I like Halloween, but not in the way you might think. I hate horror movies. I can’t stand to watch anything that has blood, gore, and violence. I don’t enjoy the parts of Halloween that lean into that. I’m fascinated, instead, with an older energy that underlies the season’s folklore and traditions. It’s that subtle, collective acknowledgement that there is more to the world and the universe than we could ever understand. To cope with the unease that this provokes, we do what I believe humans excel at: we tell stories. Storytelling is our way of grappling with the mysteries of the unknown, and it helps shape our comprehension of the world. Many of my favourite parts of the autumn season—folklore, superstitions, costume traditions—have all emerged from this storytelling instinct. So too have tales of monsters, witches, ghosts, and other supernatural phenomena. I feel that fall is the season most conducive to story. Is there any other time of year¹ that inspires a comparable volume of seasonal narratives, inviting us to ponder the mysteries of life, the world, and the universe?

In North America, Halloween offers a brief moment for our culture to consider death and mortality. Unfortunately, this reflection is limited to death as a source of entertainment or spectacle. Think bloody chainsaws, haunted houses, and serial killers. Death is presented as being terrifying, violent, impersonal, and unexpected. This holiday leaves no room for genuine emotions, particularly the solemnity of grief. It offers no opportunity for us to acknowledge that death is an inherent part of life, and that the price of love is loss. Halloween doesn’t encourage the community to rally around the grieving, nor does it offer them the comfort that love endures, even after death. The celebrations can be fun but, beyond the costumes, parties, and the bonfires, I find it all a little wanting. I sometimes wish this holiday had a little more meaning to it, especially as I get older.

That’s why I eagerly seized the chance last year to journey to Mexico with Victoria, delving into one of the country’s most momentous cultural celebrations, Día de los Muertos—the Day of the Dead (also called Día de Muertos or just Muertos for short). In Day of the Dead, I found what I wish Halloween could be: all the fun of dressing up combined with a profound sense of communal remembrance, as well as a celebration of the enduring bonds of love and life. Plus history. Lots and lots of history to learn about. Read on to find out more!

Grave Expectations: A Trip to Mexico

Victoria and I spent a couple of weeks in Mexico in October and November 2022. We spent most of our time in Cholula, a city situated in the central part of the country, approximately 120 kms southeast of Mexico City. We started our trip there because Victoria had signed up for a polyglot (a multilingual speaker) conference that took place during the last weekend of October. In addition to the conference itself, participants had the opportunity to arrive in Cholula a few days before the event and engage in a 4-day immersive language course. They could choose to study either Spanish or Nahuatl. Nahuatl, an indigenous language (or group of languages), has been spoken in central Mexico, including by the Mexica/Aztec people, since at least the 7th century CE. Victoria signed up for the Nahuatl course along with friend and fellow polyglot, Ingrid. While the two of them kept busy with both their language course and the conference, I explored Cholula and the nearby city of Puebla². 

The polyglot conference was scheduled so that it coincided with the weekend before Day of the Dead. Arriving in Cholula for the language course meant we were there a week in advance. As a result, we got to partake in a few celebrations in Cholula and Puebla during that week leading up to Day of the Dead. The conference ended on Sunday, which then gave us (and other attendees) the opportunity to travel to Mexico City on Monday, October 31. We thus arrived in the capital with plenty of time to soak in the cultural sights and experiences of the November 1-2 celebration.

An Introduction to Day of the Dead

Mexico is the country with which Day of the Dead is most strongly identified, although it is observed throughout Latin America as well as various regions in the United States that have significant Latinx populations³. Many of the holiday’s traditions originated in Mexico, and its celebration is considered an integral part of Mexican identity. Day of the Dead integrates pre-Hispanic traditions, including those of the indigenous Nahua⁴ people, and Catholic customs, which were brought to the region in the 16th century by Spanish conquistadores, along with contemporary Mexican culture. The holiday is dynamic as it continues to synthesize ancient traditions, colonial influences, and the vibrant expressions of present-day Mexican life.

An illustration of the holiday’s ever-evolving character is that, in the 2015 James Bond movie Spectre (released on November 6), director Sam Mendez incorporated scenes featuring a Day of the Dead parade as a spirited backdrop to Daniel Craig’s movements through the streets (and rooftops) of Mexico City. At that time, however, the city had not yet established the tradition of such a procession. The subsequent year, in 2016, inspired by the popularity of the film and the interest it generated for a similar celebration, the mayor of Mexico City, Miguel Ángel Mancera, hosted the city’s inaugural Day of the Dead parade. The procession was a hit, and in the years that followed, has drawn millions of spectators to the downtown streets of Mexico City. Beyond the Grand Day of the Dead Parade in Mexico City, the city now orchestrates a number of spin-off processions, including one featuring alebrijes, brightly coloured Mexican folk art sculptures depicting fantastical creatures; one dedicated to costumed female skeletal figures known as La Catrinas; a nocturnal Day of the Dead bike ride; and even a parade celebrating pets.

Day of the Dead is traditionally observed on November 1 and 2, aligning with the Catholic holy days of All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day⁵. However, people often plan for the celebration days, weeks, and even months in advance. Some larger community events, such as parades, also take place earlier. The holiday is based around an old belief that, around this time of year, the border that divides the realm of the natural from the supernatural weakens; the North American concept of Halloween shares this premise. But Day of the Dead differs from Halloween in that the beings that cross over carry far more personal meaning for the people who encounter them. According to this cultural tradition, the barrier that stands between the world of the living and that of the dead grows so thin that, at midnight on October 31, it becomes semi-permeable. Consequently, on November 1, recognized as Dia de los Angelitos (Day of the Little Angels), the souls of children are able to pass through and rejoin their families for a 24 hour period. The spirits of adults are permitted to do the same on November 2. For this brief span of time, the living and the dead can reunite. But when the clock strikes midnight between November 2 and 3, the dead must return to the afterlife⁶. They remain there, resting peacefully, until the following year. 

Despite what you may think, Day of the Dead is not a grievous or ghoulish occasion. Rather, it is a homecoming— a passionate celebration of love and life. Families eagerly anticipate the chance to welcome the spirits of their loved ones back into the world. The living treat the souls of the dead like honoured guests, and do everything they can to make this brief visit as joyous as possible. Preparations in the home often include celebrants building a homemade altar, known as an ofrenda, dedicated to the memory of the deceased⁷. They fill the ofrenda with the departed’s favourite foods, beverages, and other cherished personal objects. People also decorate the ofrenda with photos, candles, copal incense, orange and yellow marigolds (called cempazúchitl or cempasúchil) and dark pink crested cockscomb, as well as garlands of coloured tissue paper with intricately cut patterns (papel picado). At cemeteries, celebrants clean and decorate the graves of their loved ones in a manner similar to the ofrendas.  

The pinnacle of the Day of the Dead holiday occurs on November 2 when families gather together in their homes and/or at the cemeteries in order to commemorate the departed. Celebrants may share a big family meal featuring their loved ones’ favourite dishes. They tell stories, make toasts, eat pan de muerto, and exchange decorated candy skulls (calaveritas de dulce). There can be music and dancing. The literary-minded sometimes write funny, light-hearted mock epitaphs (calaveras literarias) for their friends and family members. Newspapers do the same for politicians and other public figures, usually with a more pointed tone. At the cemeteries, local merchants set up provisional stands outside the gates to sell food, drinks, and flowers; some families bring picnic baskets with them. Death may be the name and theme of this holiday, but it is celebrated through some of the best activities that life has to offer. 

I was fascinated by this entirely new-to-me cultural experience and so, in my typical fashion, decided I wanted to learn more about it. If you’re similarly interested, let’s go ahead and take a closer look at some of these Day of the Dead traditions together! I’ve discovered that the history and significance of this holiday provides a great entry point for gaining a deeper understanding of Mexican culture as a whole. 

Ofrendas: Crafting A Heartfelt Tribute to Departed Loved Ones

One of the most important and distinctive aspects of Day of the Dead is the building of ofrendas. These homemade altars serve as a personal expression of love made by living family members in honour of their dead. They are used to remember and celebrate the life of the person they are dedicated to. Ofrendas are constructed with the hope that they will help guide the souls of the departed home, and provide them with comfort and joy throughout their stay.  

Ofrendas are an art form, with each bearing a distinctive appearance as unique as the personalities of both their creators and the individuals to whom they are dedicated. Their size can range from a simple overturned crate in the corner of a room to a multi-tiered structure that takes up an entire courtyard. The quality and degree of an ofrenda’s ornamentation depends on the wealth of the individual or family building it, the personal taste of the deceased, local traditions, as well as a region’s natural resources. 

Mexico City, Puebla, and Cholula had ofrendas set up in many public venues such as museums, town halls, libraries, universities, city squares, and cultural centres during our 2022 visit. Embarking on a quest to find these ofrendas added to the fun of exploring these cities. One of the highlights of our time in Mexico City was going to the central downtown square, the Zócalo, where we encountered 32 ofrendas, each dedicated to representing a different Mexican state. The ofrendas were accompanied by 32 towering skeletons (about 9 meters/30 feet tall by my estimation), known as Catrinas, each adorned in the region’s traditional attire. The altars showcased the cultural essence of each region through displays of food, beverages, costumes, decorations, and more. Some even featured poignant tributes, including photographs and write-ups, honouring recently departed local figures.

To build an ofrenda, families will establish a designated area in the home for it. They will then clear out or rearrange the normal furnishings present in that space. In their place, tables and wooden crates are assembled in tiers and covered with clean linens. Offerings and other thoughtfully curated items are then laid out in an artistic and symmetrical fashion. All of this may be done ahead of time in order to make sure everything is ready for November 2. 

Ofrendas are designed to draw the attention of the spirit they are dedicated to, and then to help that spirit find its way home. As a result, several customary items deemed essential for this purpose are typically present on most altars. These include marigolds, crested cockscomb, and other flowers for their scent, as well as candles for their light. Incense made from the Protium copal tree⁸ is burned because, traditionally, it was believed that its scented smoke (copalli in Nahuatl) carried prayers up to heaven. Marigold petals can be employed to create a path leading from the door or street to the ofrenda⁹. In smaller communities, these paths of petals may extend all the way to the graveyard.   

An enduring theme found in most ofrendas is their incorporation of the four fundamental elements of life, with each represented by a corresponding item. For example, earth is symbolized through food, fire with candles, water is served in a glass or clay jug, and air or wind is embodied through the fluttering tissue sheets of papel picado. Salt spread in the form of a cross may also be added to the ofrenda in order to represent the four directions: north, south, east, and west. 

Many ofrendas feature a multi-tiered arrangement, which is meant to symbolize the realms of heaven, earth, and purgatory. The lower tier of the altar, representing purgatory, typically features items such as lit candles and a wash basin for the deceased. Some families also place pillows and blankets around the base of the ofrenda so that their loved ones can rest after their long journey. The middle tier, earth, is adorned with offerings for the deceased, including their favourite homemade meals; bottles of tequila, mezcal, or pulque; seasonal treats such as pan de muerto and candied calaveritas; cigars and/or cigarettes; as well as other items tailored to the individual such as dearly loved books, vinyl records, pieces of jewellery, and—in the case of children—toys. The third tier, heaven, could include a photo of the deceased as well as a crucifix, religious statues, and images of saints; the Virgin of Guadalupe, Mexico’s patron saint, is a popular figure. Above all of this a fourth tier, meant to suggest the sky, may be depicted through the use of a sheet suspended from the ceiling or several strings of colourful blue papel picado.

Ofrendas are made to attract the spirits of departed loved ones. While it remains unclear whether these structures hold any appeal for the dead (tough to know, as they’re mostly mum on the subject), it’s clear that the living derive great enjoyment from them. After all, ofrendas appeal to all five living senses. Sight, through a colourful and interesting display; smell, through the flowers, incense, and food; taste, also through food; touch, through all the different items and textures; as well as hearing, through the flickering candles, rustling sheets of papel picado, and whatever music or conversation the ofrenda has elicited from the people surrounding it. Day of the Dead is a holiday that honours the dead, and it does so in a way that the living also delight in. Likewise, ofrendas pay homage to the souls of departed loved ones in a manner that the living also get to enjoy. 

As you can see, a lot of thought and effort goes into the making of ofrendas. They are full of personal and cultural meaning. I imagine that building one would be a fairly emotional experience, as a person couldn’t help but think of and remember their loved one—fondly or otherwise—throughout the process. I can also see how easy it would be for someone to start contemplating their own mortality in such a circumstance. They might consider questions such as: Who will build an altar for me? What would I want to have included in it? Who will gather around it? If there is an afterlife, will I be able to visit the living and take part in this celebration? Exploring these questions can be challenging, and yet Day of the Dead provides people with an opportunity to think about them on an annual basis. I wonder if this reflection brings any solace or understanding? Does it make anything about experiencing grief and death easier?    

Delicious Delights: Exploring the Special Foods of Day of the Dead

I believe that one of the best parts of any holiday is the opportunity it provides to eat special occasion food. Examples that come to my mind include birthday cake, Christmas cookies, massive pieces of bunny-shaped chocolate, strawberry shortcake, and more¹⁰! I’ve already mentioned a few of the distinctive dishes associated with Day of the Dead, but let’s now dig in explore them in more detail. 

Dough-lightful Departure: Rising to the Occasion with Pan de Muerto, the Bread of the Dead

One of the central culinary traditions associated with Day of the Dead is the eating of pan de muerto, which translates as “bread of the dead.” It is a loaf of semi-sweet bread made with eggs and infused with citrus flavours, usually orange and lime zest, as well as anise. As a decorative touch, strips of round dough are artfully arranged on top of the loaf, resembling the bones of a skeleton. A rounded piece of dough at the centre is crafted to symbolize a skull, adorned with a sprinkle of pink sugar on top. Pan de muerto is usually served alongside a cup of cinnamon-infused hot chocolate.

Calaveritas de Dulce: the Sweet Symbolism of Candy Skulls

Candy skulls, known as calaveritas de dulce, play a vital role in the Day of the Dead celebration. They have a dual purpose, serving as offerings for the deceased on homemade ofrendas¹¹ and as gifts exchanged among friends and family. These deathly sweet skulls are typically crafted from white cane sugar, chocolate, or amaranth. Among them, sugar skulls¹²—referred to as calaveritas de azúcar—stand out as the most popular and traditional type of this confection. 

The creation of calaveritas de azúcar is considered an artisanal craft. While some of these candy skulls are crafted for consumption, the more intricate ones are regarded as folk art and are not meant to be eaten. Artisans often prioritize the aesthetic appeal of these skulls over their flavour. Calaveritas de azúcar come in a range of colours and are finely decorated with icing as well as (inedible) objects such as coloured foil, beads, sequins, and even feathers. This adornment symbolizes the vitality and individuality of a departed loved one. Is it weird that these candy skulls look so vibrant, even happy? No, not at all! The dead like to be remembered. When these skulls are exchanged as gifts, it is common to have the name of either a departed loved one or the living recipient written on a band of foil placed across the confection’s forehead. Calaveritas de azúcar are given to the living as a poignant reminder that the only certainty in life is death. They can also symbolize a promise from the giver that they will save a place for the recipient in the underworld. 

Artistry in Sugar: The Confectionary Magic of Alfeñiques

Calaveritas de azúcar are also called alfeñiques¹³, a term which refers to an intricately decorated confection or figurine made of sugar paste. Alfeñiques are commonly associated with the artisanal crafting of sugar skulls for Day of the Dead, but other popular forms include coffins, crowns, angels, food, animals, and butterflies, as well as skeletal figures depicted in a range of costumes and scenarios. While recipes vary, the essential step for making alfeñiques involves boiling sugar and corn syrup in water. This results in a pliable paste that can then be pressed into a mould to set and solidify. Hours later, after the confection has cooled and hardened, it can be removed from the mould and decorated. 

Alfeñique ingredients, techniques, and decoration vary by region. In Oaxaca, for example, the core of the alfeñiques contain honey. In Puebla, a blend of sugar, egg, almonds, peanuts, and pumpkin seeds creates a sweet almond paste. Other alfeñique recipes may incorporate lemon and vanilla. Vegetable dyes are often used for colour. Alfeñiques are made throughout Mexico, with notable centres of production located in the cities of Toluca, San Miguel de Allende, and Guanajuato. Toluca (located 64 kms west of Mexico City) hosts a prominent alfeñique festival, the Feria del Alfeñique, where hundreds of vendors gather annually from mid-October to early November to sell their embellished confections¹⁴. In the state of Mexico, numerous artisans are able to make a successful living from their craft. Families often pass down their skills, techniques, and even their sugar moulds from one generation to the next, ensuring the continuity of the tradition. 

Beyond Sweets: A Savoury Tribute to the Dead

Day of the Dead isn’t just about sweets, even if the focus of my writing seems to suggest otherwise. A generous amount of hearty food is also prepared for both the living and the dead. These include heaping dishes of rice, chiles, beans, candied pumpkin or sweet potato, tamales, and meat (often chicken or pork) served in mole sauce. Puebla is famous for its mole poblano, a thick, dark red or brown sauce that contains chilli peppers, onion, garlic, raisins, peanuts, almonds, pumpkin seeds, coriander seeds, cinnamon, cloves, pieces of day-old bread, peppercorns, and chocolate. It is believed that the smell of the food placed on the ofrendas helps draw spirits back to their family and, like the living, they can’t resist the opportunity to taste favoured family recipes.

Pulque: Toast to A Mesoamerican Spiritual Tradition

Bottles of tequila, mezcal, and Corona are often included in Day of the Dead festivities as they are favoured by both the living and the dead. Another traditional alcoholic drink, pulque, may also make an appearance. Pulque is made from the fermentation of fresh sap extracted from several species of agave plants, known as maguey in Mexico¹⁵. Pulque has a milk-white appearance, a thick and sticky texture, and a tangy, milky, slightly acidic flavour that is also subtly sweet—many people consider it an acquired taste. 

Non-Alcoholic Beverages

Day of the Dead celebrations also feature some distinctive non-alcoholic beverages, such as Agua de Jamaica, a vibrant ruby-red tea crafted from the flowers and leaves of the Jamaican hibiscus plant. In English, this drink is referred to as “hibiscus water.” The tea is served cold, sweet, and with plenty of ice. 

Atole (also called atolli, atole, and atol de elote) is a hot beverage that, like pulque, can also trace its history back to the pre-Hispanic era. The drink is prepared by heating milk and water with piloncillo (unrefined cane sugar) and corn flour (usually masa harina, which is also used to make corn tortillas). Atole can be further infused with flavours such as vanilla, cinnamon, anise seed, ground nuts, orange zest, and guava. Adding chocolate results in champurrado, a beloved year-round beverage typically enjoyed with churros, either as a simple breakfast or as a snack at any time of day. 

Afterlife Ambiance: Decorative Traditions of Day of the Dead

While traditional food and shared meals often serve as the heart of a holiday, it is the decorations that truly infuse it with charm and magic. In our previous discussion about ofrendas, you may have noticed some recurring decorative elements in the photos I shared, such as the widespread use of marigolds, vibrant tissue paper banners, and images of lively, vivacious skeletons. We’ll now explore each of these in turn, and examine how they each contribute to the unforgettable ambiance of the Day of the Dead holiday.

Marigolds: The Emblematic Flowers of Day of the Dead

My favourite aspect of Day of the Dead is, by far, the beautiful, cheerful, and colourful abundance of marigolds!

Marigolds belong to the Asteraceae family, a vast group of flowering plants encompassing 32,000 species including sunflowers, daisies, and asters, among others. Within this botanical family, the genus Tagetes comprises 50 distinct species¹⁶ of marigolds. The primary marigold species used for decoration in Day of the Dead is Tagetes erecta, more commonly known in English by various names such as the Mexican marigold, American marigold, Aztec marigold, African marigold¹⁷, and big marigold. In Mexico, the marigold is called cempazúchitl or cempasúchil. Tagetes erecta is native to Mexico, and grows wild in the states of México, Michoacán, Puebla, Veracruz, and Guerrero. It is the largest marigold species with heights ranging between 30-120 cms (12-47 inches), and displays large, double pom-pom shaped blooms measuring 5-12 cms (2-5 inches) in diameter. Beyond their impressive size, these voluminous flowers are cherished for their vibrant yellow, orange, red, and creamy white colours. Many people also consider the plant’s powerful fragrance, which is emitted by squeezing its stems and leaves, to be integral to their experience of the Day of the Dead holiday. 

The Nahua people gathered and cultivated marigolds for a variety of medicinal¹⁸, ceremonial, and ornamental purposes. The Nahuatl term cempoalxóchitl or cempōhualxōchitl was used to refer to several species¹⁹ of marigold, including Tagetus erecta. The word is derived from the Nahuatl words cemposalli (twenty) and xochitl (flower), which translates as “the flower of twenty petals.” Marigolds, with their round shape, bright colours, and numerous petals radiating from the centre of the plant, bear many physical resemblances to the sun. As a result, they naturally became associated with one of ancient Mexico’s most important deities, Tonatiuh, the god of the sun²⁰. According to legend, Tonatiuh gifted the Nahua people with marigolds to help them honour their deceased loved ones. The tale behind this unfolds as follows:  

There was once a young man named Huitzilin (the Nahuatl word for “hummingbird”) and a young woman named Xochitl (flower). The couple had been in love with each other since they were children. Together, they climbed a mountain dedicated to Tonatiuh, the god of the sun, to offer him bouquets of flowers. Some time later, war broke out and Huitzilin, a warrior, joined the fight to defend their people’s land. Sadly, he died in battle. Xochitl was devastated by his loss. Grief-stricken and alone, she climbed the mountain that she had once ascended with her beloved. When she reached the top, she pleaded with Tonatiuh to end her suffering and reunite her with Huitzilin. The sun god was moved by her cries and softly, tenderly, shone his light down on her. As the rays of the sun warmed her face, she transformed into a flower. Soon after, a fluttering hummingbird²¹ landed in the centre of the bloom, and the marigold gently opened its 20 petals. 

The marigold’s widespread use in Day of the Dead has transformed it into a national symbol for the celebration, earning it the title flor de muerto, or “flower of the dead.” Marigolds are one of the main decorative items featured in ofrendas and graves. They are used in the construction of floral arches, wreaths, crucifixes, five-point stars, and pathways. Their blooms are meant to symbolize the beauty and fragility of life. This sentiment deepens as the days pass following the marigold’s harvesting: its once-vivid colours fade, its petals droop. 

Marigold petals are also thought to have cleansing properties. Some use them to form a cross on the floor in front of their ofrenda. It is believed that when the souls of the deceased pass through this cross of petals, they are cleansed of their sins and guilt.  

Crested Cockscomb: The Distinctive Floral Companion of Day of the Dead

Among the profusion of marigolds, I noticed that there was a second flower commonly featured on the Day of the Dead ofrendas. I was immediately drawn to these blooms as their dark pink jewel tone happens to be one of my favourite colours. At first, I thought that these flowers were a special type of marigold. However, when I got closer, I realized that the shape and texture of these flowers were unlike any I had seen before. I couldn’t discern any individual petals, only intricate swirls of floral material that spiralled and folded in on itself in a way that reminded me of both coral and the human brain. These unique patterns compelled me to touch them, and I was further surprised by their soft and velvety texture. What type of flowers were these? What was their story?  

The answer to these two questions is a little bit complicated. To start with, this flower is a specific variety of Celosia argentea. Celosia is a genus of ornamental and edible plants that are part of the Amaranthaceae (amaranth) family. Celosia derives from the Greek word keleos, which translates as “burning,” and is a reference to the plant’s vibrant, flame-shaped flower heads. There are three main cultivars or varieties of celosia argentea, with each name based on the shape of their flowers: Plumosa, which bears fluffy, feathery heads composed of hundreds of tiny flowers;  Cristata, with crested blooms, and Spicata, which features bushy, spike-shaped flowers that look like heads of wheat. Among the approximately 50-60 species of celosia, Celosia argentea stands out as the species most commonly grown in gardens. I have seen examples of Celosia argentea var. plumosa and Celosia argentea var. spicata. However, prior to our visit to Mexico, I could not recall ever seeing their eccentric sister Celosia argentea var. cristata. 

Celosia argentea var. cristata, also known as crested cockscomb because its flowers bear a passing resemblance to the red comb of a rooster, is a botanical oddity. If a crested cockscomb plant were to grow normally, its flower head would develop into either the feathery plumes of the plumosa variety or the wheat-shaped points of spicata, as seen in the photo gallery above. But instead, the crested cockscomb plant undergoes a rare form of abnormal growth known as fasciation. Fasciation is a relatively rare condition in which the tip of a developing plant deviates from its typical growth pattern, resulting in the production of ribbon-like or crested tissue formations. With crested cockscomb, the fasciation within the flower head leads to the development of hundreds of tiny fan-shaped flowers densely clustered in wave-like folds, as seen in the photo gallery below. 

Crested cockscomb occurs rarely in the wild as the crested appearance of its flowers are the result of an atypical condition. The plant also has a low seed yield, which hinders its natural propagation. Had it relied solely on its ability to survive in the wild, this flower would have likely become extinct centuries ago. Luckily, the gardeners who first came across this crested botanical oddity loved it and began growing it especially for its distinct appearance. A number of cultivated varieties of crested cockscomb have since been developed, offering an array of heights and colours. In Mexico, the flowers I encountered were mainly from the “Flamingo Feather” line. The plants in this cultivar typically reach heights of 30-60 cms (12-24 inches) and feature a range of pink shades. Other cultivars boast blooms in red, yellow, and orange. Crested cockscomb can be cut and dried in order to make everlasting bouquets. 

I was trying to figure out why crested cockscomb enjoys such widespread popularity in Mexican Day of the Dead celebrations. This flower, whose Spanish names include Flor de Terciopelo (velvet flower) and Cresta de Gallo (crested cockscomb), doesn’t appear to have the same deep-seated cultural significance in Mexico’s history as marigolds. I’m not sure when the plant was introduced to the region, but I think it was likely after European contact in the 17th century as the plant is not native to Mexico. So if it’s not a matter of history, then what could it be? Perhaps it comes down to something as simple as colour. I find the dark pink tone of the Flamingo Feather variety of crested cockscomb irresistible. If I come across a piece of clothing with that exact hue, it will be difficult for me to resist purchasing it. As it turns out, I share my love of this rich pink—reminiscent of fuchsia and magenta—with the country I was visiting! This particular shade of pink is known as Rosa Mexicano or “Mexican Pink.” It rose (ha) to prominence as a symbol of Mexican culture and fashion in the mid-20th century thanks to the influence of Mexican fashion designer Ramón Valdiosera. The colour featured predominantly in a 1949 collection that Valdiosera presented at a parade in New York. He drew inspiration for it from the art and clothing of several Mexican ethnic groups, as well as the pink flowers of the bougainvillaea (the Trinity and Santa Rita varieties in particular). When asked about the colour by journalists, Valdiosera told them that this pink was a characteristic colour of Mexican culture. Et voilà, the designation of this colour (Hex #E4007C or an RGB value of 255, 0, 126) as Rosa Mexicano was born. 

Alongside marigolds and Mexican pink crested cockscomb, other flowers commonly used in Day of the Dead celebrations include baby’s breath (Gypsophila Paniculata), carnations (Dianthus Caryophyllus), wallflower (Erysimum), and chrysanthemums. 

Paper Panache: Papel Picado and Day of the Dead

One of the many things I love about Mexico is its abundance of colour. I favour Mexican pink, of course, but I also enjoy how the buildings, flowers, murals, textiles, food, and art suggest an overall cultural delight with all the colours of the rainbow. This celebration of colour can be seen through the year-round, widespread use of papel picado, also known as “banderitas.” Papel picado, which translates as “punched” or “perforated” paper, is a Mexican folk art that involves the intricate cutting of tissue paper into elaborate designs and patterns. These colourful paper cut-outs are often strung together to create charming banners that can be hung in the streets or displayed in the home. They are often used as decorations for holidays and special occasions such as Day of the Dead, Mexican Independence Day, Christmas, Easter, weddings, birthdays, and quinceañeras. Christmas papel picado typically features a prominent use of red and green paper, while weddings often employ white sheets, which are reminiscent of lace.

A holiday centered around remembering the deceased has the potential to be a somber occasion. Papel picados, however, serve to counterbalance the solemnity of the event, helping infuse it instead with a sense of celebration and joy. Papel picados with Day of the Dead themes typically feature patterns of skulls and skeletons, often playfully illustrating the activities of the living. Colourful strands of the elaborate, cut-out paper designs are suspended above, around, and even on ofrendas, serving to embellish their different tiers. As mentioned earlier, strings of blue papel picado can be hung over an ofrenda to symbolize the sky. The graceful sway of the tissue paper is intended to represent one of the four fundamental elements of life, air or wind. Some people also believe that the gentle, fluttering movement of the banners serve as a signal to families that their departed loved ones have arrived to join the celebration. The delicate nature of the tissue paper used to make papel picados adds poignancy to its use as a decoration for Day of the Dead. If left outside, the paper will disintegrate in less than a month due to its exposure to sun, wind, and rain. Papel picado are, like people, vibrant and intricate, but also fragile and ephemeral.

Traditionally, symbolic meanings have been attributed to colours used in Day of the Dead decorations, representing various individuals and their ways of passing. The selection of papel picado colours for a particular ofrenda may reflect these associations. The papel picado I encountered largely featured blue, orange, yellow, green, red, purple, and pink designs. Blue, as mentioned earlier, symbolizes the sky. Furthermore, it represents water and honours those who have passed away due to water-related incidents, such as drowning and lightning strikes. Orange and yellow both symbolize the light of the sun and the glow of burning candles, serving as beacons to guide the visiting spirits back home. Yellow is also employed to remember the elderly, while green recognizes those who died young. Red pays tribute to warriors who died in battle and mothers lost in childbirth. Purple is connected with the Catholic religion, in which the colour serves as a symbol of grief and death. Pink symbolizes the joy and celebration of the living and the dead reuniting. Black and white are not commonly employed in papel picado designs, although they may be featured in other ways, such as in the colour of linens used to adorn ofrendas. White signifies purity and hope, serving as a representation of the innocence of the souls of infants. Black symbolizes Mictlán, the underworld, or the land of the dead in Mexica/Aztec mythology.

The History of Papel Picado

The art of paper-cutting has been practiced in numerous cultures for centuries throughout the world. Papel picado, with its origins spanning Asia, Europe, and Mesoamerica, is a common sight not only in Mexico but also in other former Spanish colonies.

The introduction of various foreign goods by the Spanish to Mexico in the colonial era included delicate Chinese porcelain, typically wrapped in tissue paper known as papel de China. This paper sometimes featured stenciled designs for ceramics or embroidery. During the 19th century, the rise of expansive haciendas in the Mexican countryside led to the establishment of tiendas de rayas, stores where laborers were compelled to purchase essential items at marked-up prices. These stores introduced the Mexican populace to tissue paper, often used to wrap purchased goods. The town of San Salvador Huixcolotla in the heart of Puebla, southeast of Mexico City, emerged as the birthplace and hub of the papel picado tradition, with a rich community of craftsmen specializing in its production. Papel picado production is a tradition passed down through generations within families. Starting from Huixcolotla in the mid-19th century, the art form gradually spread to other regions of Mexico, such as Puebla, Tlaxcala, and eventually to Mexico City in the 1960s. By 1970, it became a common practice to use papel picado for street decorations and ofrendas, contributing to its widespread popularity. Unfortunately, due to its delicate nature, only a few historical examples of this cherished folk art have endured the passage of time.

How to Make Papel Picado

To create papel picado, artisans assemble 50-100 sheets of tissue paper, stacking them on a lead iron pad. The original stencil pattern, known as the patrón, drawn on a sturdy sheet of manila paper derived from hemp, is placed on the top of the stack. A layer of transparent plastic is then added to safeguard the original design. With the aid of a small mallet and an assortment of sharpened chisels, featuring various sizes and shaped tips similar to those used for punching and embossing leather, the artisans used the stencilled template to guide them as they meticulously pierce through the delicate stack of paper. The lead pad absorbs the force of the strike, preventing the chisel from bouncing back. Scissors can be employed for this process, although chisels provide greater precision and finer detailing, which is particularly crucial when producing papel picado for mass distribution. Artisans carefully cut away the negative spaces of a design, ensuring the overall image remains intact. The outcome is fragile webs of paper that display tailored messages and images. After being cut, the sheets are individually separated and glued to threads, known as guides, strips, or pasacalles (parade), which can extend over 5 meters (16.5 feet) in length. The entire process, from conception to the final cut-out, requires a significant amount of time and patience. From the initial design phase to the completion of the artwork, the process can span over 30 hours. 

Beyond Chinese-style tissue paper, papel picado can be crafted from materials such as rice or silk paper. Plastic has gained favour for its enhanced durability, and Mylar, a synthetic polyester film with a frosted surface, is employed for its shininess. Recently, laser-guided machine-cutting has seen increased popularity, particularly in the United States. This art form faces a threat as village artisans shift away from the labour-intensive process in pursuit of better-paying jobs in urban centres. However, a dedicated group of artisans remains committed to the traditional handcrafting of papel picado. It is important to support them if you are a fan of their work. For purists, the handmade approach remains unparalleled in terms of quality and adherence to tradition. Tissue paper, like human life, is ephemeral. Plastic, unfortunately, is forever as bacteria cannot break it down. Unlike organic material, plastic does not decompose and reintegrate into other life forms. As we’ll explore shortly, the cyclical nature of life and death is a significant theme in Day of the Dead and was integral to the Mesoamerican worldview. Plastic banners fly in the face (ha) of all that.

Below is a video of some papel picado artisans working in a Mexico City workshop:

Tapetes: The Intricate, Temporary Carpets that Adorn Day of the Dead Celebrations

Alongside the plentiful flower arrangements and streams of papel picado, I noticed that numerous ofrendas also featured vibrant artworks laid out on the ground below them. They were made of various materials including flower heads and petals, pine needles, beans, seeds, rice, pieces of fruit, feathers, salt, ash, shells, dirt, and coloured sand or sawdust. Their intricate designs often consisted of crosses, skulls, flowers, swirls, repeating geometric patterns, and blocks of colour. In English, these imaginative creations are referred to as sand or sawdust paintings, while in Spanish, they are known as tapetes, a Spanish word that can translate as rug, mat, or carpet. 

Tapetes are part of a decorative tradition that is believed to originate in the celebration of a Catholic holiday, the Feast of Corpus Christi, in Santa Cruz de Tenerife—a city located on one of the Canary Islands, about 210 kms (130 miles) off the northwest coast of Africa. Traditionally, the feast of Corpus Christi often includes a religious procession through city streets. At some point during the Middle Ages, the city of Santa Cruz began adorning the streets of its procession route with temporary carpets made of flowers and coloured sand. Over the years, this embellishment became increasingly elaborate. Other holidays such as Good Friday and Holy Week soon incorporated the creation of these ephemeral artworks in their festivities. The practice spread to other cities and countries, and was brought to Central America by the Spanish in the 16th century. It has since been practiced across Latin America and parts of the southwestern United States, but remains most popular in Mexico and Central America where its practice now includes Day of the Dead. 

Traditional tapetes are made with coloured and uncoloured sawdust, although other materials are often used with it and sometimes in place of it. The sawdust is sorted, cleaned, soaked in water with dye, and then set out to dry. The finer and more compact the sawdust, the smoother the finished work appears. Designs can be laid out either freehand or with stencils. After the carpet is finished, it is lightly sprayed with water to help fix the sawdust in place. The artwork can reach up to 10 meters (33 feet) long and wide. Day of the Dead-themed tapetes often feature playful depictions of death. They are known for their bright colours, festive spirit, and touch of irony.  

Exploring Iconic Day of the Dead Motifs

Thus far, our exploration of Day of the Dead has focused on the importance of crafting personalized ofrendas to honour and commemorate loved ones. We’ve delved into the symbolic meanings embedded in their decoration and examined the significance of their offerings. Next, we’ll turn our attention to a motif featured in many Day of the Dead decorations and festivities: the frequent, if not ubiquitous, portrayal of the human skeleton. Earlier, we explored the craftsmanship behind calaveritas de dulce, with a specific focus on the artistry of the calaveritas de azúcar. I highlighted that these beautifully decorated confections serve as a poignant reminder that the sole certainty in life is death, and that their bright, colourful adornment is meant to symbolize the distinctive personality of a departed loved one. I’ve also noted that the papel picado employed in Day of the Dead celebrations typically showcases intricate patterns of skulls and skeletons. Beyond these candied skulls and papel picado banners, skeletons also feature prominently in costumes and other forms of decoration. Skeletons are commonly used in Day of the Dead celebrations as they encapsulate many key themes of the holiday: that death is a natural part of life, that life continues after death, and that the spirits of the departed remain a part of the community, worthy of celebration and remembrance. Rather than being associated with fear or horror, the skeletons of Day of the Dead exude a festive spirit. They also demonstrate the lively and vibrant nature of Mexican culture. 

Day of the Dead skeletons are often portrayed revelling in life, adorned in elegant attire, and engaging in lively scenarios. This depiction shares similarities with the European tradition of the Danse Macabre, an artistic genre that emerged following the devastation of the 14th-century Bubonic plague. It is estimated that the plague killed between 75-200 million people, or 30-60% of Europe’s population at the time. Two distinct reactions emerged from this calamity. The first involved an urge to atone and seek God’s mercy, while the second manifested as a hysterical, desperate craving for amusement amid the uncertainty of life. As a creative response to the latter, skeletons from various walks of life were illustrated in a way that mocked death, emphasizing their continued engagement in the activities of the living. This use of humour and ridicule served as a tool to confront death, aiming to diminish its imposing stature and power. In this context, laughter emerged as a source of strength, providing a semblance of control—a small knife held in one’s hand when confronting a towering mountain of darkness and uncertainty. The European artistic traditions of danse macabre would have been brought to Mexico with the Spanish conquistadores in the early 16th century. 

Pre-Hispanic Mesoamerican cultures also used skulls and skeletons as powerful symbols representing life, death, and the afterlife. The prevalence of skull imagery extended to murals, reliefs on pyramids and temples, scenes painted on pottery, illustrations in codices, and incorporation into jewelry. For the Mexica/Aztec, bones, with a special emphasis on skulls, were considered repositories of profound sacred power. According to their belief, the god Quetzalcoatl reanimated the human race by sprinkling his blood on human bones pilfered from the underworld.  Death was conceptualized as an integral part of the life cycle, a process through which new life emerged. In death, a person’s body and spirit contributed to the nourishment of the earth, fostering the growth of new life in the form of trees, plants, and crops. The Mexica/Aztec perceived life and death as interconnected—where life transitions into death, and death, in turn, paves the way for new life. Commoners of the Mexica/Aztec civilization were typically buried beneath their homes or in their fields, with their bones serving as sacred fertility symbols, ensuring abundance and prosperity. These bones emitted and transmitted sacred power, acting as potent reservoirs of vital life forces. Similarly, the Maya often kept ancestral bones on home altars as a means of honouring and connecting with their ancestors.

For some Mesoamerican civilizations, including the Mexica/Aztec and the Maya, the Earth itself was a force that constantly demanded sustenance in the form of human life. Ritual human sacrifice, typically involving war captives, was carried out in order to feed the gods and ensure the continued existence of the world. It was conducted during religious ceremonies, seasonal festivals, and political events. The ritual was performed by priests wielding obsidian blades sharper than surgical steel.

During our visit, we came across several reproductions of skull racks, known as tzompantli. A tzompantli was a type of wooden rack or palisade that was used for the public display of human skulls, usually of war captives and other sacrificial victims. Another type of tzompantli, referred to as a sculptural tzompantli, was adorned with sculpted stone skulls, symbolizing the real or original tzompantli that featured human skulls. Numerous structures of both kinds have been recorded across Mesoamerica, with the earliest known instance credited to the Zapotec civilization at a site in Oaxaca, dating back to approximately the 2nd century BCE to the 3rd century CE. Other noteworthy tzompantli can be traced to the Toltec, Maya, and Mexica/Aztec civilizations. For the Mexica/Aztec and the Maya, these skulls symbolized life and regeneration, as they ensured the continued existence of the world and humanity. Eventually, after months or years in the sun and rain, these skulls would begin to disintegrate. The priests would take them off the rack, employing mortar to integrate them into another structure (perhaps a tower of skulls) or fashion them into masks, which were subsequently placed in offerings. This marks the origin of the tradition of incorporating skulls and skull masks on ofrendas and in the Day of the Dead celebrations.

La Catrina

La Catrina, a female skeletal figure, is one of the most prominent icons of Mexico’s Day of the Dead. Her roots can be traced back to Mexico’s lively political art scene in the early 20th century. Mexican artist José Guadalupe Posada played a significant role in this influential movement as a skilled political cartoonist and lithographer. In his art, he employed skulls and other figures to satirize politicians, highlight governmental injustices, shed light on the exploitation of the masses, as well as delving into themes such as revolutionary politics, religion, and mortality. Throughout his prolific 42-year career, which began in 1871 when he was an adolescent, it is believed that Posada created over 20,000 engravings for various broadsheets, pamphlets, and chapbooks. Among these, an image made between the outbreak of the Mexican Revolution in November 1910 and his death in January 1913, known as La Calavera Catrina, would endure as his most significant legacy. 

The Spanish colonization of Mexico gave rise to cultural tensions that intensified social divisions. For centuries, Mexico was governed by an upper-class that revered and aligned with European culture, often disparaging indigenous and mestizo cultures and their traditions. The image that would become known as La Calavera Catrina portrays a skeleton wearing an extravagant, European-style hat adorned with ostrich feathers and flowers. At the time, an ostrich feather cost significantly more than what the average working-class individual could earn in a week. Posada likely intended this cartoon to satirize affluent Mexicans who embraced European aristocratic influences. Posada’s engraving might have also served as a political commentary on the long-term rule of Mexican dictator Porfirio Díaz, who came into the country’s presidency in 1876 and remained almost continuously in office until 1911. Díaz’s modernization efforts largely favoured both international and domestic parties he supported, leading to the exploitation and impoverishment of the broader Mexican population. Despite his humble origins in Oaxaca and his pivotal role in defeating the Second French Empire led by Austrian Archduke (and French/Napoleon III puppet) Emperor Maximilian I in 1867, Díaz also adopted European fashions and cultural norms. Díaz’s controversial re-election in 1910 spurred his opponent, Francisco I. Madero, to incite an armed uprising, marking the beginning of the 10-year Mexican Revolution. Such was the impassioned political atmosphere that first gave rise to Catrina.  

Posada’s engraving remained unpublished until November 1913, almost a year after Posada’s passing. It was eventually featured in a broadsheet, accompanied by text—written by someone other than Posada—that censured a group of working-class Mexican women for switching from selling native Mexican produce such as beans and corn to Spanish-introduced garbanzos/chickpeas. The text accompanying Posada’s engraving essentially read, “those that today are powdered garbanceras will, in the end, become deformed skulls.” Garbancera was a term used to describe indigenous Americans who sought to emulate European appearances, often by applying powder to lighten their skin and adopting European fashions. Within this context, fair skin held significant cultural value, leading even light-skinned Europeans to use pale makeup to accentuate their whiteness. The bite of Posada’s image, when juxtaposed with this text, is the idea that nothing embodies whiteness more than a skeleton. This scathing critique resulted in the initial title of this image as La Calavera Garbancera. 

While Posada conceived the iconic (and ironic) portrayal of a skeleton donning a bourgeois hat, along with its potentially rich satirical elements, he did not bestow the name “Catrina” upon his calavera figure, nor was he solely responsible for its subsequent widespread popularity among the Mexican public. Sadly, when Posada passed away in 1913, he did so in relative obscurity and financial difficulty. Nevertheless, his former publisher continued to circulate his works in various broadsheets, extending their influence well into the 1920s. In 1922, French artist Jean Charlot, who had relocated to Mexico City from Paris a year earlier, took an interest in Posada’s prints, inspired by his fascination with Mexican manuscripts, art, and pre-Hispanic artefacts. Charlot’s deep appreciation for Mexican culture led to his establishment as a key figure of the Mexican Renaissance. Charlot tracked down Posada’s overlooked printing blocks, including woodcuts, leadcuts, and zincuts, in the workshop of Posada’s former publisher. He shared Posada’s work with other luminaries of the Mexican Renaissance, such as the renowned Mexican muralist and illustrator Pablo O’Higgins, the accomplished American author, publisher, anthropologist, and ethnographer Frances Toor, and the celebrated muralist Diego Rivera, husband of the artist Frida Kahlo. Collaborating with the son of Posada’s former publisher, Charlot, O’Higgins, Toor, and Rivera curated several catalogues featuring Posada’s engravings. In 1930, a book co-published by Rivera and Toor presented the image, formerly known as La Calavera Garbancera, with a new title: La Calavera Catrina. The term “catrine,” initially used in a 1920s broadsheet to describe a male dandy, was the precursor to “Catrina,” used in this book by Toor and Rivera to represent the female counterpart.  

On April 13, 1944, the Art Institute of Chicago hosted the United States premiere of an exhibition titled “Posada: Printmaker to the Mexican People,” organized in collaboration with the Mexican government. This exhibition sought to foster stronger ties between the United States and Latin America amid the turbulence of World War II (cultural diplomacy!). La Catrina featured as the cover girl of the exhibition catalogue, was highlighted in various promotional materials distributed by the museum, and a large print of her adorned the museum wall. Her depiction attracted an overwhelming number of enthusiastic attendees to the exhibit’s opening, surpassing the museum’s capacity and necessitating police intervention to manage the bustling crowd. This exhibition turned La Catrina into an international sensation, even though prior to this she had remained relatively unknown in Mexico. The exhibition was also hosted in New York, Philadelphia, Mexico City, and elsewhere in Mexico. Prominent artists in the United States and Mexico received complimentary copies of the exhibition catalogue. Both Mexican and American writers and artists started incorporating Catrina as a central theme in their creative endeavours.  

Diego River played a crucial role in propelling Catrina to widespread national recognition. In 1947, he featured her prominently in one of his most celebrated murals, Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in Alameda Park, a 50-foot long portrayal spanning Mexican history from the Spanish Inquisition to the Mexican Revolution, encompassing approximately 400 figures. Catrina is depicted linking arms with Posado on one side and a youthful Rivera on the other. Rivera redefined Catrina as a symbol of Mexican nationalism, dressing her in attire and accessories that reflect an association with the country’s indigenous cultures. Notably, a feathered rattlesnake boa links her to the Mesoamerican deity Quetzalcoatl (the feathered serpent) and the goddess Coatlicue (depicted with a serpent skirt). Subsequently, La Catrina took on a life of her own, evolving from a satirical representation originally intended to critique the affluent and their trivial pursuits into a humorous, approachable, and even sympathetic embodiment of death. She gradually became a symbol for the Mexican people, representing the notion that death is an intrinsic part of life, transcending social status. La Catrina is frequently depicted in festive attire, symbolizing the convergence of life and death in Mexican culture.   

Aside from the marigolds, my favourite aspect of Day of the Dead was the many diverse representations of La Catrina, especially all of the colourful, elaborate costumes. Just about everyone dresses as Catrina or her male counterpart, Catrine. We watched a parade featuring Catrinas and Catrines spanning various ages and time periods, adorned in a diverse array of costumes. I also saw a Catrina fashion show, and witnessed a Catrina dance party that took up an entire city street! The costumes were bursting with originality and creativity. 

Conclusion

Despite the length of this article, I feel like I have merely begun to delve into the conversation surrounding Day of the Dead. There is a lot more I would like to talk about, but I ran out of time! I wanted to post this article so that it coincided with the 2023 celebration, but I could have easily spent weeks more writing it. Topics I hope to expand on in future articles include the history of pulque; the story of amate paper and its connection to papel picado; the European celebration of All Saints’ and All Souls’, and which aspects of it got incorporated into Day of the Dead; the Mexica/Aztec calendar months that celebrated the dead; and more. 

I was deeply moved by my experience of Day of the Dead in Mexico. A year prior to my visit, I had lost a best friend and a grandparent, both to cancer. The grief of their loss was still sharp when we went on our trip. Victoria encouraged me to bring a couple of pictures of the people I was mourning because there was a possibility that the conference attendees were going to build an ofrenda of their own. This didn’t end up happening, but I still appreciated having the chance to go through my photos and dedicating some time to the memory of my loved ones. In North American culture, life and death are diametrically opposed. Death is the enemy of life. Many people, including myself, live in a state of near-constant denial that it will inevitably claim us and our loved ones. And even when it does, grief is treated as if it were a one-time, short-lived setback. Community support is typically offered only in the immediate weeks following a death; after the funeral, a person is expected to just “get on with their life” on their own, as if death is not a universal, constant, inevitable part of living. To do so otherwise is to consort with the enemy. 

And what of future losses? I have lost people dear to me, and I deeply dread the passing of more. I know from experience that my world will be forever dimmed, even ruined, by the closest of these losses. What if, instead of passively waiting for the day that tragedy hits, I was able to actively prepare myself for it? What if I didn’t view death as a final, terrifying—even traumatic—rupture between the living and the departed? What if my culture wasn’t extremely death-phobic?  

Imagine, for a moment, if it was possible to reunite with someone you loved and lost. And not just once, but every year—even if just for a day. Okay, so maybe you don’t believe in the afterlife, that’s fine! What if, instead, you believe that the only way your loved one lives on is in your memory? Wouldn’t it be a beautiful thing if, once a year, you could engage with those memories? Wouldn’t it be nice if you could do it with friends and family surrounding you? In a party atmosphere with delicious food, jokes, storytelling, and fun decorations? Mortality is a heavy weight to shoulder. What if you could share your grief and fear with the people who love you and are best able to comfort you? What if, instead of regretting the things you never got around to saying to a loved one until after they were gone, you were annually encouraged to say them? 

I admire a lot of things about the celebration of Day of the Dead. I appreciate that it stems from a culture that does not shy away or outright deny that death is a natural and necessary part of the human experience. In fact, life and death are deeply interdependent and interrelated. You can’t have life without death, and you can’t have death without life. Day of the Dead provides a communal space where grief can be safely and continually felt, expressed, and comforted

I also like that families dedicate a special annual celebration to their departed loved ones. This demonstrates their continued love, care, and respect. I imagine it’s a comfort to know, as one’s own death draws near, that one’s presence will remain cherished and alive with the people who matter most to them. 

I hope you enjoyed learning about Day of the Dead as much as I have. If you haven’t had the opportunity to experience it, I strongly encourage you towards finding a way to do so. And if you have, please reach out and let me know about it! 

May their memory, and yours, be a blessing.

Footnotes

¹ We get a lot of stories at Christmas too, but their narratives generally don’t compel us to consider the mysteries of life, the world, and the universe. They tend to be more focused on themes of love, family, and comfort. 

² Cholula is part of the metropolitan area of Puebla. 

³ Other Latin American countries include Belize, Bolivia, Brazil, Costa Rica, Ecuador, Guatemala, and Peru. In the US, various cities in states such as Arizona, California, New Mexico, and Texas also have their own celebrations. 

⁴ The Nahuas are a group of indigenous people from Mesoamerica, primarily inhabiting the central and southern regions of Mexico and parts of central America (El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, and Nicaragua). They comprise the largest indigenous group in Mexico and the second largest in El Salvador. The Mexica/Aztecs were of Nahua ethnicity. They have a rich cultural heritage and have played a significant role in the history and development of the region. 

The terms “Mexica” and “Aztec” are used to refer to the same indigenous group that established the Aztec Empire in Mesoamerica. “Mexica” is the Nahuatl term used by the people to refer to themselves, while “Aztec” is the term that was later adopted by the Spanish conquistadors and was widely used in historical, academic, and popular discourse. I have opted to use both,  Mexica/Aztec, with “Mexica” first because that is their preferred identification. I’ve kept “Aztec” because, like me, I assume my North American audience is historically more used to that term.  

⁵ Some regions observe additional dates such as October 31, some as a day to honour those who have died in accidents, and November 6. 

⁶ As with all religious and spiritual matters, beliefs about the truth of this vary, from those interpreting it literally to others viewing it as symbolic. 

⁷ The translation of the Spanish word ofrenda into the English altar does not quite convey the right meaning. In English, altars suggest worship. Ofrendas are not set up to worship the loved one, but rather as both a memorial and a place to make offerings. The word altar does convey the look of the physical structure, so it is helpful in that sense.  

⁸ Protium copal trees are native to Mexico and Central America.

⁹ One such path successfully drew me into the Museo Regional de la Révolucion while I was exploring downtown Puebla. I checked out the altar they had set up and then, intrigued, returned to the museum a few days later to see the rest of their exhibit. 

¹⁰ Yeah, sure, these are all sweets. So what? 

¹¹ Calaveritas de dulce were originally created as gifts to be eaten by children. They weren’t traditionally placed on ofrendas, although this practice is now widespread. The first known mention of the sale of these skeletal figures dates to the 1740s. 

¹² In recent years, “sugar skulls” (calaveritas de azúcar) have been gaining popularity as costumes for Halloween. Is this cultural appropriation? That’s not for me to say. I do think there is a danger in reducing these calaveritas to just a Halloween costume and forgetting the deeper meaning they hold in Mexican culture about death and grief. I think it’s best to err on the side of being respectful. There’s lots of other costumes out there! And I am happy to appreciate the stunning costumes and makeup worn by individuals who do traditionally celebrate Day of the Dead. 

¹³ Alfeñiques were brought to Mexico by the Spanish in the 16th century. Alfeñiques, in turn, can trace their origin to Al-Andalus, the Muslim-ruled regions of Portugal and Spain from 711-1492. Sugar was introduced to Spain during this period, and it was used to make a sweet, popular Arabic treat known as “Al-Fanid.” Al-Fanid was made with almond oil, honey, sugar, and water. When cooked, it formed a viscous paste that could be pulled or stretched into a desirable shape. The confection was named for the appearance this sugar paste has after it is worked, as the Arabic word فانيد (fanid) translates to “twist” or “thread.” Al-Fanid was also used to treat sore throats and coughs.

¹⁴ This would be so fun to go to. Victoria and Ingrid, return trip?  

¹⁵ I wanted to talk more about pulque, and I did. But my discussion stretched into the length of a whole other article (3,000 words and counting). When I finish that article, I’ll post a link to it. Its history is actually quite fascinating! 

¹⁶ I am most familiar with Tagetes patula, more commonly referred to as the French marigold, as this particular species, along with its numerous cultivated species, is popularly grown in my region as an annual bedding plant. This marigold is closely related to Tagetes erecta. The main difference between the two is that tagetes patula is shorter in height and more prone to spreading. Both species are native to Mexico. Their species name is derived from their fame in French gardens. 

¹⁷ This species is also commonly referred to as the African marigold, even though it wasn’t introduced to Africa until the 16th century by Spanish explorers. The species earned this nickname due to its initial introduction to Europe through a trade route that traversed northwest Africa. 

¹⁸ Marigold are rich in carotenoids—the yellow, orange, and red organic pigments produced by plants and algae, as well as several bacteria, fungi, and archaea. Carotenoids are responsible for the bright red, yellow, and orange hues seen in flowers (daffodils, marigolds) and vegetables (such as carrots, squash, grapefruit, oranges, apricots and pumpkins). They are converted by the body into Vitamin A, which is essential to vision, growth, and development. Marigolds have been associated with several potential health benefits such as anti-inflammatory and antioxidant properties, wound healing, skin health, digestive ailments, cardiovascular disease prevention, and immune system benefits. Marigolds can also be used as a natural dye in textiles. 

¹⁹ The Nahua people used cempoalxóchitl and cempōhualxōchitl to refer to several varieties of marigold, including: T. erecta, T. patula, T. lunulata, T. tenuifolia, T. peduncularis, and T. elongata. 

²⁰ In ancient Mexican mythology, there are five gods of the sun, known as the “Five Suns” or the “Five Ages.” These deities were associated with different eras or epochs that were believed to represent distinct periods of creation and destruction in Aztec cosmology. The five gods were Tezcatlipoca (often associated with the first era, the “Jaguar sun”); Quetzalcoatl (assocaited with the second era, the “Wind Sun”); Tlaloc (linked to the third era, the “Rain Sun”); Chalchiuhtlicue (connected to the fourth era, the “Water Sun”); Tonatiuh (representing the fifth and final era, the “Sun of Movement.”). According to Aztec cosmology, each of these ages came to an end through catastrophic events, leading to the creation of a new world and a new sun.  

²¹ Hummingbirds held symbolic significance as warriors in Mexica/Aztec mythology. In this story, the hummingbird alighting on the marigold is the soul of Huitzilin, the fallen warrior, returning to Xochitl, who has been transformed into a flower.