Until recently, tropes to depict Latinas were exclusively reserved for film and scripted television. But if you’ve seen season six of Love Island USA, you might have recognized the spicy Latina — a fiery, loud, hypersexualized woman of Latin American descent — in colombiana y cubana Andrea Carmona and a bit of it in puertorriqueña Daniela Ortiz. In case you haven’t watched: Carmona came in ready to “steal” Aaron from Kaylor, and instead ended up “stealing” Aaron’s best friend Rob from Leah. Ortiz, on the other hand, set her sights on Aaron and kissed him during Casa Amor. Then also ended up with Rob before being voted out of the villa.
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As I watched the season, I wanted to like Carmona and Ortiz so badly. I wanted to see myself and my homegirls in them, to celebrate them as fellow Latinas on a show that isn’t exactly known for its racial and ethnic inclusivity — but instead I saw a trope that I’m all too familiar with, and honestly quite tired of.
To be sure, casting, production, editors, and the participants themselves all heavily relied on the spicy Latina trope. As such, Carmona and Ortiz seemed like caricatures, one-dimensional mamacitas who were just there to steal men from other women.
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"Until recently, tropes to depict Latinas were exclusively reserved for film and scripted television. But if you’ve seen season six of Love Island USA, you might have recognized the spicy Latina — a fiery, loud, hypersexualized woman of Latin American descent."
Natalie Arroyo Camacho
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Historically, writers and producers have resorted to a handful of tropes to “represent” Latinas. There’s the maid, as you can see with Jennifer Lopez’s titular character in Maid in Manhattan. Or you might be familiar with the perfect Catholic virgin, exemplified by Gina Rodriguez in the telenovela-like drama Jane the Virgin. Out of the half-dozen tropes, though, the most common is the spicy Latina — think Gloria Prichett from Modern Family or Gabrielle Solis from Desperate Housewives.
Producers rely on this trope to appease Anglo audiences, particularly white men. “Often depicted in comedies or musicals as the love interest to the white male lead, the spicy Latina or spitfire trope, which ultimately stereotypes and flattens out sexual and racial diversity for Latinas, is seen as a familiar and safe representation for Anglo audiences,” says Isabel Molina-Guzmán Ph.D., professor of communication and Latina/Latino studies at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign.
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It also saves producers the work of creating a novel, complex character who experiences levels of growth and development. And this, obviously, is to the detriment of Latinas — participants and viewers alike.
It’s important to note that cast members are not characters, per se; they are real people with real lives and real emotions. Once the show is over, they’ll continue to exist. However, reality TV itself … is not actually real. It’s heavily scripted and edited, meaning that casting agents, editors, and producers are largely to blame for employing this trope.
“If you look at reality television, there are always tropes,” says Dr. Molina-Guzmán. As a reality TV fan of more than 20 years, I know there’s usually an asshole, a backstabber, an emotionally unstable firecracker, and a morally righteous character who just happens to be there. “They look for that in how they cast the show, but also in how they edit it,” Dr. Molina-Guzmán adds. “They can edit an interaction between two people in a reality show to make one of them look like an angel and the other one look like a totally horrible, mean person.” (Justice for Leah!!! Iykyk.)
What’s worse is that if you’re a Latina, it’s all but given that production and editing will use a trope to paint your portrait. You’ll be the maid, the virgin, or — in Carmona and Ortiz’s case — the spicy Latina. “The spitfire Latina trope is the perception that Latinas are hot-tempered, threatening, dangerous, over-the-top, and hypersexualized,” says Yessica Garcia Hernandez, Ph.D., an assistant professor of Chicana/o and Central American studies at UCLA.
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"Reality TV itself … is not actually real. It’s heavily scripted and edited, meaning that casting agents, editors, and producers are largely to blame for employing this trope."
Natalie Arroyo Camacho
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More often than not, the casting calls themselves have verbiage that alludes to this trope. (“Are you an out-spoken Latina who speaks with a fiery passion? Love Island wants you!”) Herein lies the overlap between fully scripted content and reality TV. Just like you would need an actress to be willing to play a spitfire Latina, you’d need a real-world Latina who is comfortable playing that role.
“[Refuting the trope] is trickier in reality TV, especially when you talk about the participants and their complicity,” says filmmaker and UCLA professor of theater, film, and television Kristy Guevara-Flanagan, Ph.D. “I'm assuming it’s [subconscious] to a big extent, but that still perpetuates the stereotypes.”
Cue Carmona and Ortiz, who both referred to themselves as spicy or fiery. “People realize that if they play into these archetypes, they get more screen time,” adds Dr. Guevara-Flanagan. “That's what [casting and production are] looking for — that conflict and drama — so they put people up against each other, and the participants fall into the trap of playing up those archetypes.”
And while this obviously perpetuates a one-dimensional caricature of Latinas as overly emotional and sexually attractive, maybe we shouldn’t place most of the blame on participants. “There is power when Latinas self-proclaim as ‘spicy’ or intentionally decide to perform the temptress role,” says Dr. Garcia Hernandez. “It is our role as viewers and critics to provide the space and language to understand this decision.”
For instance, Carmona and Ortiz could’ve consciously embodied the spitfire Latina as a strategic tactic to ensure that they stayed on the show — because, make no mistake, this is the lens that Anglo people use to observe and “understand” us. And because producers know this, they’ll make sure to edit “so that [viewers see Latinas] in familiar ways,” says Dr. Molina-Guzmán.
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According to the experts, this trope’s harm is twofold. First, it doesn’t allow our non-Latine counterparts to see us as the complex individuals that we are. We’re reduced to these stereotypes, which puts the burden of proof on us. We have to prove that we’re more than a servant, martyr mother, struggling immigrant, or spicy Latina. Secondly, it might make us feel like we have to police our behavior. “You don't want to be seen as that stereotype, and so you might not raise your voice to speak your mind, which is critical in any positions in the workspace or the educational space,” says Dr. Guevara-Flannigan.
And, for the record, no Latina is exempt from this. “I always dressed like a nun [when I taught classes] because I didn't want to be read as that stereotype,” says Dr. Molina-Guzmán. “I don't do it anymore, but it took me a while to feel comfortable enough to be myself — to wear makeup, jewelry, and clothing that wasn't baggy.”
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"There is power when Latinas self-proclaim as ‘spicy’ or intentionally decide to perform the temptress role. It is our role as viewers and critics to provide the space and language to understand this decision."
Yessica Garcia Hernandez
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Carmona and Ortiz — who were both with Anglo men — might’ve referred to themselves as “spicy,” but let’s just say: this is not how most Latine people refer to each other. “[Creators of Spanish-language reality TV don't often] use the spicy Latina trope to describe those characters,” says Dr. Garcia Hernandez. “This tells us that the spicy Latina characters are constructed by the fantasies of the white gaze.”
It would’ve been great to see the other sides of these women — being there for the girls, helping them do their hair, gossipping, and drinking cafecito con pan or queso. As a viewer, I would have loved for them to do the things I do, but production didn’t give us that chance.
No problems are solved overnight. At best, we can hope that casting agents, editors, and producers start to see and depict Latinas as the multi-dimensional humans that we are. That way, the participants they call don’t feel obligated to walk the tight trope (pun intended). At worst, we’ll have to rebuke these false portrayals and remind ourselves that we are so much more complex than these stereotypes. The good news is the latter won’t be difficult considering we’ve been doing it all our lives.