Withfolklore

13/10/2026

12/10/2026

¿Tú sabías?

12/10/2026

¡Chingue a su madre Cristóbal Colón!

10/10/2026

🇲🇽For many of us who grew up in Mexico, Cafe Tacuba became the soundtrack to our lives. Their music was there as we grew up, fell in love, questioned the world, and discovered who we were.

I genuinely believe they embody something of the collective psyche of Mexico. Our humor, contradictions, nostalgia, rebellious spirit, and the beautiful complexity of our identity.

Beyond being incredibly talented musicians, they’re artists who have challenged musical boundaries, supported social movements, and used their voices to speak out against injustice.

To me, Café Tacvba is so much more than a band. They’re part of our cultural memory, part of who we are, and one of the reasons Mexican music has resonated around the world.

Forever one of my favorite bands. 🇲🇽❤️

What’s your favorite Café Tacvba song?

07/10/2026

👻🇲🇽 Spooky season continues with CLASSIC Mexican horror.

This time we're going all the way back to 1968 with Carlos Enrique Taboada's Hasta el viento tiene miedo.

No crazy special effects. No gore. No monster running after you. Just a girls' boarding school, a forbidden tower, some very strange things happening…and that WIND. 😭

This is one of those movies that reminds me how rich the history of Mexican horror really is.

Long before the Mexican filmmakers dominating horror and fantasy today, directors like Taboada were creating these beautiful, atmospheric Gothic stories that generations of Mexicans grew up watching.

And we're just getting started. 🎃

All October I'm sharing some of my favorite Mexican and Spanish-language horror movies, from the classics to newer films.
So tell me 👇🏽

What horror movie from Mexico or the Spanish-speaking world should we watch next?

And save this one for your October watchlist. 🕯️👻

06/10/2026

Moving countries doesn’t just change your address. It can change what lives inside your body. 🦠

Research has found that after migration to the U.S., the bacteria living in our gut can begin to change including changes in microbial diversity and in the functions that help break down fiber.

Food carries history but our bodies carry history too.

This is why I wrote Decolonize Your Diet: to put nutrition, biology, migration, colonization, and culture into the SAME conversation.

📚 Decolonize Your Diet is available now in my shop and on Amazon

01/10/2026

🎃 IT’S OCTOBER 1ST, which means spooky season has officially begun.

So all month long, I’m going to be sharing some of my favorite horror films from Mexico and across the Spanish-speaking world, the classics, the weird ones, the beautiful ones, the ones that scared us as kids, and hopefully a few you’ve never heard of.

We’re starting with one of my absolute favorites: El Espinazo del Diablo (2001), directed by Guillermo del Toro. 🇲🇽

It’s haunting, beautiful, heartbreaking, and a perfect example of why I love horror that gives you something to think about long after the movie ends.

👻 Now tell me: what Mexican or Spanish-language horror movie HAVE I GOT to cover this month?

Save this one for your October watchlist. 🎃🕯️

28/09/2026

I was 15yrs old when I walked onto en callejón where all the artisans sold their work. Toño, Laura, Ariel, el Chango, Chena, el Chaquis and many more welcomed my curiosity.

They taught me their craft, they taught me more about our culture, our dances, our music and they offered a wonderful space where I was heard and seen.

I am now 37yrs old and every time I am in town I spend time with them because for the last 22yrs they have become family.

Gracias a todos ustedes por darme algo un segundo hogar y por todo lo que me han enseñado, los amo mucho!

Go support the resistance of urban art and follow Toño & Laura Sembradores Campos

24/09/2026

🎬The most terrifying films aren’t always horror movies.

Sometimes they’re about ordinary people, convinced that they’re protecting their community from an enemy that never existed.

Canoa: Memoria de un Hecho Vergonzoso (1976), directed by Felipe Cazals, is one of those films.

Fear. Religion. Propaganda. Power. A community taught who to blame and the very real violence that followed.

And knowing this happened in Mexico in September 1968, just weeks before Tlatelolco, makes it hit even harder.

Nearly 50 years later, the question Canoa leaves us with still feels painfully relevant:

How much fear does it take before we stop seeing another person as human?

Mexican cinema has been telling stories the world needs to hear. 🇲🇽

Watch Canoa. Then come back and tell me your thoughts.

canoa mexicancinema mexicanfilm moviereviews communism