Latin Music is TikTok's Latest Trend: What It Means & What Non-Latinx Creators Need to Know
Whenever I’ve scrolled through my FYP on TikTok the past few months, it’s been both surprising and confusing. I was never sure if the algorithm was responding to my interest in videos about Latinx culture, or if the number of times I saw Latin music being used by creators of all backgrounds was a signal of something much bigger going on around the platform. It was a real head-scratching, chicken-or-the-egg question until I researched and realized that it wasn’t just me: Latin music, particularly reggaeton, has become one of the biggest TikTok trends of the summer.
Being that I’m of Mexican heritage, one might think that I’d be happy to see the Latinx community uplifted in this way. For years, Latin music has been something of an enigma. Despite having our own music award show and even our own category at many ceremonies, the mainstream industry hasn’t made room for many Latin artists to shine or be remembered or become household names, with the exception of global icons like Selena, Jennifer Lopez, and Shakira.
I’d argue that Luis Fonsi and Bad Bunny were some of the first to change the game for us, to break hundreds of streaming records on Billboard and Spotify, create music practically designed to go viral as TikTok’s next trending sound, and revitalize classic Latin genres like reggaeton with a 21st-century spin. That kind of popularity is hard for people outside the community and in any entertainment industry to ignore. In large part because of the success of Latinx artists (and proof that the Latinx community is, in fact, a money-making market), we’ve become more visible than ever in music, publishing, television and film, and social media.
But like most trends of this caliber, it’s all happening with a caveat or two. While Latinidad seems like it’s being celebrated on TikTok, I can’t help but feel that when it’s being done by white non-Latinx creators, it’s 1) becoming a joke we’re not in on, 2) being exploited for their own gain, or 3) being gentrified without permission, nuance, or understanding.
It’s true that using a Latin song as a TikTok sound isn’t a crime and that it’s not going to harm our community–at least until it’s used in a certain way. Personally, I don’t have a problem with dance tutorials or videos of people trying to learn classic Latin dance moves set to our music. It’s when we become a white non-Latinx creator’s “aesthetic” or a harmful stereotype for them to perpetuate like the toxic Latina girlfriend (Chiara King, I’m looking at you) that it becomes clear we’re not a culture or a community of people–we’re your next phase.
Suddenly, reggaeton (notably invented by Black Puerto Rican rappers in the 80s) is no longer enough. Suddenly, every other facet of our culture has been taken and gentrified without giving credit to the people who made it first. In fact, for a whole week a couple months ago, my FYP was full of white non-Latinx creators making “spa water” and “cowboy caviar” and acting like it was a new invention rather than what it actually was–agua fresca and chip dip.
The “clean girl” aesthetic went viral, too, and continues to be popular, with white non-Latinx girls embracing gold hoops and slicked-back hair. And yet at the same time, posting videos of themselves ditching their past “Hot Cheeto Girl” phase–two styles that were invented and popularized by Black and Latina women in lower-income U.S. neighborhoods in the 90s and 2000s.
When we’ve been marginalized by the mainstream culture for decades, it’s frustrating to see my community simultaneously uplifted, appreciated, exploited, and ridiculed. Why have we only just become acceptable to the masses now? Is it because it’s summer and Anglo-American culture won’t stop associating us with heat, escapism, sex, and fantasy? Because white non-Latinx people have just decided that we’re worthy of receiving popularity or taking pieces of culture from and turning us into something that we’re not?
I can’t help but feel that as fall approaches and this summer fades, so does our relevance. Whenever a marginalized community becomes popular, it’s always conditional and temporary and uncertain. What’s going to happen when our music, our fashion, our food, aren’t wanted anymore and something or someone else is?
I know we’ll continue as we always have but the truth is, this isn’t just about our music or our fashion or our food. What’s true for other marginalized communities I’ve found has also been true for us: the more visible we become in pop culture, the more likely that our lives become worthy of saving and fighting for in the political sphere. For centuries, our trendiness has been dictated by the whims of Anglo-American culture, as uncertain as everything else they don’t fully understand. I just hope that this time, it sticks.