"There's no such thing," Armando, a Juchitán native, snapped. "Tejuanas have the same problems as women everywhere, but their role is more important, because they've always made their own money selling things in the market."
The Muxes I met certainly play important, and visible, roles within their community. Pedro, a soft-spoken weaver who invited me into the dirt courtyard of his house, helps support his family by making gorgeous embroideries on black velvet for trajes that women wear at special events. José, who carried a plastic purse and confided to me that he was depressed because his boyfriend had married a woman and wouldn't see him anymore, is a candlemaker. A tiny man called Mauro showed me around his workshop, where he makes papier-mâché animals and paper flowers for parade floats, velas, and weddings. He has helped decorate the Intrépidas' vela, but doesn't attend it. "It's too showy," he said in Zapotec. Later Layla told me, "There are two kinds of muxes. Mauro is close to 50—at that age, his type, they're not transvestites, they don't take a girl's name."
The other kind is exemplified by Felina, who owns a successful hair salon and dress shop in Juchitán. Layla's mother taught Felina when she was a schoolboy named Ángel. Now Felina dresses as a woman and is treated as such. Tall and slim, she was queen of the Intrépidas in 1998, and photos of her triumph decorate the acid-green walls of her salon. She is also a member of the muxe basketball team, which competes in a tournament the week preceding the vela. "We play other gay teams, and sometimes male teams," Felina said, highlighting the muxes' perception of themselves as a third gender.
The climax of the festival is the ball on Saturday night. "Everybody dresses their best, very glamorous," Felina said, adding that her clients "have to be very good girlfriends for me to help them get ready, because I'm getting dressed myself." That night, among a crowd of 2,000 creating a fire hazard in the fuchsia-colored concrete bunker known as the Salón Princesa, I understood Felina's need for concentration: each muxe clearly strives for the most attention-getting ensemble. There were muxes in trajes, ball gowns, and miniskirts and thigh-high boots—some of them with prosthetic breasts and one with very real-looking implants. Former queens wore over-the-top costumes: Camelia was dressed as a flamenco dancer; Zita, in a green gown adorned with peacock feathers, was La Señorita Ecológica, with three live iguanas attached to her hair.
Dancing with them were their families and friends. One teenage girl tapped my shoulder and asked, "Do you mind if I take a picture of you?" I couldn't understand why she would waste film on me when there was a transvestite with three live iguanas on her head nearby. Then I realized that in Juchitán, a blonde in a traje and a floral headpiece was a more unusual sight than either a man in drag or a live iguana. After a series of presentations, Juchitán's mayor, Héctor Matus, crowned this year's queen and spoke: "We Juchitecos respect our male friends who have different preferences," he said, while a marching band of 12-year-olds played.
The next afternoon, Felina wore a traje, as all cross-dressing muxes do for the closing ceremony. This was a much smaller event, the highlight of which was transfer of responsibility between the outgoing and incoming sponsors of the vela. As the groups paraded, the bandleader said a few words: "Thanks to God and to the people of Juchitán for allowing us the freedom to walk down the street. And remember, there's still a long way to go."
In most of Mexico, acceptance of homosexuality is a modern idea. But in Tehuantepec, the existence—and acceptance—of muxes is an age-old tradition of the Zapotec culture, one that's suddenly become current. Lately, the Intrépidas' vela has inspired others, such as the Festival of the Crazy Moon of Oaxaca. And one of Mexico's government-sponsored gay community centers was slated to open in Juchitán this year.
"Muxes from other parts of the country, like Camelia, come to Juchitán because it's more open," Layla told me. The vela is a celebration of this openness, unusual not only in Mexico, but in much of the world. As the bandleader said on Saturday night, "For two days we welcome people into our fantasy. We don't want New York or Paris. Our heaven is here."
ELENI N. GAGE is an editor at People magazine and the author of North of Ithaka (St. Martin's Press).
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