Las Castas: Race, Affluence, and Sartorial Expression in 17th Century Mexico

Casta Painting, 18th century, oil on canvas, 148 x 104 cm (Museo Nacional del Virreinato, Mexico)

Though it is a striking oil painting saturated with color, detail, and artful renditions, Las Castas was not created merely to be viewed as an object of aesthetic pleasure. In fact, beauty was a marginal consideration in its creation, for its primary function was descriptive. In recent years, scholars, art historians, and the general public have become increasingly fascinated with this painting and others like it. They are called cuadros de castas, or casta paintings, and they exist as a part of the artistic canon of eighteenth-century Mexico. Little is known about their patronage or audience, but they were likely the elite of Spain, and the educated upper classes that occupied Mexico, respectively (Carrera, 49). They were not widespread or seminal during their time and their secular nature often meant they were overlooked in favor of explicitly religious art; however, due to the lack of scrutiny placed on them, casta paintings embodied a bold, experimental nature (Carrera,49). In particular, their depictions of the dress and adornment of their subjects displayed a visual narrative which mirrored social hierarchies. A careful consideration of dress in casta paintings, along with contextual historical information, can help us understand and deconstruct the links between class, ancestry, and material culture in eighteenth century Mexico, and specifically how individual sartorial choices both shaped and challenged the social landscape of the time. 

Casta paintings reflected an effort by New World Spaniards to categorize a complex intercultural society and assert power by placing themselves atop a constructed hierarchy defined by outward ornamentation. The paintings typically followed a strict nomenclature, consisting of 12 or 16 panels which traced three groupings of genealogies: Spaniard-Indian, Spaniard-African, and African-Indian, in that order. Not only was the colonial need to classify New World interactions suggestive of the need to control them, but also the desire to fashion a contrived illusion of order. Possibly in response to the social and political challenges of exerting control over the diverse populations of the New World, casta paintings were an attempt to codify and enshrine social difference, thus placating elite Spaniard’s fears of blurred racial and social hierarchies. According to scholar and art historian Marie Carrera, “they were a visual practice that made the colonial body—both elite and nonelite—knowable and visible” (Carrera, 54). 

In the eighteenth century painting Las Castas by an unattributed artist (Fig. 1), we can see the essence of what constitutes a completed casta painting. The first panel, like most casta series, begins with a coupling between a Spanish man and a wealthy, elite indegenous woman. The father is adorned with what appears to be a fur-lined velvet cloak, strikingly reminiscent of the quintessential royal garment. He also dons knee high stockings and blue breeches. The mother however, wears not European clothing, but indigenous attire: an extravagant, dazzling huipil and a red shawl lined with gold lace. Their child, a mestizo, is outfitted in European-style clothing much like his father, and looks lovingly at him under his mother’s protective embrace. The next panel continues the lineage, showing a mestizo and an Española together with their son. The woman is wearing a dark gown and shawl which highlights the paleness of her complexion. She also holds an item in her hand - possibly a fan. The mestizo father is wearing Spanish-style clothing similar to the man in the first panel and holds a walking stick, which, like the fan, is a subtle nod toward the leisure and comforts of this family. The son is also dressed like a miniature version of his father, yet his clothing is only one indicator of his high status. He also stands rigidly upright with one foot in front of the other. He is calm and dignified, his composure suggesting that, as a child, he is already aware of his family’s preeminence. The next panel completes the Spaniard-Indian genealogy. A castizo and an Española stand with their Española daughter. The father cradles a sword underneath a flowing blue coat lined with red fabric. Underneath, he wears the familiar European stockings, shoes, and breeches. The woman is fitted in a gold dress with a thick red shawl covering her upper body, while her ears are bejeweled with statement earrings. Their daughter wears a similar outfit and notably is cast as an Española rather than some classification which designates a person who is ⅞ European and ⅛ indigenous.  

The next three panels depict the Spaniard-African lineage. The child of a Spaniard and a Mora (a woman of wholly African descent) is a mulatto. The woman stands with her arms elegantly arranged, dressed in a colorful striped gown and patterned cape, her hair swaddled in a red headwrap and her ears and neck covered in gold and red jewelry. She also holds a fan in one hand. The Spaniard, in stark contrast to the Mora’s meekness, stands in a powerful stance, his arm swept out in an imposing gesture as he wields a sword in the other. He wears an embellished white coat with his scarf, shoes, and trousers entirely black. Their son, who shares his mother’s rich brown skin but is dressed like his father, stands nonchalantly on one leg, arms crossed. Between the mother’s self-effacement, the father’s assertion of dominance, and the son’s detachment, the tensions and power imbalances present in this family dynamic represent a departure from the warmth and affability of first panel. The following panel depicts a Mulato, an Española, and their Morisco child. The Española is shown wearing a white dress with an embroidered, floral-patterned skirt and lace-trimmed neckline and sleeves. Her headscarf complements the reds in her dress and socks, while her periwinkle shawl and shoes also match. The coordinated pastels of her outfit lend her an air of gentility, which is entirely lacking in the Mulato father. He wears an unbuttoned shirt which exposes half of his chest and an oversized, ill-fitting vest. His humble trousers and boots clearly distinguish him from the previous men who were depicted. He holds a whip rather than a staff or sword and looks back at his wife as if asking her to follow him. Their daughter is dressed in extravagant garments similar to her mother, though she shares the brown skin of her father. 

The next panel is the end of the Spaniard-African genealogy and illustrates a Morisco and an Española with their son. The Morisco is dressed in a style more similar to the men in the first four panels, though not nearly as opulent. He holds a rooster in his arms, possibly suggesting his economic status as a farmer or trader. The Española in this panel is also dressed more simply than her counterparts. She wears a blue scarf around her neck, a simple dark patterned skirt, and a black shawl. Yet the humble, modest means of the parents pale in comparison to their child, who, unlike any child in a preceding panel, is not dressed opulently. In fact, he wears torn, tattered clothes and his legs, arms, and chest are exposed. He holds a bag of what appears to be cotton and looks up at his parents, his arms thrown open in exasperation. He is barefoot, his hair is unkempt and uncovered, and his expression is one of pure despair. And, unlike the child in the third panel of the Spaniard-Indian lineage, he is not a Spaniard, but rather, a Chino — he continues to be defined by his African heritage. This difference is key as it suggests an inherent difference between Spaniard-Indian and Spaniard-African lineages. For the former, it is possible to return the same title of Spaniard in just three generations. However, once a Spaniard has a child with an African, the bloodline is forever marked by “black blood” no matter how many generations pass (Earle, 448). Blackness instantly and irreversibly negated any possible return to whiteness.  This is visually illustrated in the painting by the way in which the children retain dark skin despite the reality that overtime they would naturally become lighter. But an African bloodline is not only depicted as enduring, but also corrupting. According to the clothing and adornments of the families, while the three generations of a Spaniard-Indian union retained generational wealth (the third family is, in terms of status and circumstance, very similar to the first) the three generations of an initial Spaniard-African union showed depreciation over time, with families becoming more and more destitute. This demarcation of a “corrupting” African bloodline is possibly due to the colonial view of Africans as slaves. Whereas Native Americans were seen as “redeemable” if they converted to Christianity and adopted European ways of life, Africans and their descendants were generally associated with the degraded state of enslavement. The clothing of the generations under the Spaniard-African union illustrate this - as the clothing became less extravagant and European-like, the social status of the families also decreased, along with their perceived moral character. 

A similar pattern can be observed in the rest of the painting, which consists of combinations of the African-Indian genealogy. In nearly every single portrait under this branch, the family is explicitly impoverished: they are barefoot, and they carry bowls, instruments, food, or wares to be sold at the market. The families, including the children, haul heavy loads in their arms, on their backs, or even on their heads. Their style of dress is far from refined: it is ragged at worst and plain at best. Many wear ripped, tattered clothing. Some - such as the man in panel 12 - do not even wear garments at all, but rather makeshift coverings which expose half of the body. The exposure of the body is another crucial element of the painting’s last ten panels - many have their necks, shoulders, and feet exposed as opposed to the higher castas who have their entire bodies covered in colorful, opulent fabrics. The clothing is also less European and more Indigenous-inspired, as demonstrated by the woman in panel 7, the man in panel 9, and the boy in panel 14. Beyond their clothing, their posture speaks volumes about their supposed casta. They are hunched over, or busy carrying objects, and they are presented as casual, not composed. All of them are invariably dark-skinned. Additionally, the panels implicitly associate the descendants of African-Indian unions with manual labor. Their external activities and the objects associated with them clearly suggest that labor was a cornerstone of their existence. This connection drawn between Indians and Africans and labor is not only degrading but also reinforced stereotypes of the African as a slave and the Indian as a hunter-gatherer who had to perform physical labor to survive. Also, by placing Indians and Africans alongside inanimate objects and commodities such as food, crops, and streetwares, the painting commodifies and monetizes them, subconsciously encouraging the viewer to hold these people in the same regard as objects which would be sold at a market. 

Casta paintings not only established elite identity by what it was but also by what it was not. The labor of the lower classes is contrasted with the idle leisure of higher castas: while lower castas carry food and goods which they must sell to survive, the higher castas carry weapons of power and dominance (for men) or of recreation and relaxation (for women). Their refinement is counterbalanced by the destitution of those below them. The whiteness of the upper castas (which were not only higher metaphorically, but also literally in the structure of the painting) is pitted against the Blackness and Indigeneity of the lower ones. Thus to be a higher casta was not only to be Spaniard, leisurely and genteel, but to not be African, Indigenous, or a laborer. The lack of any kind of contextualizing background for each panel also contributes to the casta painting’s prescriptive nature. The monochrome background places focus on the families themselves, their belongings, and their clothes, suggesting that they are made “knowable” only by their status and external circumstances (Carrera, 441). There is no sense of the subjects’ history, land, culture, or ancestry. By directing emphasis away from the everyday lives and interactions of its subjects as individuals, and reducing them to their appearances and mannerisms, casta paintings became compartmentalizing, taxonomic, and prescriptive. They construct a visual narrative in which, as archaeologist Diana Loren notes, “attention is paid…  to clothing itself, the objects worn over clothing, and how these were appropriate for one's skin color and status.  Thus, the colonial body is seen as layered: skin color, clothing, adornment, posture, and speech” (Loren, 34).

Though the two were very much intertwined, it was not necessarily physical features but rather external means of presentation  - hairstyles, clothing, accessories, bodily posture, conduct, and mannerisms - which was the most important factor in ascertaining whether one was a Spaniard. This can be demonstrated in the case of Doña Margarita Castañeda, who was a woman living in New Spain in the late eighteenth century. When it came to her husband’s attention that her name had been registered in the libro de color quebrade (book of mixed-bloods) rather than the libro de españoles (book of Spaniards), he demanded that the error be corrected, spurning an investigation into his wife’s heritage. In a court of law, witnesses testified to determine whether Doña Margarita was of pure, authentic Spanish heritage or not. Carrera notes that none of the witnesses relied on physical markers which may have denoted Doña Margarita’s Spanish heritage, but “instead, each witness certified to the court that he or she discerned Doña Margarita to be Spaniard because she presented herself and acted in ways that demonstrated or signified “Spanish-ness. These may have included wearing certain types of clothing and jewelry restricted by law to Spaniard use” (Carerra, 5). Thus when it came to ascertaining casta, a person’s material belongings was the key factor being considered, reflecting the crucial role that self-fashioning and presentation played in determining one’s place in the social landscape. 

One possible reason why external, material signifiers of wealth were used to determine casta rather than physical traits, is that, despite attempts to categorize every potential genealogical combination between Indians, Africans, and Europeans, the racial landscape of New Spain was quickly becoming too ambiguous and indeterminate to classify. Because of the difficulties in ascertaining casta solely based on one’s physical appearance, drawing conclusions based on one’s clothing was to be the assumed medium for assigning social class. Casta paintings embody this objectifying, surveilling gaze in which seeing one’s outward embellishments equates to knowing their social standing. All individuality is erased as people are scanned and discerned by their external costume and circumstances. 

Sumptuary laws enacted by Spanish authorities onto colonial subjects during the eighteenth century also exhibit the increasingly important role that clothing and adornment played in perpetuating social and class boundaries.  In 1716, the royal pragmatic “Against the Abuse of Clothing and Other Superfluous Expenses” was passed, which ostensibly banned all those living in the colonies from wearing luxury fabrics such as silk, gold, and brocades unless they were manufactured in Spain (Carrera, 119). The decree also outlawed the production, purchase, or circulation of fake jewels resembling diamonds, emeralds, rubies, or topaz, but maintained that wearing real jewels would not be penalized (Carrera,119) Yet while the Spanish crown concerned itself with ensuring that undue opulence was avoided, it also indicted nudity for its potential to incite immoral acts. A 1791 decree ordered that all factory workers be clothed in at least shoes, a vest, and trousers. The decree also ordered that Indians not “imitate people of other castas” and instead wear their conventional, established attire (Carrera, 119).Both decrees point to colonial authorities’ concern surrounding the possibility of lower classes imitating affluence. By assigning certain garments to entire classes or ethnic groups and attempting to penalize those who disobeyed, Spaniards aimed to create a visual hierarchy based on dress. There was clearly a fear among colonial lawmakers that lower castas might threaten the constructed social hierarchy by performing wealth and opulence, thus subverting the authority of those in power. Essentially, all those living in New Spain were to always appear in public with “proper” attire corresponding to their social station, so that they could be effectively identified and controlled. While limited in their concrete impact, these restrictive sumptuary regulations were undoubtedly designed to survey colonial bodies and dictate their reality. Casta paintings also sought to reinforce the underlying idea that certain garments were tied to certain classes, and “overall ... demonstrate very clearly the centrality of context, lifestyle, and relational networks to colonial casta categories, even as they simultaneously employ a language of genealogy and appearance to communicate these classifications” (Earle, 436).

Yet, as far as their attempts to consolidate and classify, the casta paintings were self-defeating. The very fact that every panel in a casta painting had to be supplemented with a descriptive identifier in order for the viewer to comprehend it by itself betrays the impossibility of representing racial mixture in an impartial, controlled way (Moriuchi, 3). In reality, ambiguities and inconsistencies caused by generations of miscegenation made identifying a person's ancestral makeup very difficult, if not impossible, without a signifier. Just like colonial sumptuary laws, casta paintings operated under a null assumption that racial, social, and class lines were black-and-white. Their underlying presumptions were predicated upon the existence of an idealized, orderly world rather than reality. Thus casta paintings and sumptuary laws, as unsuccessful attempts by colonizers to concretize and categorize the colonial population, also reveal the discrepancies between colonial representations and lived realities. “Like the reiterated laws and decrees that attempted to control and stabilize the protean body, the casta genre must also incessantly reiterate its trope through the serial format and the repeated production and copying of the series,” writes Carrera, nothing that both sumptuary laws and casta paintings were often reinstated by colonial authorities. The various attempts made by casta paintings to systematize colonial identity ironically reflected the futility of doing so, and in hindsight reveal that “these representations were ripe with the contradictions that lay at the heart of many colonial projects: the creation and maintenance of a strict language of difference in face of the ambiguities that were an inherent part of colonial communities” (Loren, 38)

Not only were the casta paintings presumptuous in the manner in which they assumed that everyone’s sartorial aspirations naturally compelled them to dress in a way that aligned with their casta, but “these kinds of interpretations overlook the ways in which colonial individuals continually and creatively refashioned themselves through different kinds of material culture, both European and Native American, upper and lower class.” (Loren, 31). Multiple anthropological and ethnographic records corroborate the combination of European and Indigenous attire in the everyday lives of people in New Mexico. The accounts of settlers and soldiers in Los Adaes (the capital of Spanish Tejas) often remarked on the clothing of the inhabitants, and their testimony illuminates the reality that often times class, dress, and status were discordant - as those in the upper class dressed in garments for lower classes and vice versa. In addition, excavations of residences in Los Adaes (including that of the former mayor) suggest that the occupants of the city owned a mixture of European and Indigenous accessories, and as such were able to be innovative and expressive with how they fashioned themselves. This resulted in combinations such as wearing a European silk shirt but Indigenous buckskin breeches, or European belts with Indigenous glass beads (Loren, 32). Many colonial officials complained that those living in Los Adaes dressed “inappropriately,” likely due to the freedom with which they mixed European and Indigenous styles rather than adhering to one or the other. 

With the ethnohistorical account suggesting that many colonial subjects pulled from both European and Indigenous sartorial traditions to create a unique, personalized self-image, it is increasingly clear that casta paintings did not necessary reflect reality. They were more concerned with the performative aspects of dress - its social, public repercussions - than the personal, individual elements which factored into the everyday lives of those living in colonial Mexico. As the casta paintings became less and less reflective of reality, they became symbols of a colonial effort to retain control despite shifting circumstances. Though presented as representations of a natural, definitive truth, casta paintings were far from it, and were more aligned with the imaginings of the elite than with reality. Above all, the casta paintings illustrate that class, dress, and adornment do not always neatly align and that, despite attempts to limit people’s sartorial choices through laws or enforced visual narratives, the free will of subjects to subvert the status quo and experiment with their own self-fashioning and presentation will prevail. 

Works Cited

Carrera, Magali Marie. Imagining Identity in New Spain : Race, Lineage, and the Colonial Body in Portraiture and Casta Paintings. 1st ed. Joe R. and Teresa Lozano Long Series in Latin American and Latino Art and Culture. Austin: University of Texas Press, 2003. Pg. 5.

Earle, Rebecca. "The Pleasures of Taxonomy: Casta Paintings, Classification, and Colonialism." The William and Mary Quarterly73, no. 3 (2016): 427-66. doi:10.5309/willmaryquar.73.3.0427.pg.448.

Loren, Diana DiPaolo. "Corporeal Concerns: Eighteenth-Century Casta Paintings and Colonial Bodies in Spanish Texas." Historical Archaeology 41, no. 1 (2007): 23-36. Pg. 28

Moriuchi, Mey Yen. "The Art of Conversation : 18th-century Mexican Caste Painting." Shift : Graduate Journal of Visual and Material Culture, 2012, 1-25. Pg. 3