Copyright © 2020 by Arianna Davis Cover design by Chin-Yee Lai Cover illustration by Kimberly Glyder Cover copyright © 2020 Hachette Book Group, Inc. Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights. Seal Press Hachette Book Group 1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10104 www.sealpress.com @sealpress First Edition: October 2020 Published by Seal Press, an imprint of Perseus Books, LLC, a subsidiary of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Seal Press name and logo is a trademark of the Hachette Book Group. The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to www.hachettespeakersbureau.com or call (866) 376-6591. The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher. Interior art: Kimberly Glyder Library of Congress Control Number: 2020943711 ISBNs: 978-1-5416-4632-2 (hardcover), 978-1-5416-4631-5 (ebook) E3-20200918-JV-NF-ORI CONTENTS COVER TITLE PAGE COPYRIGHT DEDICATION INTRODUCTION CHAPTER 1: CONFIDENCE CHAPTER 2: PAIN CHAPTER 3: CREATIVITY CHAPTER 4: STYLE CHAPTER 5: LOVE CHAPTER 6: HEARTBREAK CHAPTER 7: SEX CHAPTER 8: IDENTITY CHAPTER 9: FRIENDSHIP CHAPTER 10: VIVA LA VIDA ACKNOWLEDGMENTS DISCOVER MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR SOURCES To FRIDA KAHLO, who has taught me the most important lesson of all: “Viva la vida!” Explore book giveaways, sneak peeks, deals, and more. Tap here to learn more. INTRODUCTION The streets of Mexico City’s southern neighborhood Coyoacán 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 artist’s 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,” I’m 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, she’s there: a young Frida Kahlo limping through the garden, her skirt sweeping the floor as she hums “Cielito Lindo” to herself. Her hairless dog, Señor 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, I’m in the way; she’s 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 Frida—but 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 Frida’s beloved neighborhood—the 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 abroad—is 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 Frida’s 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 Coyoacán. Since the 1990s, “Fridamania” has been in full swing around the world. The artist’s posthumous popularity only increases every year, and at this point it’s 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 women’s 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 culture’s 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 artist’s 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 1433’s Portrait of a Man in a Turban, by Jan van Eyck. But it was Frida Kahlo who uniquely transformed self-portraits into an art of storytelling for women, depicting the ins and outs of her life—both the love and the pain—in the same way millions of people today overshare on social media. It’s just that now, instead of careful strokes of a paintbrush, we can simply capture quick snaps on a phone and upload them with just the right caption. Fans of Frida Kahlo often discuss how the queer, disabled, and revolutionary artist would feel about the endless modern interpretations of her story. Would the admittedly self-centered artist bask in the adulation, or would she be horrified at the commodification of her image—at how watered-down her ideals, politics, and works have become? Some of these depictions have even stirred up controversy. In 2018, Mattel released a Frida Kahlo Barbie doll as part of its Inspiring Women line. The doll came complete with Frida’s signature flower-braided hairstyle and Mexican- inspired dress, but it was missing a few key attributes, including her unibrow, or any of the medical devices she needed for her disabilities (various corsets through the years and, later in life, a prosthetic leg). The doll—which also inexplicably featured lightened eyes—drew criticism from Frida’s family and estate, as well as from fans who believed that Frida would have hated nothing more than seeing herself as a commercialized doll with unrealistic bodily proportions and beauty features. And now, here I am, sitting down to write a book on the life of Frida Kahlo, adding one more to the dozens of volumes about the artist that already line bookshelves around the world. Here’s where I should clarify that this work is in no way meant to be an extensive biography, or to speak from Frida’s perspective. Instead, this read will take a look at the various ways we can all glean lessons from Frida Kahlo’s life—while learning a little bit more about it, too.