Most Friday nights, crowds pack into the Coloseo de Villa Victoria, a multipurpose arena in a working class neighborhood of La Paz. This week, the main event of Líder Lucha Libre is between Juanita la Cariñosa and Claudina la Maldita. These two luchadoras, dressed in sparkly pollera skirts and shawls, perform as chola characters, roughly based on indigenous women who have migrated to urban areas of Bolivia and stereotypically work as market vendors. The luchadoras often wrestle male luchadores, who wear clothing ranging from spandex bodysuits to mummy and werewolf costumes. In these improvised bouts, they jump from the ropes, flip their opponents, and body slam each other, while trying to win the match by pinning their competitor for a count of three. The cholitas luchadoras are almost always audience favorites, but at times are disparaged by other Bolivians for performing in ways that represent a lack of respect towards indigenous women.
See Full PDF See Full PDFThough women’s participation in sport often serves to transform gendered practices, in certain contexts these shifts may entail regressive aspects as well. When women choose to reinforce certain hierarches in order to participate in male-dominated combat sports, it may result in representations that are not wholly empowering for the participants or women in general. Since 2001, indigenous Bolivian women have participated in lucha libre—a form of exhibition wrestling which draws its lineage from wrestling in Mexico and the United States. These luchadoras, like their male counterparts perform as characters as part of a show that is part spectacle, part combat sport. Their characters are based on the icon of the chola, a traditional indigenous woman best known for selling produce in outdoor markets. The chola is historically known for an assertive and commanding presence whether haggling over prices, or demanding rights from the government during popular protests. The luchadoras, wearing the iconic chola clothing of the long layered pollera skirt and bowler hat capitalize on this well known reputation of cholas as strong, empowered, and ready for a fight. Yet the chola is also stigmatized, particularly among elite classes, as being dirty, violent, and uncivilized. In performing as chola characters, Bolivian luchadoras compete with an element of farce, combining bodily humor with what some colleagues believe are underdeveloped wrestling skills. Though they are at times idolized by young girls in the audience, many other audience members, as well as their male peers feel their characters exhibit a lack of respect towards indigenous women. Thus, they straddle a line between portraying a positive image of empowered women, and essentializing or exoticizing indigenous women in ways that hinder positive social change. Based on 18 months of ethnographic fieldwork with both male and female luchadores in La Paz, Bolivia, I suggest that these representations, rather than pushing audiences to think differently about cholas, sustain a one-dimensional viewing of indigenous women’s subjectivities. Though a cursory reading of the phenomenon may position the luchadoras as revolutionary and empowered, it is important to also consider the ways women must essentialize a subject position in order to gain entry to a masculine sport. Thus, this chapter speaks to the limitations of using women in combat sports as models for social change, challenging readers to consider the ways in which seemingly progressive involvement of women in combat sport may shift some hierarchies, but leave others in place.
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Journal of Latin American and Caribbean Anthropology
This article examines indigenous women wrestlers (luchadoras) in La Paz, Bolivia, and the ways in which they creatively use tourists’ assumptions that they are “traditional” peoples performing in “exotic” events. Since 2001, indigenous women have participated in lucha libre—a form of wrestling that draws its lineage from wrestling in Mexico and the United States. Travelers often assume it represents a traditional form, however, because the luchadoras base their wrestling personas and costuming on chola market women. I explore how the luchadoras utilize these perceptions and the resulting media attention to claim cosmopolitan identities. Not only do they gain social status and mobility, but they also see themselves as positive representatives of Bolivian women for a global audience. Este artículo examina las mujeres luchadoras en La Paz, Bolivia, y cómo éstas usan creativamente los supuestos por parte de los turistas de ser “tradicionales” y de que están actuando en eventos “exóticos.” Desde 2001, mujeres indígenas participan en la lucha libre —una forma de lucha procedente de México y los Estados Unidos. Sin embargo, los viajeros, a menudo, asumen que es una tradición porque las luchadoras se presentan con los trajes de las cholas vendedoras. En este artículo exploro cómo las luchadoras utilizan esas percepciones y la atención resultante de los medios de comunicación para reclamar identidades cosmopolitas. Con ello no solo mejoran su posición y ganan movilidad social, sino también se ven a sí mismas como representantes de las mujeres bolivianas ante un público global.
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Lucha libre, a form of exhibition wrestling, has recently gained popularity in Bolivia, thanks to mixed-gender matches featuring traditionally-dressed women known as the cholitas luchadoras. Within their matches, the act of kissing is often used as a form of humiliating an opponent. This article explores the convergence of eroticism and humiliation in these kisses as an entry point for a broader understanding of the deployment of power in the Bolivian context. Taking both the symbolic language of bodies in the ring and audience discourses about that action, I explore how associations between humiliation and demasculinization may reinforce the potency of masculinity as a position of power. Further, seeing the chola as representative of the Bolivian nation helps us to understand the ways that humiliation works as a recognizable trope for Bolivian audiences, lending import to these seemingly superficial performances.
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Latin American and Caribbean Ethnic Studies
For ten months in 2012, as part of ethnographic research, I wrestled in lucha libre events alongside Bolivian women known as the Cholitas Luchadoras. These wrestlers are costumed as 'cholas,' wearing pollera skirts closely associated with market vendors and indigenous women. Audience members debate whether they are authentic representations of indigenous women or essentialized racial characterizations. Regardless, the luchadoras have become popular locally and garnered international media attention. While my subjectivity is quite different from theirs,I argue that the exposure and risks of wrestling contributed to a form of 'embodied solidarity' among us. We both engaged in essentialization of our wrestling characters along gendered and racial lines, to attract audiences and advance our own aims. In doing so, both the lucha-doras and I risked reinforcing some stereotypes and inequalities in order to challenge assumptions-transforming expectations for indigenous women and bringing performance and embodied knowledge more centrally into anthropological discussion. We both used essentialized performances in (hopeful) service of trans-formative politics. In centering attention on the body, I argue that solidarity in risk and exposure may at times outweigh global inequalities, momentarily reverse or equalize power dynamics, and provide a space in which ethnographic understanding may subvert imperialist histories. On 23 March 2012, I put on my Lady Blade costume in the Coliseo de Villa Victoria in a marginal neighborhood of La Paz, Bolivia. In a cement block locker room, I pulled on the tight spandex costume my trainer and I had commissioned from an elderly local seamstress, well known for creating lucha libre costumes. First, a shiny red and blue leotard, followed by silver leggings emblazoned with stylized butterflies on both calves. Then I pulled black boot covers over my well-worn Converse shoes, fastened a silver glittered belt around my waist, and placed cuffs on my wrists. Around my shoulders, I draped a bright blue cape covered in small silver lightning bolts, and finally, covered my face with a butterfly-shaped antifaz (half mask). Even with my body and face covered, entering the ring would be an act of exposure. This exposure carried dual risks; the physical risk of pain and injury and the symbolic risk of not performing well.
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