Empowerment or Erasure? Karol G’s “Latina Foreva” Sparks Debate Among Latinas
Photo: Courtesy of Universal Music Group.
When Karol G dropped her newest single and music video “Latina Foreva” on May 22, it became undoubtedly clear that the Colombian pop reggaeton artist sought to make an instant Latina pride anthem. The song’s hook samples the “king of reggaeton” Don Omar’s 2003 smash hit “Dile” and features a few seconds of a flamenco-style guitar and violin arrangement that evokes those heard in fellow Colombian artist Shakira’s “Beautiful Liar.”
While many fans felt empowered and excited by Karol’s lyrics and self-love, others pointed out the glaring lack of Black Latina representation in the visuals and shared mixed feelings about the message of the song. As Karol dances in nothing but a bikini and ski boots alongside a group of other women — all white, thin and curvy, with a similarly bronzed skin tone who also happen to be wearing nothing but bikinis at the snowy ski resort — she sings about a girls’ night out with a Colombian, Puerto Rican, Venezuelan, and Dominican who all have “spice” and curves that “don’t even exist in NASCAR.”
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With lyrics that are equally as focused on the women’s appearances as the music video is, some listeners loved Karol’s focus on “tetas y nalgas” and embraced her comfort in her skin as an empowering display of self-acceptance. Following the May 8 release of Karol’s “Mañana Fue Bonito” documentary on Netflix earlier this year, where she vulnerably opened up about the highs and lows of her music career, “Latina Foreva” marks a new confident and sensual era for the artist. But other Latine fans in diaspora communities and in Latin America were concerned Karol’s words perpetuated stereotypes on what makes Latinas desirable, even going as far as saying that the song reinforces a dangerous myth about Latina hypersexuality.
Somos spoke with five Latina women to explore how “Latina Foreva” uplifts — or overlooks — the complexities of identity and representation.
Jennifer Mota, Dominican, Philadelphia
When I first saw the promotional clip and identified the lack of representation, my automatic response was "this is tiring." It didn't represent a shared celebration. I had no desire to listen to the song. Although it is framed as a dedication to "Latinas," the selected women — while all stunning — were an underwhelming choice as it feels exclusionary rather than celebratory. The visual is more of a reflection of what the media and society accepts as "Latina features." It mirrors industry standards.
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"Although it is framed as a dedication to 'Latinas,' the selected women — while all stunning — were an underwhelming choice as it feels exclusionary rather than celebratory."
jennifer mota
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Simply put: Racism is a global issue. The perspective that it's only a U.S. issue overlooks how white supremacy manifests differently by region. Clearly, the privilege of whiteness and erasure of Black and Indigenous features are not exclusive to the United States when Latin media and music still follow a caste system that prioritizes people with a proximity to whiteness. It absolutely impacts the lived experiences of Black Latinas and their opportunities. Colorism and Eurocentric beauty standards are deeply rooted in colonial history and still influence media and music today. We can't let this kind of societal gaslighting take up space and control narratives; it erases populations, history, and lived experiences.
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If one of the most visible Latin artists and her team can't understand how her influence erases and perpetuates industry standards, then the intention of the song was never to create a love letter to Latinidad as a whole but rather to uplift the ways Latinas are only celebrated through the lens of a white male perspective. It's neither visually accurate or factual. From a marketing and branding perspective, it's not that hard. To not intentionally pick a mix of shades, body types, and features is a reminder that it isn't a thought at all and fails to honor the beauty and complexity of our cultures.
Melissa Vargas Deñó, Dominican, New York
When I saw the song title, I felt like "oh yes, give me an anthem." Who doesn't love an anthem celebrating who you are and your culture? And being Dominicana, when I heard “una domi que lo mueva rico … mmm,” I was like, “That’s me!” As a relatively new mother, there are moments when you wonder if you’ll ever feel sexy or like yourself again. Yes, there’s a physical transformation, but there’s also a deep internal one. Sometimes your sense of womanhood gets blurry amid the chaos of caretaking and the changes your body goes through postpartum. Songs like this let me access that version of myself again. And I think that’s part of what modern motherhood really is — redefining who we are on our own terms.
Photo: Alfred Marroquin.
When someone like Karol G takes the spotlight and owns her sensuality, it sparks way more controversy than it would if a man did the exact same thing. But to me, she’s not just being provocative, she’s reclaiming the narrative. She’s in control of how she’s seen and how she expresses herself, and that’s powerful. Especially in reggaeton, a genre that’s historically been male-dominated, it’s refreshing and exciting to see women like Karol carving out space and shifting the energy. This type of song specifically is more for the girls than the male gaze. As women, we deserve to express ourselves through music — whether it's about sensuality, sex, or anything else — just as freely as men do. And if it makes us feel empowered? Even better.
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"As a relatively new mother, there are moments when you wonder if you’ll ever feel sexy or like yourself again. Yes, there’s a physical transformation, but there’s also a deep internal one. ... Songs like this let me access that version of myself again. And I think that’s part of what modern motherhood really is — redefining who we are on our own terms."
Melissa Vargas Deñó
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I absolutely acknowledge that there was a lack of diversity in the music video, which is a real bummer because I know that in other videos like "Provenza" there is both skin tone and body diversity, it's one of the reasons why that song is one of my favorites of Karol's. I don't know where the disconnect happened, if it was with the casting or timing, but I think she and the team behind it could have put more effort into showing more diverse women. This is meant to be a really fun song celebrating Latinas, our culture, and who we are, but it definitely missed that mark with that aspect in the music video.
Nicole Froio, Colombian-Brazilian, Rio de Janeiro
In 12 or so years writing about Latine culture as a Latina woman, I have seen the discussion on whether Latina artists are "too sexual" come and go. It's always a point of contention in the community and I totally understand why. I also have experiences with racialized sexual harassment. But over the years, I've started to question whether it's about how Latinas present themselves that defines us as "sexual" or if it's the racialized hatred of white Americans that transforms us into sexualized objects to be consumed.
It bothers me that Latina women's sexuality has to be measured against whether white Americans or Europeans will think of us as sexually available. I think the idea we have to model ourselves so we aren't seen in a particular way borders on conservatism. I understand the controversy, but I need Latinas in our community to understand that Karol G's video isn't to blame for sexual harassment and assault against Latinas — the people who harass and assault are. Karol G skiing half-naked doesn't change half a century of imperialism, colonialism, and sexualized racism against Latinas.
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"Karol G's video isn't to blame for sexual harassment and assault against Latinas — the people who harass and assault are. Karol G skiing half-naked doesn't change half a century of imperialism, colonialism, and sexualized racism against Latinas."
Nicole Froio
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No matter how much clothes we wear or don't wear, white Americans and Europeans have historically seen us as animals, as objects who are so sexual that we would never say no to them. Are we really saying that Latinas can't sing and dance about how we are seen sexually because it'll give white men the wrong impression?
Amy Quichiz, Colombian-Peruvian, Los Angeles
I believe this song can spark discussions about the problems we face with the concept of Latinidad, the internalized racism and prejudiceness, and patriarchal values that women, men, and people hold within our own community. However, it is also important to call out: some people just hate women and it shows. There is a difference between having valid points to a conversation with historical context of the values and traditions we have created and embedded in our community, and another thing is simply saying Karol G does not add any value to the reggaeton genre because of her lyrics.
For so long, reggaeton has been a male-dominated genre. Men have always been able to rap about our bodies and how our curves are beneficial to them. Personally, I love hearing Karol G talk about her boobs because I can relate, and fuck yeah, I love them for myself. She admires her own body, which has often been sexualized by men in this industry. To me, this song is for the girls and nobody else. It’s about loving yourself, being proud of where you come from, owning your curves for yourself and for no one else, and knowing that you’re hot.
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"To me, this song is for the girls and nobody else. It’s about loving yourself, being proud of where you come from, owning your curves for yourself and for no one else, and knowing that you’re hot."
Amy Quichiz
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In the beginning of her song she says, “ahora todos quieren una colombiana, una…” This line addresses the othering people have always done with Latinas, and still continue to do. There were many moments where I grew up and started to not be proud of being Latina because I knew whiteness was the ideal beauty standards. I love being Colombian and Peruvian, and I romanticize it. Having that be my world, and get this song to my core, is something a non-Latine person will ever understand.
Mariel Mejia, Dominican, New York
I was genuinely looking forward to the song and video, especially after recently watching her Netflix documentary. I’m not a Karol G stan, but I respect her success and was curious to see what she would release next. But as soon as I saw the lack of diversity in the video, I felt turned off and skipped it before it even ended. I called out the erasure of Black Latina women because it was glaring and felt intentional. Claiming to celebrate Latinas as a whole while excluding dark-skinned, visibly Black Latinas on a global stage only reinforces the idea that we don’t belong in the mainstream narrative of Latinidad.
All artists are subject to criticism, and this isn’t about Karol G being a woman or expressing her sexuality. Personally, her being provocative wasn’t even on my radar. I listen to artists like Tokischa, who are just as, if not more, sexually explicit. What stood out to me was the lack of diversity in who was chosen to represent “Latinas.” The video pushed the same dated narrative that Latinas are all sexy, spicy, bronze, and nothing else. That type of representation isn’t just overdone, it contributes to real-world fetishization and harm. Pair that with the lack of racial and body diversity, and the whole thing felt like it was stuck in a 2005 media playbook.
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"The video pushed the same dated narrative that Latinas are all sexy, spicy, bronze, and nothing else. That type of representation isn’t just overdone, it contributes to real-world fetishization and harm. Pair that with the lack of racial and body diversity, and the whole thing felt like it was stuck in a 2005 media playbook."
Mariel Mejia
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Reggaeton was born from Black and Caribbean roots, yet the genre has long centered lighter-skinned artists as it entered the mainstream. This isn’t just about Karol G; it’s a systemic issue in an industry dominated by men who’ve rarely challenged the erasure of Black Latinas. Karol is one of the few successful women in reggaeton, and while that matters, it doesn’t absolve her. She still benefits from a system that rewards proximity to whiteness and sidelines the very women whose culture this music comes from. She didn’t create the problem, but she and other white Latinas certainly are not disrupting it either.
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