The Zipper: A letter from Maria Ponce
Introduction by Daniela F. A.Maria Ponce is a Mexican performer, fashion designer, and LGBTQ+ activist. But above all, she is a human being… a very gifted and creative one. One who is (as we all are) capable to love, to feel, to be confused, to be ripped apart.
To the naked eye, she is a maximalist artist. But behind all that tulle, wool, and cotton, Maria keeps close to heart her childhood’s nostalgia, where the surrealism of Mexico City, the piñatas, Maria Felix, the antiques from La Lagunilla market, and her grandmother's cabinet, always inspires her creative soul. A successful debut in 2018 with an extravagant collection presented during London Graduate Fashion Week, boosted the rise of her career.
Photo Courtesy: Maria Ponce photographed by Daniel Molina, intervened by Maria P.
For this issue, María opens up to We The Cool Magazine about her personal approach on love, sex, and fashion, through a letter on how her passions meet, play, and blend. This is a metaphor about her own journey and the power that fashion has for undressing the body and the soul.
Letter to all my lovers, those who were not…
Mexico City, February 14th, 2021
The zipper is a metaphor that opens. It is a golden lock that shines into the dim light of the lamp. The door between the dress and the body. The little window to the soul that the curious wants to spy on. You decide which will be the key that will open it. The hand that helps and deprives, the hand that embraces and caresses in a tender or in a wild way. The golden lock can be diverse, and it enjoys being masculine or feminine, a gender that we will improvise, a chimera.
You reach the distant zipper and it’s in that moment when you realize that the most honest hand is the one of self-love, the most important concept in the dictionary. The zipper goes down, the dress falls to the floor, and the scented freedom evaporates in the room. What an outstanding achievement! Sleeping with a re-count of the damages, the smile reappears just like a cybernetic sticker with a digital click. When the sleep overcomes, naked and in complete solitude, in a roundhouse, ready to sleep and to conquer my dreams; waiting for the next day, like Pita Amor, winning the battle and waving a flag with the words: “A reina nadie me gana... y a loca menos.”
x
Maria Ponce.
The flashlights end and so is the music. The reflection of the sequins disappears as if they were scheduled alarms that turn off when the show ends. On your way back home, almost at dawn, in the silver night that matches your earrings, you realize that you are alone. Am I really going back home at high speed with the wind blowing in my face and with a salon hairstyle that is ruined by that horrible hairspray?
You get out of the car and the long tail of the dress gets stuck hindering your steps. “Pisando fuerte” as the song says, yearning to take off those heels that feel like knives. When you arrive, you observe the situation: the lamp that draws golden shadows on the table, the armchair, the carpet. The apartment is still intact as if it had remained paused since the moment you closed the door. You slide down the kilometers while you think about the height of your look, and just when you want to get rid of that uncomfortable corset, it comes that horrible feeling of not being able to unzip it and free yourself. Free yourself from Ávalos, Prada, or “the paca”; whatever.
