I have never been one to judge a Mexcian for being rich or "fresa" (literally translated as strawberry); after my first Saturday night in Condesa, I realize that is because I had never witnessed the fresa in action in one of its natural habitats.
Ah, Condesa. True, the Colonia is one of beauty but artificially so. Walking through its streets, I get the sneaking suspicion that it might belong to Epcot's Mexico Pavilion. That one day it will be transported brick by brick to Orlando.
I mean having lived not only outside of Condesa but outside of the D.F. for years I just do not see Condesa as representative of Mexico, and this much I knew. Everything is walkable; there are loads of green spaces; the streets breed overpriced bistros, restaurants (non-Mexican, of course), boutiques, cafes and bars; and nearly everyone is white, save the people manning these operations or selling street chiclets or practicing some other sort of service, the whole time referred to as "joven" despite age.
So who are these white people? First you have expats. Expats love Condesa precisely because it is not representative of Mexico. God-forbid one runs into some Mexican culture.
Then you have the rich Mexicans. The majority of fresas (with the very big exception of Carlos Slim) were born a fresa, will live a fresa and then be buried in some fresa cemetery. This group of the over-privileged generally have some European lineage and are, therefore, born with lighter features and larger pockets than most of their Mexican brethren. Like most upper echelons in most countries, this one manages to stay the elite class through a mixture of cultural obsequiousness, patrimony and patronage.
And that is deleterious to society as a whole. (Thank you Carl Marx). Really. It exists everywhere. (Again, than you Carl Marx). But coming from the States, that whole American Dream thing is pretty deeply rooted in my brain and I have seen similarities there as well but to a much lesser extreme. Just look at Mexico's football team: notoriously mediocre for the size of the country even though children begin playing before they have full command of their vocabulary. So why has Mexico never won a World Cup? One opinion I have heard is this: instead of trawling the enormous country for the most talented athletes, a good number of the rich, not-super talented, end up winning the coveted position. But that is kind of all they can win.
Yes dangerous, indeed, especially because of naivety. Acquaintances baffled at my concern over sharing a bottle liquor, one that would have left me around 400 pesos poorer, so we could sit at a table (because your 200 peso cover fee obviously does not include the luxury of seating). "Can't I just order one beer at the price of a six pack? No? Alright. Later taters."
In perspective it is not the price of the entrance or the bottle of liquor or the beer. It is the not knowing want, the always having had money, the not being able to fathom the monetary concern of someone outside. To learn the value of money in a place where half of your countrymen earn under 4 dollars a day. That is what would be real swell. How? (Thank you, Carl Marx).
I am being too hard on the Condesa? After all, La Botica was highly enjoyable, with its cardboard menus of an impressive number of mezcals, from mango to pepino, and for decent prices.
But alas Condesa, my confusing, circular mistress. You rose and one day you will fall. Not literally. But McDonalds and Burger Kings will rise. And you will become dirty and people will gentrify somewhere else. And then that place will become semi-disney-world-like until it too declines in hipness. And so it goes.
Ah, Condesa. True, the Colonia is one of beauty but artificially so. Walking through its streets, I get the sneaking suspicion that it might belong to Epcot's Mexico Pavilion. That one day it will be transported brick by brick to Orlando.
I mean having lived not only outside of Condesa but outside of the D.F. for years I just do not see Condesa as representative of Mexico, and this much I knew. Everything is walkable; there are loads of green spaces; the streets breed overpriced bistros, restaurants (non-Mexican, of course), boutiques, cafes and bars; and nearly everyone is white, save the people manning these operations or selling street chiclets or practicing some other sort of service, the whole time referred to as "joven" despite age.
So who are these white people? First you have expats. Expats love Condesa precisely because it is not representative of Mexico. God-forbid one runs into some Mexican culture.
Then you have the rich Mexicans. The majority of fresas (with the very big exception of Carlos Slim) were born a fresa, will live a fresa and then be buried in some fresa cemetery. This group of the over-privileged generally have some European lineage and are, therefore, born with lighter features and larger pockets than most of their Mexican brethren. Like most upper echelons in most countries, this one manages to stay the elite class through a mixture of cultural obsequiousness, patrimony and patronage.
And that is deleterious to society as a whole. (Thank you Carl Marx). Really. It exists everywhere. (Again, than you Carl Marx). But coming from the States, that whole American Dream thing is pretty deeply rooted in my brain and I have seen similarities there as well but to a much lesser extreme. Just look at Mexico's football team: notoriously mediocre for the size of the country even though children begin playing before they have full command of their vocabulary. So why has Mexico never won a World Cup? One opinion I have heard is this: instead of trawling the enormous country for the most talented athletes, a good number of the rich, not-super talented, end up winning the coveted position. But that is kind of all they can win.
Yes dangerous, indeed, especially because of naivety. Acquaintances baffled at my concern over sharing a bottle liquor, one that would have left me around 400 pesos poorer, so we could sit at a table (because your 200 peso cover fee obviously does not include the luxury of seating). "Can't I just order one beer at the price of a six pack? No? Alright. Later taters."
In perspective it is not the price of the entrance or the bottle of liquor or the beer. It is the not knowing want, the always having had money, the not being able to fathom the monetary concern of someone outside. To learn the value of money in a place where half of your countrymen earn under 4 dollars a day. That is what would be real swell. How? (Thank you, Carl Marx).
I am being too hard on the Condesa? After all, La Botica was highly enjoyable, with its cardboard menus of an impressive number of mezcals, from mango to pepino, and for decent prices.
But alas Condesa, my confusing, circular mistress. You rose and one day you will fall. Not literally. But McDonalds and Burger Kings will rise. And you will become dirty and people will gentrify somewhere else. And then that place will become semi-disney-world-like until it too declines in hipness. And so it goes.
1 comment:
Hi Mary!
I've shown this entry to quite a few people, many who are Mexicans and they all agree with you.
Thanks!
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