How the Eurodonisx Fashion Show Rebirthed Me

By Sonia Siddiqui

Motherhood: an intricate painting of loud colors and bold strokes. She is unique in the way she holds herself within the frame, with different colorants and sentiments to represent herself. In Mexican culture, motherhood’s laugh is represented by the color green from the greenery of the land, her cries and wails with the color orange from the sun kissing the sky above the soil. The color red represents her dance as she moves her feet in a red Folklorico dress to the rhythm of an acoustic guitar, playing traditional Mexican music. Motherhood is a painting. She is a creation and a creator at the same time; she becomes her child. Motherhood is artistry. Sometimes she is anger and despair; where the very state of owning something and birthing it, becoming it, is arduous beyond comparison. Artists of all kinds are mothers of their works. Being an artist is the closest someone can get to being eternal; an artist of a surviving creation.

Eurodonisx is a mother of her art, where her art is influenced by our motherland.

Red ribbons twist within the spines of the braids that sit gracefully on their shoulders, perfectly complementing the designs painted onto the clothes. I was reminded of when my mother used to sit me in her lap as a young girl and weave my hair into spines, as if she was an artist drawing a body. She recounted stories of her memories in el rancho, an area outside of the city of Dolores Hidalgo, where her father owned animals, her mother grew cacti, and her school taught her Folklorico dance. She recounted these stories with such ardor; as if her memories were confined in a jar for so long that they were eager to be let out. The home she now lives in was foreign to her; her memories not welcomed or embraced. The red ribbons reminded me of my mother. I felt mothered by the pieces Eurdonisx created.

Eurodonisx is a mother of her creation. A Chicana designer based in the heart of Chicanx culture in northeast LA, her first runway show on October 14, 2022 showcased her pieces hecho a mano, made by hand, in a small warehouse in east Los Angeles. Eurodonisx bases her work on her culture, incorporating elements of the Chicanx experience while paying homage to her Mexican roots. Pride is encapsulated in every meticulous detail of the show, from the faces featured on the runway to the local Mexican vendors, cultural music, and extravagant decorations. As I immersed myself in the many videos and photographs of the show, wide-eyed and in awe, a specific decoration caught my attention: the Day of the Dead remembrance altar adorned with painted calaveras (skulls) and the Catholic Virgin Mary figurine standing delicately in the middle, blanketed by the vibrant colors of Mexican marigolds. 



The figurine’s quiet, captivating grace stopped time around me. I was instantly reminded of the familiar, recurring feeling from my childhood where I never once thought I could be a mother. As a young girl, I would watch my mother care for me in ways I thought I could never do for someone else. She looked over me so much I think she became a part of me. There were pieces of her left in everything she did for me, the food she cooked, the clothes she sewed, the comfort she provided me.

In Mexican culture, being a mother is cherished. It follows the religious idea of the divine role of Virgin Mary in Catholicism, the dominant religion in Mexico. Virgin Mary is worshiped. I could never be a mother because I was not from my mother’s birthplace, nor did I practice Catholicism. I was able to understand her tongue, but I only spoke the language of the land I was born on. The soil of this land had tainted me. It had sewn itself into my skin and became a part of me; I took on a dirty, undesirable form. My mother’s culture was an alluring, welcoming theatrical performance, but I was a bystander trapped in the audience, a ghost trapped inside a body that was not mine. I constantly felt diluted, contaminated and washed away with American cultures and values. I was not Mexican enough to birth creativity on the land where motherhood meant something else, something stagnant and fixed. Here, motherhood is not a painting with loud green strokes, strong orange colorants, or red ruffled dresses. I would never be able to understand because the motherhood I knew was that of Mexico.

Eurodonisx encapsulates this feeling, one I thought I would never be able to see performed right in front of me. Representing her Mexican roots while incorporating the meaning of being Mexican-American. I realized the common feeling among those of us born on soil foreign to our parents is the feeling of emptiness, of lack of belonging. I was a ghost, and I wanted to be seen more than anything.

Clothing expressed the vessel I could not touch, the vessel I could not be. I was able to define myself through the way I dressed, but it felt ostracizing to never see my household’s culture represented in fashion, and no designers that shared my experience. The symbols on the hand-painted jeans reminded me of the patterns of the Mexican table doilies my grandma crochets as a pastime. Each piece of yarn is weaved with meaning, entwined within the other strands to create a beautiful pattern. When crocheting such an intricate design, it is difficult to prevent the yarn from tangling and crashing into each other. I remember watching my grandmother weave the strands with such grace. The thin lines and bold strokes on the jeans featured in the show were gracefully weaved within each other, with purpose, just like the yarn.

I finally saw art made by people who lived as the same ghost.




The Eurodonisx fashion show is revolutionary for me. The Inspiration and pride from every element of the show is my source of light and water from the soil of this land sewn into my skin. Eurodonisx is a mother to her art; she created me, a plant that is able to birth creativity on its own, regardless of the soil I was born on. I am rebirthed, finally able to become a mother of creativity. ■