even though American fruits and vegetables often look like something out of a commercial. Why is that? Is it the climate? The soil? A closer look at the regulatory policies of both countries gives us some clues.

I’ll say it plainly: Much of the food in the United States is a cesspool of disease-inducing toxicity. American food culture is facing a reckoning. Obesity is at an all-time high, chronic illness is rampant, and cancers that were once rare among younger adults — like colorectal cancer — are now appearing more and more in people in their 30s and 40s.

These ominous trends aren’t random. They’re a result of decades of troublesome food policies that set the United States apart from much of the developed world — indicators of a system that consistently prioritizes corporate profit over public health.

First-world country, third-world practices

Europe and Latin America maintain stronger regulatory safeguards and stricter food-safety standards than the U.S. due to one major difference in policy: The European Union’s regulatory body, the European Food Safety Authority (EFSA), takes a precautionary approach, so if a food or agricultural product’s safety is not definitively clear, it can be banned or restricted until it’s proven safe. The U.S. Food and Drug Administration and the United States Department of Agriculture, however, generally take a more risk-based approach, allowing food products on the market until harm is proven. According to the website of the food safety compliance consulting B2B company RDR Global Partners, the USDA allows food manufacturers to determine the safety of certain food additives without FDA preapproval.

The EFSA, for example, bans or refuses approval for hundreds — in some estimates, over a thousand — agricultural products and chemical food additives under this principle, many of which are legal in the U.S. This list includes toxic pesticides, synthetic hormones, growth antibiotics and artificial dyes linked to cancer and hyperactivity in children.

Meanwhile, American grocery shelves remain filled with products that would be pulled from stores in Paris or Berlin.

The case of paraquat

Consider the recent case of paraquat, a pesticide manufactured in China but banned for use there because of its toxicity. Despite clear evidence linking it to Parkinson’s disease and other severe health issues, the U.S. recently ruled it permissible for agricultural use. The logic is not logical: it’s too dangerous for Chinese farmers in the country that exports it, but acceptable for American ones. 

Robert F. Kennedy Jr., whether you like him or not, has brought to light many of these alarming truths. Corporate influence has dangerously compromised America’s food-safety system, prioritizing profit margins over public health. It’s broken, and the cracks are showing.

Looking South

So where does Mexico fit into this story? Are its agricultural practices any better than those of its Northern neighbor’s?

The answer is, it’s complicated (and isn’t everything these days). 

Mexico’s regulatory framework reflects a different set of priorities. In many respects, it protects public health significantly more than the U.S. does. The country has banned 183 highly hazardous pesticides that remain authorized in the U.S. In 2025, it went further, prohibiting an additional 35 toxic pesticides, including aldicarb, carbofuran, and endosulfan — all of which are still used in American agriculture.

Mexico is also phasing out glyphosate (the controversial herbicide linked to everything from cancer to neurological disorders), though slowly and under pressure from U.S. trade negotiators. Beyond pesticides, Mexico bans recombinant bovine growth hormone (rBGH), used widely in American dairy; chlorine-washing of chicken, a standard U.S. poultry practice; and several synthetic food dyes linked to behavioral issues in children.

Even preservatives tell a story: BHA and BHT — common in American processed foods despite links to cancer — are banned in Mexico. Potassium bromate, still found in U.S. baked goods, is illegal in Mexican bread.

The organic alternative

Mexico’s commitment to agricultural reform extends beyond just “banning the bad stuff.” The country and its regulatory bodies have embraced organic and agroecological farming with enthusiasm. With 246,899 hectares of certified organic land, Mexico ranks as one of the largest organic food producers in the world. Its organic standards are rated much stronger than American standards in terms of sustainable management. 

There is a fundamentally different vision of agriculture in Mexico — one that prioritizes small-scale farming (70% of Mexican farms are only five hectares or less) and sustainable methods over the large-scale industrial operations and corporate mega-farms that dominate American food production. The result is an agricultural culture that values flavor, biodiversity and ecological balance as much as yield.

The American advantage

To be fair, it’s not as if Mexico has “solved agriculture.” Far from it. The country still permits 140 highly hazardous pesticides that are banned elsewhere. Regulatory enforcement can also be inconsistent across regions. 

Meanwhile, the U.S. still outperforms Mexico in several areas: consistent monitoring systems, stronger data infrastructure, better farmer training and advanced technology for precision agriculture. American farms are more efficient, more productive and better equipped for large-scale distribution. But efficiency isn’t the same as quality. Producing more food doesn’t mean producing better food.

No-nutrient produce

In fact, these industrial farming practices in the U.S. have led to significant declines in the nutritional value of produce due to soil degradation, monoculture (when only one crop is grown versus a seasonal rotation), heavy synthetic fertilizer use and prioritizing crop yield over nutrient density. For example, U.S.-grown fruits and vegetables today contain less protein, calcium, iron, magnesium and vitamins compared to those grown decades ago, with documented drops in nutrient levels in key crops like broccoli and corn.​ 

However, because a greater proportion of Mexican agriculture uses traditional methods —crop rotation, polyculture, conservation agriculture or organic fertilization — soil health and nutrient density are better sustained.​ The prevalence of small farms in Mexico means that they often maintain higher organic matter and soil fertility compared to intensive crops due to less stripping of native vegetation and more integrated management.

What we choose to tolerate

At its core, this is about priorities. The U.S. can mass grow pristine-looking tomatoes by the ton, but they’re flavorless, lacking in nutrients and chemically saturated.

Mexico’s tomatoes, by contrast, may often look imperfect but taste like the real thing because they are. They’re less engineered for shelf life and more shaped by natural soil, sunlight and microbial balance. They reflect a value system where flavor, nutrition and ecological health matter more than yield, profit and appearance.

For a country that calls itself “the greatest nation on earth,” it’s shocking that the U.S. tolerates standards rejected by much of the developed world. When a developing nation with a fraction of America’s wealth and resources implements stricter food safety standards, it exposes the way American regulatory bodies disregard the safety and well-being of consumers in the name of profit.

 “American-made” has become less a guarantee of quality than a warning label for products that wouldn’t pass elsewhere.

Priorities, not perfection

This isn’t about perfection — neither country has achieved that. But it is about priorities. And right now, America’s priorities in food production seem oriented toward every constituency except the people who actually eat the food. Until that changes, we’ll continue producing gorgeous, tasteless tomatoes while rates of diet-related diseases climb. We’ll continue allowing chemicals in our food supply that China won’t permit on its own soil. We’ll continue calling ourselves exceptional while accepting standards that would be considered unacceptable almost anywhere else in the developed world

The evidence is there. The question is whether we’ll demand better before the crisis becomes impossible to ignore.

Monica Belot is a writer, researcher, strategist and adjunct professor at Parsons School of Design in New York City, where she teaches in the Strategic Design & Management Program. Splitting her time between NYC and Mexico City, where she resides with her naughty silver labrador puppy Atlas, Monica writes about topics spanning everything from the human experience to travel and design research. Follow her varied scribbles on Medium at medium.com/@monicabelot.

The post When ‘made in America’ becomes a warning label: food safety in the US vs. Mexico appeared first on Mexico News Daily

A psychologist, María Sotres, explained that she had spent nearly three years working in women’s prisons as the former Directora del Programa Integral de Reinserción Social (Director of the Social Reintegration Program) for La Cana, an organization that provides workshops, creative job training, mental health support, education and legal aid to incarcerated women.

As she spoke, we found ourselves captivated by stories that exposed unsettling truths not only about Mexico’s penal system, but about the broader gender inequalities that shape women’s lives throughout Mexican society.

Gender and the prison system

Today, roughly 15,261 women are incarcerated in Mexico — only about 6.1% of the total prison population. Yet María described a striking double standard: outside men’s prisons, long lines of visitors — mothers, sisters, grandmothers, brothers — wait with oversized stuffed animals and gifts. By contrast, the visiting areas of women’s prisons are nearly deserted. Many incarcerated women go years without a single visit. 

Families often frame men’s crimes with sympathy or excuses, while women are scorned and abandoned. It’s a stark illustration of the patriarchal norms and gender biases that continue to shape life — and punishment — in Mexico.

Why women end up behind bars

In Mexico, theft is the leading cause of female incarceration, followed by kidnapping, homicide and drug-related crimes. But as Sotres points out, many of these cases are not as clear-cut as they seem. Often, they are crimes of survival — acts of self-protection or desperation — and the data support her observations.

Most incarcerated women come from backgrounds marked by poverty, limited education and social exclusion. Many carry histories of gender-based violence — physical, emotional or sexual — frequently at the hands of partners or family members. These experiences don’t just precede their time in prison. They often play a direct role in the very crimes for which they are convicted.

Abuse, economic dependence and coercion often push women into illegal activities. Some are pressured by male partners to participate in drug trafficking or theft. Others end up taking the blame for crimes committed within their households or by organized groups led by men. It is not uncommon for women in prison to have suffered sexual violence, including rape, before their incarceration.

Another recurring theme is familial responsibility. Many of these women were the sole breadwinners, struggling to keep households afloat after being abandoned by partners or left with children to care for. For some, the path to prison began with a decision made under pressure. Stealing to feed a family, or submitting to a relative’s demand to carry out a crime.

The result is a system where women are punished not only for breaking the law, but for carrying the compounded weight of poverty, abuse and patriarchal double standards.

Guilty until proven innocent 

Another disturbing thing to learn was that under Mexico’s Constitution and criminal procedure laws, judges can impose prisión preventiva (pretrial detention), which is justified using judicial reasoning (prisión preventiva justificada) and automatic for certain crimes. Mexico has one of the highest rates of pretrial detention in Latin America, with roughly four out of 10 prisoners awaiting trial, but not yet convicted. People can spend months or even years in detention before their case is resolved, often longer than the maximum sentence for the alleged crime.

While there are cases in the United States where suspects can be detained if judicially demonstrated to be violent or flight risks, Mexico’s pretrial detention system requires judges to automatically jail people for certain offenses, without assessing individual risk or case circumstances. It deprives suspects of liberty based on accusation rather than proven guilt. There are documented cases in Mexico where innocent people have spent years in prison, with many only being released after years of pretrial detention when their innocence was finally proven.

In Mexico, about 49%-53% of incarcerated women are held in pretrial detention, compared to 40%-49% of incarcerated men. This means women are more likely than men to be jailed without a conviction while awaiting trial, and they also tend to spend longer periods in pretrial detention than men. Women are also more likely to receive harsher sentences due to a lack of gender perspective within the legal system. 

Babies in jail: The children of incarcerated women 

A shocking ten percent of incarcerated women have been pregnant while in custody. Many of these pregnancies result from conjugal visits with partners, and in most cases, women give birth behind bars. By law, they are allowed to keep their children with them until the age of three. Mother and child live together around the clock in small sections of the prison designated for women with children. These spaces are restrictive: children grow up subject to the same rules as their mothers, from the number of clothes they can own to the kinds of foods they are allowed to eat. There is no access to formal education or stimulation beyond the confines of prison life, and the developmental costs are profound. One study notes:

“The first three years of a person’s life are among the most critical for development … The consequences of exposure to adverse situations in this period can manifest during adulthood in the form of diseases such as obesity, diabetes, depression and post-traumatic stress, among others.”

Sotres recalls speaking to one child about colors and realizing the child could name only blue and beige. The child had learned the palette of her world from the grey-blue of prison walls and the beige of uniforms.

Glimmers of hope and humanity

When I asked Maria whether the challenges, gender injustice and systemic difficulties ever caused her to lose faith, she surprised me with her response. Far from feeling discouraged, she described witnessing remarkable moments of humanity and kindness behind bars. During one workshop she was leading, when a transgender man introduced himself as Rosa, she recounts, the other women called out “No! Tell her your real name!” urging him to be proud, until he shyly re-introduced himself as Jesus — revealing the supportive environment that stood in contrast to men’s prisons, where transgender people must be separated from the main prison population for their own safety.

She also spoke of the women’s agreements of nonviolence, pacts they made with one another to avoid fights, and of the eagerness to learn. Classrooms were always full. And she emphasized the importance of what happens after prison. La Cana not only runs workshops inside prisons – knitting, sewing, embroidery – where women receive fair payment for their work, but also meets them at the prison gates upon release to make sure they are safe, housed and able to find employment. They even bring work to women under house arrest with ankle monitors. According to La Cana, 97% of women who participate in these programs do not return to prison.

Despite inequalities, change is possible

While Mexico’s justice system continues to reflect the deep inequalities that define women’s lives, the work of organizations like La Cana proves that meaningful change is possible. In the end, these accounts remind us that even in the most unlikely places, compassion can flourish.

You can purchase products handmade in prisons by Mexican women at La Cana’s website, or find out about other opportunities to help at www.lacana.mx. 

Monica Belot is a writer, researcher, strategist and adjunct professor at Parsons School of Design in New York City, where she teaches in the Strategic Design & Management Program. Splitting her time between NYC and Mexico City, where she resides with her naughty silver labrador puppy Atlas, Monica writes about topics spanning everything from the human experience to travel and design research. Follow her varied scribbles on Medium at medium.com/@monicabelot.

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The modern-day concept of a Señora has implications that touch upon age, female roles, family, tradition and class. 

So who is this (sometimes infamous) character? What do Mexicans mean when they talk about una Señora? What does it mean to be a Señora today? 

The Señora, traditionally

In Mexican society, being called “Señora” touches on three interconnected aspects: sexuality, civil status and age. According to research by Hortensia Moreno, an academic at UNAM’s Center for Gender Research and Studies, these connotations reflect gender stereotypes active in Mexican society, despite belonging to an older symbolic framework.

In a Spanish cultural context, a Señora refers to a respectable, mature, traditionally feminine woman. 

My neighbor, Rosario, explains: A Señora is usually a married woman, she says, often someone who has kids. You wouldn’t really call a woman in her early 30s a Señora; it more refers to someone mature, who acts like it. 

The transition from “Señorita” to “Señora” represents a critical moment in Mexican women’s lives, often occurring around age 40, regardless of marital status. This shift carries emotional weight because it’s perceived as indicating a loss of youth. Many Mexican women resist being called “Señora” because it implies they’ve crossed into a demographic associated with diminished social value. 

Despite traditional associations with the term, the definition of a Señora has expanded into a stereotype that is both celebrated and satirized; memes and comedic sketches often feature the “Señora de la colonia” (neighborhood Señora), a woman who gossips, maintains order at social events and upholds traditional values but secretly enjoys luxury and intrigue.

The Señora in pop culture and telenovelas

In Mexican pop culture and telenovelas, this figure is brought to life as a woman of elegance and authority, often wrapped in privilege and dramatized with a flair that makes her unforgettable. She is the matriarch who commands a room with her impeccable fashion, the high-society hostess who enforces etiquette with precision, and the sharp-tongued presence whose wit and sarcasm can both entertain and intimidate. Always poised, always stylish, the Señora moves through stories as both a pillar of tradition and, at times, a villainous force.

No actress captured this archetype more vividly than Mexican actress María Rubio in her role as Catalina Creel in Cuna de Lobos. Catalina is the sophisticated and ruthless matriarch of the Larios-Creel family, known for her trademark eye patch. A refined, commanding and impeccably poised character, her ambition revolves around ensuring her son Alejandro becomes the sole heir to the family’s pharmaceutical empire, eliminating anyone — through lies, manipulation and even murder — who threatens her goals. 

The character’s exaggerated elegance, authoritative nature and high-society demeanor turned her into the definitive telenovela Señora, a figure so iconic that she continues to define the archetype in Mexico’s cultural imagination.

‘Yo no soy una señora’ 

In 2009, Mexican pop star María José reignited the cultural conversation around what it means to be a Señora with her explosive cover of “Yo No Soy Una Señora.” Catchy and defiant, the track quickly became a national anthem of female empowerment — pushing back against the very stereotypes that telenovelas and everyday culture have long dramatized. 

While the traditional Señora is imagined as elegant, mature and bound by decorum, José’s lyrics gave life to a woman who refuses that role altogether. When she sings, “Yo no soy una señora, una de esas que tiembla con apenas dos palabras,” José rejects the image of a submissive woman who trembles at a man’s words. Instead, she claims strength and independence, defining herself on her own terms. 

Later, in “Yo no soy una señora, soy de aquellas que pueden darte el alma,” the emphasis shifts to passion and authenticity: She is not bound by respectability or appearances but by her ability to love, give and live fully.

The chorus’ refrain, “Yo no soy una señora” becomes a refusal to be boxed into stereotypes of maturity, propriety or aging. The song turns the archetype of the Señora on its head, offering a counterimage to figures like Catalina Creel. Whereas the telenovela Señora rules with elegance and ruthless authority, José’s protagonist insists on freedom, individuality and the right to live unapologetically. 

In doing so, the song not only became a pop hit but also a cultural touchstone — an anthem for women who refuse to be defined by society’s expectations.

‘In my Señora Era’: A lifestyle movement

@jerlynntorres Tap into your #senora era and let your intention guide you ✨👩🏽‍🍳🇲🇽 . #micasa #rinconcitoenelcielo #mexicana #senoralife #latinachef ♬ Perfume de Gardenias – La Sonora Santanera

If the telenovela Señora once ruled households with elegant menace, and María José’s pop anthem rejected the label altogether, social media has brought us the newest twist: a generation that is embracing the phrase “in my Señora Era.” 

What started as a lighthearted hashtag has become a lifestyle movement that reframes the Señora not as a marker of age or decline but as a symbol of wisdom, comfort and intentional living. 

On TikTok and Instagram, millions of young Latinas have leaned into the archetype of their mothers, tías, and abuelas — showing off slow mornings with cafecito, airing out bedding in the sun or sweeping to old bolero songs — as a way of celebrating traditions once dismissed as ordinary. 

In this reclamation, the Señora is no longer a cliché but an aspirational figure who has traded hustle culture for peace, presence and a joy in everyday rituals.

Hashtags like #SeñoraEra and #SeñoraTok have amassed millions of views while, offline, the movement has inspired groups like City Señoras in New York, where cafecito walks and games of lotería have grown into lively community gatherings. 

Younger Latinas are choosing to launch their Señora Era “early,” transforming domestic rituals into acts of self-care, healing and connection to family traditions termed as “ancestral slow living.”

In the “Señora Era” movement, calling yourself a Señora is no longer to accept a label imposed from the outside. It chooses a way of life that honors tradition while carving out space for balance and joy. 

The evolving Señora

Whether rejected, dramatized or reclaimed, the figure of the Señora continues to evolve, embodying the tensions between tradition and change. In the end, to speak of la Señora today is to recognize a cultural force that reflects how Mexican — and, more broadly, Latino — societies imagine femininity, authority, age and tradition itself. 

Do you have a Señora in your life, or are you channeling your inner Señora? Let us know more in the comments below! 

Monica Belot is a writer, researcher, strategist and adjunct professor at Parsons School of Design in New York City, where she teaches in the Strategic Design & Management Program. Splitting her time between NYC and Mexico City, where she resides with her naughty silver labrador puppy Atlas, Monica writes about topics spanning everything from the human experience to travel and design research. Follow her varied scribbles on Medium at medium.com/@monicabelot.

The post La Señora: Who is she? appeared first on Mexico News Daily

Fortunately, Mexico City is packed with opportunities to treat yourself to a solo date — because, really, who’s a better companion than you?

Of course, while it’s possible to dine solo just about anywhere, it can feel awkward to sit at a table for two (or four) surrounded by couples and groups. Think school cafeteria flashbacks, where you’re the kid sitting alone while everyone else is deep in chatter.

That’s why we’ve scouted out a handful of spots that are especially solo-friendly, with counter seating, kitchen-facing bars, cozy tables for one and even communal setups. So grab a book — or your phone, if you must — settle in and enjoy some quality time with your most loyal lifelong friend: you.

Pasta Mestiza, Roma Norte

In the bustling Mercado Roma, this gem offers handmade pasta in a unique and brilliantly executed mix of flavors that traverses Mexico, Italy and the Middle East. Pasta Mestiza‘s stall offers a limited number of countertop seats looking over the kitchen, where you can watch the magic at work in front of you. Grab a glass of Mexican wine and strike up a conversation with Chef Rotem over a mouthwatering pasta barbacoa or the spot’s incredible dish deconstructing Mexican street corn (esquites). Not to be missed.

Hiyoko, Cuahtemoc

A cozy Japanese sushi bar, Hiyoko is all about attention to detail. This intimate sushi-ya keeps things refreshingly simple: a handful of counter seats wrapped around the kitchen, where the fresh sushi is prepared right in front of you. It’s the kind of spot where solo dining feels completely natural — you can watch the chefs work or simply savor piece after piece, in peace. Order an omakase progression if you’re in the mood to be surprised, or keep it casual with some nigiri and sake.

Curiosa, Condesa

Admittedly, I’m biased as I own and love this place. But the mono-table seating and thoughtful menu offerings make it a natural haven for solo diners looking to escape the chaos of big groups and overloaded plates. Think of Curiosa as a cross between a health-forward café and a smoothie bar. It’s not uncommon here to see solo scribblers journaling over a berry almond butter smoothie while another devours gluten-free apple-cinnamon waffles with a Kindle read in hand.

La Docena, Polanco

We know La Docena is an international chain, but hear us out. The Polanco location offers well-prepared and fresh seafood in a buzzy atmosphere. Center-based bar seating ensures you can observe both the food prep proceedings and have a covert people-watching session over the well-heeled Polanco crowd. It’s lively and consistently delicious. Order the lonja de pescado, a few oysters and a tostada de atún (I maintain theirs is much better than that of the over-hyped Contramar).

Escándalo, Roma Norte

The brainchild of the team behind Michelin-recognized Cariñito Tacos, Escándalo is a low-key neighborhood spot balancing quick bites with an old-school feel. Grab a mushroom taco at one of the standing outdoor countertops (I like to slather mine with each of their tasty salsas), or settle in at the mezcal bar for a guided tasting. It’s casual, delicious, and perfect for a solo stop that can be as quick — or as extended — as you’d like.

Parker & Lenox, Juárez

Take yourself out for some jazz and truffle fries at this speakeasy-style venue. The velvet seating, dim lighting and red-curtained stage ooze old-school glamour. Mosey on up to the long wooden bar for a carefully crafted cocktail (there are over 30 to choose from) and enjoy live jazz, blues, or fusion. Parker & Lenox‘s food menu is light — think “munchies” more than fine dining — which makes it ideal for a solo nightcap with music.

Ticuchi, Polanco

From the team behind Michelin-starred Quintonil, Ticuchi is more accessible and decidedly more fun. Think moody lighting, a square bar, sexy music and elevated Oaxacan plates. Snack on aguachile or tostadas while soaking in the lounge vibe — sometimes even with a live DJ. Perfect if you’re looking to dine solo but still crave some nocturnal energy.

La Cocina del Bizco, Roma

Festive, eclectic, and never boring — Bizco is equal parts tapas bar and live-music venue. Slide into the bar counter with a glass of chilled albariño, snack on tortilla de patatas and manchego, and enjoy the din of conversation and (sometimes live) music. Dining alone here feels more like joining a party you didn’t know you were invited to.

Café Nin, Juárez

Already an expat darling, Café Nin is the more casual sibling of Rosetta, under famed chef-owner Elena Reygadas. It blends the pedigree of Panadería Rosetta’s beloved baked goods with a café-bistro vibe that invites lingering. For solo diners, Café Nin is excellent: there’s bar or counter seating, intimate tables and ample outdoor or patio spots. The pace allows for reading, working or simply watching the world go by. It’s polished but relaxed —sophisticated without formality. Enjoy a pan dulce with a chai latte in the mornings, or lasagna for lunch. 

Sapo Botanero Asiático, Roma Norte

@omarxplora Gran BOTANERO Asiático ubicado en La Roma Norte. 📍Sapo (BOTANERO Asiático) Guadalajara 61, Roma Nte #cdmx #restaurante #restauranteasiatico #japon #fyp ♬ Japanese Trap Beat – Akirih

One of Roma’s buzziest recent openings, Sapo is a high-top-heavy Asian spot with a wrap-around bar. Expect bold flavors — yakitori skewers, bao, crispy bites — paired with craft cocktails or sake. The energy is electric, and with all seating at the bar, solo diners fit right in.

Voraz, Roma Sur

Still fresh on the scene, Voraz is generating well-earned hype. Its sleek concrete bar setup is tucked slightly away from the main dining area while still within it (facing a nice mirrored wall for undercover people-watching). The menu changes seasonally, but the food is always fresh and innovative and the cocktails are uniquely inventive. This is a place to come alone, indulge and leave inspired.

Baldío, Condesa

Baldío, recently awarded a Michelin Green Star for its environmental practices, works closely with local farmers, revives ancestral chinampa agriculture and minimizes waste through fermentation and whole-ingredient cooking. The space is warm and natural, with wood accents and an open kitchen. For solo diners, Baldío is particularly welcoming: Grab a seat at the high-top window bar overlooking the kitchen and watch the fire-roasted vegetables, pipián sauces, and creative ferments come to life. It’s cozy yet elevated, and the kind of place where each dish provides food for thought.

So, there you have it — just a few of the many places to take yourself out to in Mexico City. The beauty of solo dining in the nation’s capital is discovering that some of the city’s best culinary experiences happen when you’re fully present with just yourself. 

Where are your favorite solo snacking spots in the city? Share them in the comments below. 

Monica Belot is a writer, researcher, strategist and adjunct professor at Parsons School of Design in New York City, where she teaches in the Strategic Design & Management Program. Splitting her time between NYC and Mexico City, where she resides with her naughty silver labrador puppy Atlas, Monica writes about topics spanning everything from the human experience to travel and design research. Follow her varied scribbles on Medium at medium.com/@monicabelot.

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The Six Dimensions of National Culture

Geert Hofstede’s “Six Dimensions of National Culture” is one of the prevalent models used to understand cultural differences across countries. 

The model classifies cultures according to six different key dimensions: the level of power distance (hierarchical society structure), individualism versus collectivism, masculinity versus femininity, the level of uncertainty avoidance, long-term versus short-term orientation (i.e., future planning), and indulgence versus restraint. 

While Hofstede originally studied the influence of these values in the workplace, researcher Marieke De Mooij expanded upon Hofstede’s research by applying the dimensions to understand consumer behavior and decision-making in different cultural contexts, which helps to develop branding strategy and communications. Both angles give us an interesting view into a country’s culture and its people as a whole. Let’s see where Mexico sits in these dimensions.

Time's up

Responses and what they tell us about Mexico and its people

By examining Mexico through Geert Hofstede’s cultural dimensions theory, we can gain valuable insights into what drives Mexican society and how cultural values influence everything from family dynamics to business practices.

1. Power Distance (PDI)

The correct answer is (A).

Mexico scores high on Power Distance compared to many other countries. Perhaps unsurprisingly, this means that power is distributed unequally across society, with hierarchies based on class, social status and even age being widely accepted. In Mexico, this translates into a culture where authority is respected, and subordinates often follow instructions without question. Unlike more egalitarian countries such as Denmark or Sweden, Mexico is more class-conscious, with clear divisions in wealth and social standing.

Age and family hierarchies also play an important role, as deference to parents and elders is seen as a sign of respect. In Mexico, gender inequality further reinforces these imbalances. Importantly, this way of being is not actually imposed from above, but rather accepted as a cultural norm. In workplaces or family settings, decisions are often made top-down, and disagreements with the boss, professor or parent openly are less common than in low PDI countries like Sweden. In verbal cases, this manifests itself through the use of the formal “usted” with elders, authority figures or strangers to show respect.

2. Individualism vs. Collectivism

The correct answer is (B).

Mexico scores low in Individualism, leaning strongly toward Collectivism. People in collectivistic cultures are ‘‘we-focused,” seeing themselves as part of a family or community first, and as individuals second. Family bonds are central, loyalty runs deep, group goals trump personal ones and community ties shape much of daily life. This shows up in many ways. Advertising, for example, often portrays people in group settings, sharing experiences, rather than individuals pursuing their own path. The American-style “Be all you can be” message of self-actualization doesn’t land as strongly here. Instead, what resonates is togetherness, belonging and interpersonal connection. 

Interestingly (and often frustratingly), collectivist cultures tend to see punctuality as a low priority (De Mooij, 2010). That’s one reason why punctuality is often more flexible, and last-minute changes of plans are common. Many of us with wonderful, albeit always late, Mexican friends know this well. It’s also worth noting that Mexico does score slightly higher on Individualism than most of its Latin American neighbors. So while collectivist values dominate, there’s also room for personal ambition and independence to shine through.

3. Masculinity vs. Femininity

The correct answer is (A).

Mexico scores relatively high on Hofstede’s Masculinity dimension — sometimes more diplomatically called the “Tough Versus Tender Index” — highlighting a cultural proclivity towards traits like competition, achievement and success-driven behavior. In masculine societies like Mexico, being a “winner,” showing visible signs of success (think: flashy possessions) and displaying strength are admired traits, while feminine societies place more emphasis on cooperation, modesty, quality of life and caring for the vulnerable.

According to Hofstede, masculinity (MAS) also reflects the extent to which societies reinforce traditional male work roles tied to achievement, control and power. A high MAS score reflects the greater gender differentiation and dominance of men in leadership and decision-making roles, while low MAS societies (“feminine”) move toward equality, collaboration and healthy work-life balance. Mexico’s MAS score of 69 places it close to Germany and gives it the second-highest masculinity ranking in Latin America, just below Venezuela. Advertising in Mexico often reflects this orientation as well, highlighting status brands, strength and aspirational imagery to connect with consumers. By contrast, more feminine societies such as Switzerland emphasize cooperation, harmony and interpersonal relationships over material achievement.

4. Long-Term vs. Short-Term Orientation

The correct answer is (B).

Mexico’s outlook is firmly rooted in the present. Mexico scores low on Hofstede’s Long-Term Orientation dimension, meaning it’s more of a short-term oriented (or “normative”) culture. This often refers to activities like saving money and resources for the future. Short-term oriented cultures have a strong affinity toward the past, while long-term oriented societies, such as Japan or Germany, emphasize perseverance, thrift, future rewards and adapting traditions to fit modern contexts. By contrast, short-term-oriented cultures like Mexico place greater value on respecting traditions, fulfilling social obligations and focusing on the present or past rather than planning for distant goals.

With a score of 24, Mexico shows a clear emphasis on maintaining cultural heritage and celebrating traditions (think: Día de los Muertos), reflecting pride in national identity and continuity. In these societies, people often prefer quick results, personal stability and the pursuit of happiness over saving or sacrificing for the future. Many people view luck and fate as having a greater impact on success or failure than long-term effort or perseverance. This orientation appears in consumer behavior, where instant gratification, status consumption, and enjoyment of the present are more appealing than messages about delayed rewards or future planning. 

5. Uncertainty Avoidance

The correct answer is (B).

Hofstede’s measurements show us that most Mexicans are not risk-takers. Mexico ranks very highly on Hofstede’s Uncertainty Avoidance Index (UAI), with a score of 82. This means a strong preference towards stability, structure and predictability over ambiguity or change. In high uncertainty avoidance cultures like Mexico, people cope with the unknown by relying on strict rules, formal procedures and established traditions that provide a sense of security.

By contrast, low uncertainty avoidance cultures such as those in Scandinavia are more comfortable with flexibility and taking risks, even in the face of uncertainty. In the Mexican context, this shapes everything from business practices and workplace hierarchies to social norms and daily routines. While this preference for certainty fosters reliability and order, it can also create resistance to change and experimentation.

6. Indulgence vs. Restraint

The correct answer is (A).

Let’s be honest. We love Mexico for all of its indulgences. The incredible food, the wonderful people, the gorgeous landscapes … Therefore, it comes as no surprise that Mexico scores the highest of all countries measured in Indulgence. In Hofstede’s terms, indulgence reflects the degree to which a society allows free gratification of desires and the enjoyment of life, while restraint emphasizes strict social norms and limited gratification.

With a score of 97, second-highest in the world, Mexico clearly leans toward indulgence, celebrating leisure, optimism and happiness as central cultural values. By contrast, Germany’s score of 40 places it closer to the restrained side of the spectrum, favoring moderation and greater control over emotional expression. This stark difference highlights how Mexicans tend to embrace joy and spontaneity, while Germans approach life with more restraint and discipline.

Tell us in the comments: How did you score? Did you agree with the measurements? Which, if any, surprised you?

Monica Belot is a writer, researcher, strategist and adjunct professor at Parsons School of Design in New York City, where she teaches in the Strategic Design & Management Program. Splitting her time between NYC and Mexico City, where she resides with her naughty silver Labrador puppy, Atlas, Monica writes about topics spanning everything from the human experience to travel and design research. Follow her varied scribbles on Medium at medium.com/@monicabelot.

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What caught my attention most however, was another group in the parade. Not monsters, but beautifully dressed elderly individuals in traditional garb — women in spectacular embroidered dresses gracefully swishing their skirts, men gallant and gentlemanly, all elegantly holding candles and engaged in a synchronized dance. I was mesmerized. The wizened dancers were beautiful to behold. They were dignified, almost luminous. Seeing their beauty and respectful inclusion in the day’s events made me wonder about cultural differences — the perception of aging, the treatment of the elderly. And what does it mean when, in America, Nana is sent to a nursing home while, in Mexico, Abuelita performs a vital role for a very long time in her family unit?

Perceptions of aging: U.S. vs Mexico

There is, at its heart, a cultural difference in how aging itself, is seen in Mexico versus the United States. In the U.S, aging is something to resist or conceal: wrinkles are “problems,” old age is synonymous with fragility. In Mexico, the language itself reflects a different value system. Spanish speakers use the expression “más grande” (literally “bigger” or “greater”) to describe someone older, suggesting stature, growth, and respect rather than decline. There is an inherent message built into this expression — one that starkly differs from the English language expression “older. These linguistic differences are the initial window into the perception of elders and aging in Mexico versus the US. 

Nursing home vs family home

The statistics alone reveal a profound cultural divide. Nursing homes in the United States house over 1.3 million residents, representing 2.3% of the population over 60 (Statista, 2014). In Mexico, that figure plummets to just 25,357 residents, a mere 0.16% of the elderly population. This isn’t simply about economic considerations in elder care; it’s about fundamentally different approaches to aging within society.

In Mexico, the elderly aren’t just dependents awaiting care — they perform crucial functions within the household. A 2012 study on caregiving and elderly health in Mexico revealed that Mexican elderly contribute both economically (through pension contribution to the househand) and socially. Many remain active in households, either through domestic tasks or helping care for grandchildren. The data shows that while some elderly require support with activities of daily living (basic self-care tasks like bathing and eating) and instrumental activities of daily living (more complex tasks like managing finances and transportation), others remain independent and contribute to family well-being. 

Interestingly, the study also found that care from daughters, significantly reduced the probability of death and slowed decline in functional ability. Sons’ care showed no statistically significant protective effect, highlighting the gendered nature of effective eldercare.

The implications are complex. Families — especially daughters — play a central role in supporting elderly health in Mexico and this informal care demonstrably saves lives. However, relying on informal care can reduce public costs but may create economic and emotional burdens for caregivers, potentially affecting their labor force participation and well-being. Informal care in Mexico, particularly from daughters, improves elderly survival and functional health, but the gendered burden on caregivers raises important social and policy concerns.

Elderly depictions in Mexican literature

In Mexican literature, abuelas are often portrayed as matriarchs and cultural guardians, — preserving family traditions, rituals, and memory — while embodying both nurturing and restrictive roles. These roles are often shaped by patriarchal systems, as in “Like Water for Chocolate” by Laura Esquivel, where Mama Elena enforces strict family rules with an iron fist. They are keepers of history and tradition; bringers of healing and wisdom.

Abuelos, by contrast, appear as gentle mentors and storytellers, guiding younger generations with patience and lived experience. In “Dear Abuelo” by Grecia Huesca Dominguez, the grandfather is a comforting figure who represents home and continuity between tradition and the present. In some works, however, elderly men are cast as solitary or enigmatic.

Across Mexican and broader Hispanic literature, abuelos and abuelas embody cultural preservation, familial authority, and intergenerational continuity. Aging is portrayed with complexity and respect. In contrast, Anglo-American literature takes a more individualistic bent, with grandparents highlighted for quirks or companionship rather than cultural gatekeeping  — think Grandpa Joe in Roald Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

A bridge between the living and the afterlife

The U.S. might view aging as decline; Mexico often views it as continuity. The difference is not just in how people age, but in how they are seen, respected and integrated into the living fabric of community. Día de los Muertos itself exemplifies respect for elders — living and departed. Ancestors are honored as sacred, continuing to participate in family life through ofrendas, food, and ritual. The holiday also serves as a metaphor for the elderly in Mexican culture — as essential participants in a living tradition, carriers of ritual, culture and tradition. Ancestors are sacred, death embraced rather than hidden, and elders stand as bridges between past and present, the living and the dead.

Monica Belot is a writer, researcher, strategist and adjunct professor at Parsons School of Design in New York City, where she teaches in the Strategic Design & Management Program. Splitting her time between NYC and Mexico City, where she resides with her naughty silver labrador puppy Atlas, Monica writes about topics spanning everything from the human experience to travel and design research. Follow her varied scribbles on Medium at medium.com/@monicabelot.

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Why did I care about this marketing campaign?  Firstly because I’m a university professor teaching Marketing and Branding at Parsons School of Design in New York City, so I notice these things with the obsessive attention of someone who dissects campaigns for a living. Secondly I own a juice bar café here in Mexico City. That makes Oatly’s particular over-processed brand of plant milk both fascinating to study and troubling to witness succeed.

The billboard was just a small piece of the series of activations launched by the company in its efforts to penetrate the Mexican market. Over the following months, Oatly’s English-language advertisements would continue to appear on walls and billboards across Condesa, Roma Norte and Hipódromo — neighborhoods at the center of Mexico City’s ongoing gentrification debate. Each ad would maintain the Swedish brand’s signature aesthetic: quirky and consistent with their global approach, regardless of local linguistic preferences. They ignored what we in the marketing space call “transcreation” — the adaptation of advertising content to accommodate different audiences and cultures.

My initial reaction was dislike. Beyond the language choice and disregard for Mexican cultural recognition in Oatly’s visual advertisements, I had concerns about the product itself. While Oatly has gained popularity among baristas worldwide for its ability to steam Oat Milk into a creamy foam, the product contains ingredients and fillers that research has linked to numerous health problems. As if Mexico didn’t have enough public health issues already.

Yet even as I bristled at the campaign cues around me, I begrudgingly had to acknowledge the marketing smarts of the Oatly team.

A calculated approach

Oatly’s recent Mexico City campaign wasn’t simply advertising; it was a calculated market penetration strategy that didn’t rely on simple placement of ads around the city and hope for results. It was an approach that demonstrated sophisticated market research and planning.

First came the coffee shop partnerships. Oatly’s Barista Blend appeared in over 100 specialty coffee shops across the city — from the popular Panadería Rosetta to Roma Norte favorite Café Tormenta. They began with pop-up events, offering free coffee made with their product, a sampling strategy that’s been proven effective time and time again.

Oatly’s team also released short films distributed on video and their social media platforms, including notable cafes, streets and parks in Mexico City, and interviews with baristas and residents.

But here’s where Oatly showed they’d done their homework beyond mere demographic analysis. Within their broader campaign were moments of genuine cultural insight that caught even my skeptical attention. Most notably, they incorporated references to “Se compran colchones,” the ubiquitous audio recording that echoes through Mexico City’s neighborhoods as buyers in pickup trucks drive around soliciting used mattresses, refrigerators and washing machines.

If you’ve lived in Mexico City for more than a week, that recording is seared into your consciousness. It’s become so omnipresent that it’s become a cultural artifact — the unofficial soundtrack of urban Mexico. Oatly’s creative team adapted the recording and enlisted their own pickup truck to drive around broadcasting Oatly’s product taste and benefits — “Cremoso y vegano” — in the same style of the ubiquitous recording. That Oatly’s creative team recognized this phenomenon and wove it into their activations suggested a level of cultural fluency that their English-only advertising seemed to contradict.

The paradox 

Which brings us to the elephant in the room: Why advertise in English in a Spanish-speaking country? It’s not a lack of budget for translation. The answer lies in both Oatly’s strategic calculations and its bold confidence as a brand. 

The neighborhoods targeted — Condesa, Roma Norte, Hipódromo — aren’t chosen at random. These are Mexico City’s cosmopolitan epicenters, home to the city’s young professionals, expats and English-speaking elite. They’re also the neighborhoods where conversations about gentrification and foreign influence burn hottest, making Oatly’s linguistic choices feel less like oversight and more like provocation. Oatly’s visual advertising’s disregard for the host country language doesn’t only appear to be unique to Mexico. In fact, Oatly’s use of English extends globally — even, as it appears, to their campaigns in Paris.

And provocation, as it seems, is one of Oatly’s tactics. The brand has built its global reputation on controversy as marketing fuel, transforming criticism into engagement and debate into brand awareness. Every angry tweet becomes content, every complaint becomes conversation. It’s a strategy that requires corporate nerves of steel and a thick skin, but it works.

The numbers support this. Oatly has dramatically increased its presence across Mexico City’s supermarkets and coffee shops, and the brand has announced expansion plans for Guadalajara, Monterrey and San Miguel de Allende, suggesting their approach has been commercially successful.

What that means for the controversy surrounding Mexico’s rapidly gentrifying neighborhoods, however, is an even hotter debate.

Monica Belot is a writer, researcher, strategist and adjunct professor at Parsons School of Design in New York City, where she teaches in the Strategic Design & Management Program. Splitting her time between NYC and Mexico City, where she resides with her naughty silver labrador puppy Atlas, Monica writes about topics spanning everything from the human experience to travel and design research. Follow her varied scribbles on Medium at medium.com/@monicabelot.

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