In the summer of 2025, I was diagnosed with autism level 1. The diagnosis wasn’t particularly surprising. Looking back at my life, it made sense. After my diagnosis, I sought to explore neurodiversity through creative endeavours. As defined by the UK Royal College of Nursing, neurodiversity is “the variations in the way the brain functions; it can manifest in mood, behaviour, and other cognitive functions.” Last spring in a poetry seminar, I had to do a bit of research for the creation of a chapbook. That’s how I discovered meximalismo. Meximalismo doesn’t seek to fit in, instead it tells us who we are. As a neurodiverse Latina, meximalismo makes me feel like no part of me is in excess or needs to be controlled. Being considered “too much” may not be a bad thing, quite the opposite.
Dixy Rodríguez, founder of the movement, explains she developed “meximalismo” after she moved to Toronto in 2023. In an interview for The New York Times Style Magazine: México, she shared that she started: “haciendo producciones editoriales independientes con un estilo kitsch y ecléctico, pero con esa esencia mexicana.” Which roughly translates to she started “doing independent editorial productions with kitsch and eclectic style, but with that Mexican essence.” At the beginning, Rodríguez described her creations as being of Mexican style, but she felt it didn’t fully encapsulate her aesthetic. Initially, she coined the word “meximalismo” as a form of personal manifesto. However, she later encouraged everyone who embodied “too much Mexicaness” with cultural pride rather than as a trend to adopt the term “meximalismo.”
Meximalist fashion abounds in layered textures, mixed patterns, loud colours, and unique accessories. Rodríguez describes meximalismo as not only an aesthetic but as the story of a place and its people.
As mentioned previously, I discovered meximalismo during a poetry seminar. Through said creative writing course, I ended up using a lot of sensory imagery to build a collection of meximalist poems. For the cover of my chapbook, I made a sparkly pink collage that I adorned with fake teeth bought on Etsy. I would like to say that the use of resin teeth was a complex metaphor on how we should aim to be “something that has teeth.” But to be honest, I mainly wanted to do glittery crafts with fake teeth (my professor suggested I start a YouTube channel on the subject).
Meximalismo resists European ideals about elegance and simultaneously builds community.
Titled Embroidered Gum Line, my chapbook enabled me to open up about my autism to other people in the class. Many of them shared their own neurodiverse experiences. Meximalismo resists European ideals about elegance and simultaneously builds community. I dress and make art for myself, but for other people too. Even if I believe all art is a performance to some extent, I feel the most myself and the strongest sense of belonging when I express my creativity.
In many of my childhood pictures, I have the same haircut as Edna Mode from The Incredibles. Me and Edna shared more than one thing. Like the character, I also have a passion for fashion. As a child, I veneered my pink glittery shoes. My parents would often buy me multiple pairs in larger sizes. They had to ensure that even when my feet grew, my pink glittery shoes could remain an integral part of my routine — otherwise, I was inconsolable. Just like the current me, my younger self loved layering. I wore tutus over rainbow leggings, multiple shirts, an abundance of beaded necklaces, and my grandmother’s antimacassars wrapped around my two ponytails. I loved styling clothes, but I hated many types of textiles.
I’ve always been sensitive to sensory input: bright lights, certain sounds, or specific textures. For a long time, I exclusively wore leggings. It wasn’t until high school that I started wearing jeans, and only because I thought it would help me fit in. Don’t get me started on underwire bras; and I don’t care if Vogue says they’re the “winter’s unsung hero,” I cannot stand turtlenecks.
Many people found my hypersensitivity burdensome. I was repeatedly called “over-dramatic,” “difficult,” “stubborn,” “hysteric,” “too much.” As I grew up, I learned to be more “tolerable.” I made my voice quieter, stopped crying in front of others, adopted a rounded posture, and developed an interest in psychology. I thought if I studied people, I would figure out how to be one. For a long time, I completely abandoned fashion as a form of self-expression. My Catholic school uniform made it easy.
With the beginning of adolescence, social rules got more complicated. It didn’t matter that we all wore the same navy and greyish blue clothes, I still struggled to blend in. It got to a point where I spent days barely uttering a word. My “friend” group could’ve more accurately been described as my bullies. I was told I was “boring,” “embarrassing,” “unlovable,” “weak,” “not enough.”
As I moved from Québec to BC and changed schools, I was incredibly lucky to meet people who made me feel safe to explore who I am. This feeling of safety encouraged me to experiment with my style again. Once, I impulsively decided to cut myself bangs without even finishing a five-minute tutorial. Will I ever try that again? No, but hey, sometimes growing as a person means enduring a couple of bad haircuts. Even my questionable fashion experiments ultimately helped me understand what kind of clothes, makeup, and hairstyle make me feel like the favourite version of myself. As cliché as it sounds, fashion is a pathway for self discovery.
