The Prologue Part II : England to Mexico, Growing Up As Lil' Rose-Moreno

So, in 'The Prologue Part I', I started the tale of Rose-Moreno with the anecdote of how my parents, Father Rose (no he is not a holy man) and Mother Moreno came to meet, and therefore how I came to be a British-Mexican infused with the essences of these two wonderfully different countries.

Now, I still want to take you back a little, if you can bare with me, to my childhood, right through to today, where I find myself now.

I was born in Colchester, mum having gained a degree in History (whilst pregnant with my older brother!) and dad studying his post-grad in Latin American Politics at Essex University.  At the age of 2, we moved to Reading, Berkshire, as dad bagged a job as a journalist at the BBC World Service in nearby Caversham - proving that there are many ways to achieving your dreams.

Since I can remember, my mum made a consistent effort to bring Mexico to our little English home.  It was clearly very important to her to maintain and celebrate her Mexican identity, and to help my brother and I understand that it was very much a part of us too.  Whether it was the bright fuchsia and yellow painted walls of the kitchen, the intensely bright woven table-cloths, the patterned wool-rugs from Teotitlan del Valle, the vibrantly painted jugs, plates and ornaments, the hanging Mexican landscapes, the smell of freshly handmade corn tortillas cooking on the copper 'comal' (flat-pan), the latest hits from Gloria Estefan and other Latino crooners, or mum wearing her embroidered huipil (tradicional gown) on occasions.  Being surrounded by all of this inspired a true sense of pride in my brother and I throughout the years, and enabled us to develop our connection with Mexico from afar.  

A part from within our home, mum and dad soon discovered a small Latino community in Reading, with several British-Mexican couples to their surprise.  We were soon celebrating Mexican holidays, such as Independence Day and the Christmas 'Posada' together, and sharing the culture with the family's non-Latino friends.  Mum also became well-known for her in-demand Mexican pickles; she would spend days-on-end chopping carrots, onions and cauliflowers, pickling and jarring them for sale at village and school fairs- generating queues of eager buyers.  

We equally experienced the culture by visiting Mexico regularly, since I was a baby.  Mum and dad worked hard and spent wisely to enable a family of 4 to go at least every two years.  As soon as school was out (sometimes even before!) we would be boarding the plane and spending our entire summer or Christmas holidays with our huge family.  These were very special times, the glory days.  Running around the huge gardens with 11 cousins, and about as many dogs.  Garden parties, 'taquizas' (taco catering), BBQs, piñatas, mariachis, uncles overdoing the tequila...there was always something to celebrate or simply bring the family together. 

These trips were not only to spend time with the family, but also delve deep into the culture, travel and get to know it well.  Mum and dad wanted to pass on their sense of adventure, and we set-off on long road-trips through the country, driving through the mossy pine-covered mountains adorned with picturesque wooden ‘chalets’, to cactus-lined terracotta desert-lands, through to lush green tropical forests, coconut groves and coastal roads.    Oh, and the food…nothing can replicate the authenticity of pulling-over to a little shack, and being served by the friendliest of families, the best homemade food; from the freshly-caught ‘trucha’ (trout) wrapped in foil ‘al mojo de ajo’ (bathed in garlic) or ‘al chile de arbol’ (with the explosive ’bird’s beak’ chile) in the mountains;  to the ‘pollo a la leña’ (charred bbq chicken) with the most comforting fresh-pressed corn tortillas, chunky guacamole and exquisite salsas; accompanied with a young coconut water and maybe finished off with a local fruit `nieve´ (sorbet), not without it’s chilli-powder topping of course!  

We witnessed massively contrasting landscapes within hours of each other, and with the scenic changes came the ethnic diversity - 68 ethnic groups to be precise (of which I have probably only come into contact with about 15-20), and many more variations within- Zapotecs, Mixtecas, Otomis, Nahuas, Tzotziles .  Stopping-off in small towns and villages, from those with colonial infrastructures, to those very much bare-bones, we would hear different pre-hispanic dialects, at times unable to communicate with the older generations, whom had never adopted Spanish.  We would taste new flavours and ingredients, see different religious interpretations, combining pre-hispanic beliefs and Catholicism, which in turn produced different handicrafts.  But, what impacted me the most was the traditional garments that continued (and still continue) to be worn by many indigenous men and women- the stark contrast of this against any surrounding modernity- just thinking back to those first impressions, trying to grasp the meaning of it, moves me.  Mum would always engage with ‘la Doñita’ or ‘la Marchantita’ (affectionate names for the elderly sellers) when buying whatever harvest she was in town to sell, flowers, beans, vegetables- this way with every little exchange, I would learn a little about their life, and they about mine, the `güerita´(pale-skinned little girl) from far away.  

I became fixated with the ethnic textiles, well the arts in general, but especially the textiles.  The incredible sense of colour, from sun-bleached pastels, to eye-popping brights in unexpected combinations.  The intricate patterns and symbols- geometric, florals or depictions of village scenes. The clashing of stripes, checks and florals layered with hand-embroidery, appliqués, beads or sequins.  I felt energised and uplifted every time I came across someone in their traditional dress, and deep down a little light was lit, I did not know how at the time, but one day I would engage more with this world.  

When I was 12, we moved to Mexico to be near our family (my British grandparents had passed), with the aim of living there for good.  I was extremely sad to leave my friends in England, but it wasn’t to last.  We attended a Mexican school, in which I went through a social and emotional rollercoaster- at first everyone was so interested to be my friend, friends with the foreign girl, then I was bullied for a little while, I dressed different and looked different and at 12, kids (especially middle-upper class Mexican brats) aren’t very forgiving; and by the end, I had a tight friendship circle, and was very happy.   It was during this year that I dominated the Spanish language and Mexican identity; all lessons were dictated, we had to write word for word what the teacher said, there was no special leniency for me, and I had to submit projects with the same expectations as my classmates. I had the Deputy Head breathing down my neck on a daily basis to recite the national anthem, whilst the whole school stood militantly formed in the playground.   Being able to spend quality time with my family and new friends, eat Mexican food all the time and travel to new interesting places, I felt at home; but unfortunately at the end of a year, we realised that it was untenable long-term, as dad was unable to find a respectfully paid job in journalism, plus to be a decent journalist in Mexico had, and still has, its major risks.    So, we left Mexico, me devastated, back to Reading.  

If I couldn’t stay in Mexico, I would take it with me.  Brimming with inspiration from Mexico, I would eagerly go back to school in England, and continually express my newly strengthened `Mexicaness´ through my art classes, right from secondary school, through to my Fashion degree at Kingston University (to my tutor’s occasional frustration `you cannot be subjective´?).  I did school projects researching further into the ethnic costume and textiles of Mexico, via anthropologist Chloe Sayer, back then we didn’t yet have the explosion of information via the internet; I did my AS Level project on the Great Mexican muralists Rivera, Orozco and Siqueiros, producing a final oil painting and  I studied and painted Frida Kahlo of course.   At Uni, I produced a project for Levi’s based on Mexican Wrestling (hilarious, but questionable) and another for Gap based on indigenous clothing silhouettes, inspired by a recent trip I had done- with this project I was the winner of the Menswear prize in the inter-university competition, earning a cash sponsorship and a 3 month paid work-placement.  All-in-all my work was rather garish and not yet refined, as to be expected from a student back then, but the passion and essence was there.

I graduated in 2008 from Kingston University with a First, and was soon making my strides in the industry,  completely pushing aside my very personal- maybe sometimes confused- creative identity, to fulfil the visions of others.   I wasn’t to reference any of the ethnic Mexican inspiration again, stripping this all away and down to a very urban, minimal aesthetic- which I was not opposed to.  I adopted this style happily, fitting in with the fashion crowd and the industry trends.  After-all, as an aspirational graduate, I was envisioning being a part of the fashion high-end, and it was not the time for my previous whimsical inspirations.  

In my next post, I will briefly run-through my 10 years in the industry, the many highs, the many lows, what I learnt and how it formed my current beliefs, values, aspirations and new direction.