Paulina’s Playground: A survival guide to Mexican love, food and emotional blackmail

Somewhere between cultural pride and emotional manipulation, you’ll find the chaotic art of the Mexican guilt trip. And let me tell you, we’ve got it down to a science. You think “No, gracias” is an option? No güey! Go ahead, try it! That peer pressure will come in hot—like a fresh tortilla straight off the comal.

Mmmmm… tortillas! Speaking of food—do we really need that second plate? Did we even want the first one? Doesn’t matter. At some point, you’re getting force-fed a sizzling piece of carne straight off the grill by your suegra, barehanded. Awkward? Absolutely. Avoidable? Never. Saying no isn’t just rude—it’s a betrayal. “¿Qué, ya no te gusta mi comida?” Congratulations, you just offended the entire bloodline.

Then there’s the dancing. We’re all for a little Bidi Bidi Bam Bam, but when your drunk-ass tío drags you onto the dance floor for a full-on borracho quebradita performance, there’s no escape! Suddenly he’s all metido en tu cucu and you’re clinging to his back-fat for dear life, praying you don’t get spun straight into the thorn bush. You’re pretty sure this is going to end in a dislocated shoulder or your tanga flashing the whole family like a sinvergüenza. But can you say no? Of course not. He fixed your car in 2009—you owe him at least a dance!

And the tequila shots. Why must everyone take a shot together? And why does declining one feel like a personal attack on the entire family? You could be driving, pregnant, in recovery, or breastfeeding a baby who’s literally latched onto your tit—and they’ll still be like, “¡Ándale, nomás una! ¡Culera! ¡Culera!”

We know how to party, no doubt. Whether we like it or not, our parties are easily 50–100 people deep—and that’s just on a random Sunday carne asada. There’s no use in trying to explain the meaning of an “intimate party” to Mexicans—it’s a completely foreign concept. Most of the time, you’re not even invited—just expected! You learn quickly that it’s super offensive to be a no-show to your comadre’s third cousin’s niece’s quinceañera that you didn’t even get an invitation for in the first place! So what do we do? We show up and get stuck at a table eating with strangers who are somehow “basically family.”

And ay, Dios mío, the Mexican goodbyes! Olvídate. You say goodbye to everyone—individually. Multiple times. Then you start the “ya nos vamos” walk that lasts 45 minutes, involves a to-go flan, and ends with hugging the same people you already hugged a million times. You end up all norteada and mareada, with guilt inside you that you may have missed someone! Try sneaking out early though, and you’ll be labeled la malagradecida for life. I wouldn’t test that one if I were you.

So yeah, willpower is hard—but in our culture, it’s practically a survival skill. We call it character building. We say it’s how we toughen up our kids, how we teach them when to stand firm and when to just smile, nod, and eat the damn tamal.

And maybe that’s the true reason behind it all. Because let’s be real—you don’t see too many of us getting punked. We’ve got thick skin, quick comebacks, and the instinct to side-eye first and ask questions firmly later. Maybe all of it is a lifelong bootcamp—but it makes us strong, and fun to be around, with stories that can entertain for days.

So next time someone yells “¡Otra, otra!” and shoves a tequilita down your throat and a mic in your face to sing that Ramón Ayala song—don’t fight it. Take that shot, roll your R’s, hit that grito—you were never going to win anyway. Because in this culture, saying no isn’t an option. And really… why would you want to?