Arianna Davis - What Would Frida Do?: A Guide to Living Boldly

T he streets of Mexico Citys southern neighborhood Coyoacn are quiet. Colorful houses with intricate iron gates dot avenues named after cities in Europe: Paris, Berlin, Madrid. Suddenly, on Calle Londres, the stillness is broken. Dozens of people are buzzing about, some standing on their toes to get a glimpse at the front of a line that wraps around the block. From 1907 through 1954, this electric-blue house was home to Frida Kahlo.

Since 1958, La Casa Azul has been known as Museo Frida Kahlo, or the Frida Kahlo Museum, a donation from the artists husband, Diego Rivera, who wanted the home he shared with his wife to become a tribute to her work. And more than six decades after her death, the house still feels full of life.

When I first walk through the tall green entryway beneath the words Museo Frida Kahlo, Im greeted by a large patio surrounded by walls so vibrantly blue they almost hurt the eyes; a jungle-like assortment of greenery and cacti hugs the trunks of palm trees that stretch toward the sky. Before heading inside, I spot a small stone bench off to the side and sit down to drink it all in. I close my eyes to focus on the sound of water sprinkling from a fountain; the autumn air is crisp and cool, and the scent of earth and moss clings to my skin. Overhead, leaves sway and birds caw cheerfully. And then, when I open my eyes, shes there: a young Frida Kahlo limping through the garden, her skirt sweeping the floor as she hums Cielito Lindo to herself. Her hairless dog, Seor Xolotl, scurries behind her. When the front door swings open, she turns, a radiant smile spreading across her face. Diego! she cries. I smile, too.

And then, as quickly as it began, my daydream is interrupted by a squeal. A tall, lanky blonde is yelling Excuse me! as she trips over my foot. Apparently, Im in the way; shes been angling into this spot for a photo. After I shimmy to the side, she strikes the perfect influencer pose as her friend snaps away on her iPhone. As soon as they leave, I sigh with relief that I can return to my peaceful revelry with Fridabut no sooner does the blonde leave than a gaggle of high school girls in matching Frida Kahlo tees arrive, chatting in Japanese as they snap selfies. Behind them, it seems the crowd that has been let into the museo has nearly doubled in size; a chorus of accents fills the previously peaceful space as visitors jostle one another to try to enter the home.

Outside the museum, every corner of Fridas beloved neighborhoodthe place where she was born and where she died, where she fell in love with her husband, where she painted some of her most moving works, and where she always returned after every stint living abroadis crowded with Frida graffiti, posters, and souvenir carts. For several blocks, you can find a woman on every corner wearing a Frida-style costume calling out that she has items for sale from a basket full of T-shirts, wallets, and tiny twee dolls with felt unibrows. Keep walking toward the center of town, and the stalls of street markets overflow with goods decorated with Fridas image, everything from dangling beaded earrings to cooking aprons, jewelry boxes, matchboxes, slip-on shoes, iPhone cases, and salad bowls. And this level of Frida adulation extends far beyond the magical, art-filled streets of Coyoacn.

Since the 1990s, Fridamania has been in full swing around the world. The artists posthumous popularity only increases every year, and at this point its clear that Fridamania is not a passing trend; the world will forever be infatuated with her image, life, art, and legacy. Thanks to a resurgence of her work during the womens rights and Chicano movements in the 1980s, by the next decade, the late Frida had become a full-blown celebrity. A 2002 Oscar-winning biopic starring Salma Hayek only further fueled our cultures obsession with her. Now, her influence can be felt thousands of miles away from Mexico City, reaching as far as the museums of Europe, the kitschy shops of Tokyo, and well, basically anywhere the internet can reach.

Give her name a quick google, and you will find Frida Kahlo keychains. Frida Kahlo wallets. Frida Kahlo magnets, mugs, and music boxes. Frida Kahlo socks, suitcases, and scents. Frida Kahlo beach bags, pens, tequilas, nail polishes, coffee machines, makeup palettes, credit cards, kimonos, sneakers, garden planters. There are even sanitary napkins. (Yes, you read that right.) Her face adorns the walls of chain restaurants and postcards that spin around merchandise carousels in college bookstores. Universities around the world hold entire courses about the artists work. Chain retailers like Vans have released merchandise collections featuring her face. In 2017, to mark what would have been her 110th birthday, the Dallas Museum of Art held a Frida Fest where attendees set a Guinness World Record for the largest gathering of people dressed like Frida Kahlo. During the coronavirus pandemic quarantine in 2020, small online retailers like Artelexia in San Diego, California, quickly sold out of Frida Kahlo jigsaw puzzles.

Long before smartphones turned millions of people into aspiring influencers like the ones I bumped into at the museo, there was the artist who would empower generations of women to embrace their own images: Frida Kahlo. Of course, Frida was not the first person to paint a self-portrait; in fact, as far as historians know, the first panel-style self-portrait in history is 1433s