Darah Hubbard
Dancers swish and swirl their skirts in a burst of color and movement, twirling around the stage with kaleidoscopic verve. Lively music fills the air as dancers shout with joy. They kick and slide and stomp, hammering out quick-fire rhythms with their feet. Handkerchiefs wave and hands perch on hips. Vigorous and vibrant, graceful and intricate — Ballet Folklorico is a proud part of the Mexican national psyche.
A collection of dances from many different regions of Mexico, Folklorico is as diverse as the country itself. Ancient indigenous rituals and Spanish flamenco come together with German polkas, Afro-Caribbean rhythms, and classical ballet to become something new and authentically Mexican. Through mesmerizing motion and beauty, each dance tells a unique story, but they all convey a profound sense of meaning that speaks to the soul of Mexico.
“Ballet Folklorico is a symbol of Mexico: our art, history, and culture,” says Tiffany Rodriguez, Folklorico’s unofficial ambassador in Fort Worth. A student at TCU and a born-and-raised local, the 22-year-old has charted her own academic path in Mexican dance and paved the way for others to follow.
You may have seen Rodriguez dancing Ballet Folklorico around town, from the Fort Worth Food + Wine Festival to the Stock Show's Fiestas Patrias & Hispanic Heritage Kick-Off Celebration. She’s been a soloist for two years and performs at least once a month, many more times during Hispanic Heritage Month (Sept. 15 to Oct. 15). But she’s not just passionate about dancing Folklorico. She’s also committed to educating herself and others about its rich symbolism and significance. The seeds of her mission to share the art of Folklorico were planted when she was just 5 years old.
“When I started dancing Folklorico as a kid, I was just doing it for fun,” Rodriguez says. “I didn’t necessarily understand what it meant.” She first learned to dance at Ballet Folklorico Azteca at La Gran Plaza, Fort Worth’s oldest and most well-established Folklorico school. Over the years, she moved in and out of dance companies as competing distractions claimed her attention. “But something kept drawing me to Folklorico; I wanted to continue dancing. So I started doing competitive Folklorico around the age of 13 or 14 Compañia Folklorica Mexico Lindo, and that’s when I started noticing that different judges looked for different things.” Many judges awarded high scores for show presence or technique — but others gave more weight to tradition. It sparked her interest. “So I began investigating. What is Ballet Folklorico? What are the representations of the dances of each region?” Her quest for knowledge led her deep into the mists of Mesoamerican history, back to her roots and to the very beginnings of Ballet Folklorico.
Dance as ritual
Darah Hubbard
The Aztec and Maya are the most famous civilizations of pre-Hispanic Mexico, but there were many others: the Olmec, Toltec, Mixtec, Zapotec, and Teotihuacan. Dance was a central form of religious expression in their societies, celebration as well as ceremony. They held great dance spectacles, sometimes with hundreds of participants, wearing elaborate masks and costumes with vivid flowers and feathers. Gold jewelry glistened in the sun. Rattles and drums beat out rhythms, and simple wind instruments chimed in.
Dances commemorated victories in combat or the birth of the sun; they appealed to the gods for good fortune in hunting and harvesting; they marked important milestones like marriage and death. Early accounts refer to Mesoamericans dancing in concentric circles or face-to-face in two lines, or imitating animals like butterflies and birds. Some dance rituals involved acrobatics, like the Danza de los Voladores, or Dance of Those Who Fly. In the dance, several men would climb an 85-foot pole and attach themselves to the top with long ropes, then launch themselves outward and slowly spin around the pole on a vertiginous descent to the ground. Versions of this ancient dance are still performed today in isolated Mexican villages (and for tourists in resort towns like Cancun and Playa del Carmen).
A seismic shift
Darah Hubbard
Before the tourists, however, came the Spanish. Conquistador Hernán Cortés arrived in 1519 and claimed the land for Spain. Two years later, he overthrew the Aztec Empire. Soon Spanish ships filled with fortune-seekers and Catholic missionaries began to arrive. The emigres brought dreams of glory and God along with a flourishing artistic culture from their hometowns in the Old World. It was the height of Spain’s Golden Age. The era was marked by the brilliance of Spanish music and dance, which drew from myriad influences including Arabic, Byzantine, Romani (gypsy), Celtic, Italian, French, Basque, and Baroque. The colonists brought it all to the New World.
For the native people of Mexico, it was catastrophic. The Spanish Crown had no qualms about destroying the “heathen” religion and tried to stamp out all pre-Hispanic music and dancing. They taught church hymns in local languages and attempted to replace Mesoamerican rituals with Catholic festivities like Christmas. But the conversion to Christianity was slow and incomplete. Missionaries found that a little laxity went a long way, so they allowed a few indigenous dances to carry on here and there — with new Christian themes, of course. Native Mexicans, in turn, adapted the European dances they saw and made them their own with different music and patterns of steps.
Over the centuries, many other ethnic groups added to the mosaic of Mexican dance. Enslaved people from West Africa and the Caribbean arrived in the southern port city of Veracruz, helping to create the hard-driving rhythms of the coastal genre son Jarocho (Veracruz sound). The song “La Bamba” is a classic son Jarocho. In the 1800s, immigrants from Germany, Poland, and the Czech Republic flocked to northern Mexico and brought their accordions with them. Their polkas left an indelible mark on norteño (northerner) music and dancing. As separate regions developed their own personalities, native and foreign customs blended together and generated new traditions.
The birth of Ballet Folklorico
Darah Hubbard
Following the Mexican Revolution in 1920, there was renewed enthusiasm to nourish a national identity that drew on Mexico’s multifaceted history — a proud embrace of the country’s mixed heritage. This idea fueled the country’s art scene, centered in Mexico City. At its heart was one woman who forever shifted the story of Folklorico: Amalia Hernández.
A teacher and choreographer at the Mexican Academy of Dance, Hernández had a global education in Russian ballet, Spanish flamenco, modern dance, and tap. But only Mexico’s dances captured her heart. She wanted to preserve them by adapting them to the stage, so she established a new dance company in 1952 with only eight members. Guided by a keen aesthetic vision, Hernández pioneered a novel style of nationalist dance that combined elements of folk rituals and regional idiosyncrasies with classical European influences. She called it Ballet Folklorico de México.
Hernández transformed the stories and colorful imagery of native dances into vivacious stage spectacles. Costumes and props remained integral, just as they had been for the Mesoamericans: masks, machetes, headdresses, and hats. From the European side, she kept the high-necked dresses and pointed toes, plus plenty of flamenco-style foot stomping. The stage itself was also European; indigenous dances were meant to be danced by everyone, not watched by an audience. Hernández added theatricality and drama, informed by years of experience in ballet and modern dance.
Most of all, she showcased Mexico’s astounding cultural diversity with a cavalcade of distinct dances, music, and costumes from every corner of the country. “Amalia helped unite different regions of dance and music into a show,” says Rodriguez. “She traveled around Mexico, she’d visit the pueblos, and she would observe what dances were celebrated.” Inspired by what she saw, Hernández choreographed dozens of new ballets.
Ballet Folklorico de México was an international smash hit. Within a decade, her troupe grew to 60 dancers and began touring the planet, crystallizing the image of Mexico in the minds of audiences the world over. Folklorico groups sprang up across multiple continents. Today, the original Ballet Folklorico de México is still going strong. They continue to captivate sold-out crowds at the Palace of Fine Arts in Mexico City, where the group has performed twice weekly for the last 64 years.
After Hernández passed away in 2000, her daughter Amalia Viviana Basanta Hernández took the reins. Rodriguez studied under the younger Hernández in Mexico City to learn the styles and techniques of Ballet Folklorico. Rodriguez also takes workshops and online courses whenever possible. “I try to educate myself as much as I can,” she says. “I want to preserve the traditions.”
Storytelling through symbols
Darah Hubbard
“In Folklorico, what’s most important is what you transmit through the dance.” Most Ballet Folklorico dances share a few key characteristics, such as structured choreography and exaggerated gestures. Fleet footwork creates both sound and movement. Long, circular skirts are rhythmically fluttered and fanned out with dramatic flourishes.
But beyond these similarities, every dance tells a different story. “Each state of Mexico has its own style of dance,” Rodriguez says. “There’s a lot of symbolism in the costumes, the music, even when it comes to the dance steps. It’s really fascinating.” Every component is a little clue to the dance’s history and place of origin, from the length of the dress to the type of instruments played. The pocket where a man tucks his handkerchief might indicate whether he’s taken or single. For ladies, it’s the placement of flowers in her hair. Skirts in the coastal state of Sinaloa are rippled in flowing motions that reflect the ocean’s waves, and dancers in San Luis wear seven necklaces that represent the seven deadly sins. The Danza del Venado (Deer Dance) re-enacts a pre-Hispanic hunting ritual, while La Revolución evokes the female soldiers of the Mexican Revolution.
Perhaps Folklorico’s most famous number is the Jarabe Tapatío, also called the Mexican hat dance. You may not know the name, but you would certainly recognize its spirited mariachi music. Female dancers wear brightly colored dresses with high necks and stripes of ribbons around the hemline; the men wear sombreros and black “charro” suits with silver studs down the legs. The Jarabe Tapatío originated in the state of Jalisco as a flirtatious courtship dance, “the guy trying to get the girl,” explains Rodriguez. “But it has a double meaning.”
After being banned in the 1700s by Spanish authorities who were morally offended by mixed-sex dancing, the Jarabe became more popular than ever and took on rebellious overtones. Illegal dances popped up in plazas as people expressed their dissent through choreography. After Mexico won independence from Spain in 1821, the Jarabe was elevated to national dance status. Now associated with patriotism more than romantic pursuit, the Jarabe Tapatío is taught to elementary school students across Mexico and often performed on Mexican Independence Day (Sept. 16).
While Texas was long part of Mexico, our state doesn’t have its own Folklorico dance. But if it did, it might look like the Calabaceados, says Rodriguez. Hailing from the ranches of Baja California, the Calabaceados is performed while wearing cowboy boots and hats. Thumbs tucked behind their belt buckles, dancers stomp, jump, and kick up dust to the upbeat sounds of norteño music. It’s no surprise that the Calabaceados is also called el baile vaquero — the cowboy dance.
A dancer finds her footing
1 of 6
Darah Hubbard
2 of 6
Darah Hubbard
3 of 6
Darah Hubbard
4 of 6
Darah Hubbard
5 of 6
Darah Hubbard
6 of 6
Darah Hubbard
Rodriguez learned all these dances and more through her high school years and then landed her dream school, TCU. Adjusting to college life proved difficult. “I wanted to continue dancing Folklorico, which I did … but it was very hard managing my schedule, being part of a team, and doing coursework.” She also struggled to identify an academic path. She wanted to study Ballet Folklorico, but TCU only offered dance degrees in modern dance and ballet.
So Rodriguez turned toward fashion merchandising, “because in Folklorico, you make your own custom dresses. It’s not a factory making them. They are sewed by hand or with a machine, and it’s very time-consuming.” She was disheartened, however, to find that her classes were all about business and industry, not textiles.
Next, she tried theater, thinking it would be a good choice since she wanted to perform. But the disappointment continued. During a conversation with a faculty member in the department, Rodriguez expressed her desire to study Ballet Folklorico. “He gave me a funny look, and he was like … ‘Isn’t Folklorico more of a recreational thing?’ I was shocked. Folklorico is traditional indigenous dance. It’s indigenous theater.” She hadn’t expected that response, especially from not someone in the world of theater, where dance is recognized as a legitimate profession.
The conversation weighed on her mind. “It really took a toll on me. I was debating whether or not to continue at TCU, because people were telling me I didn’t need a degree if Ballet Folklorico is what I wanted to do.” Others advised her to take the “easy route” and major in communications. “But that didn’t sit well with me — and there’s no easy major at TCU.”
Then a new way forward appeared. “Last year TCU opened up the option for students who can’t find a career path to create their own major under interdisciplinary inquiry,” Rodriguez says. Designed for highly motivated students whose interests span different academic departments, the integrated degree plan required her to submit a detailed application and coursework proposal. She researched curricula at Mexican universities, which have long offered Ballet Folklorico degrees, and designed her own course of study. It was approved. Ballet, commercial jazz, art history, and textile classes all have a place in her degree plan now. “I hope that pursuing a Folklorico degree at TCU will open the door for other cultures too,” she says. “I feel like it’s very important not only to be educated about your roots and your art and your history, but also to be open to understanding other regions, other types of dances, other cultures.”
Sharing her passion
Darah Hubbard
With her academic path settled, Rodriguez turned toward another goal on her list: establishing a Ballet Folklorico group at TCU. “Coming into TCU, pretty much no one danced Folklorico. You wouldn’t see it on campus.” But as she began dancing more and more, at TCU baseball and volleyball games, people began asking about Folklorico. “I was connecting with performances.” She opened a social media profile and heard from dozens of students interested in Folklorico. After another application process and special training this spring, her student group was approved and TCU Ballet Folklorico was born. “We already have performances booked,” she says, including at a TCU football game on Oct. 4. “I’m also hoping to create a group outside TCU, within the community. ‘Folklorico’ translates as ‘dances of the people,’ and it’s open to all ages, all communities. You don’t necessarily have to be Hispanic or Latino to dance Folklorico.”
Whether leading a Folklorico group on campus or out in the city, Rodriguez wants to share her knowledge of the dance. “A lot of people teach Folklorico dancing, but I want to bring in the educational aspect,” she says. “For me, it’s very inspiring to actually know what you’re doing.” She also wants to pursue a master’s degree after she graduates in December 2025. “I’m hoping to work for TCU either in Student Affairs or the Office of Diversity & Inclusion. And with that I’m hoping to start a Folklorico course on campus, to teach Folklorico within TCU and be the professor,” she says. “You have to educate yourself and continue to learn and grow.”
For now, Rodriguez stays busy dancing all over the metroplex, traveling between Dallas and Fort Worth, Six Flags and city hall. “I’m just like a little ping-pong ball,” she laughs. She’ll be performing Ballet Folklorico at multiple locations during Hispanic Heritage Month and is teaching a children’s class at the Fort Worth Botanic Garden on Oct. 5.
Tiffany Rodriguez is adding her story to the continuing evolution of Folklorico, every step fueled by her palpable enthusiasm and undeniable drive. “In Folklorico, what’s most important is what you transmit through the dance,” she says. “I want to preserve the traditions, and it really means a lot to me to be able to share what Folklorico is.” From Mesoamerican rituals to Spanish rhythms, the Mexican Revolution to Amalia Hernández, Ballet Folklorico is much more than a beautiful dance. It’s a swirling, stomping symbol of Mexico’s rich history and colorful creative heritage that lives on today with passion and pride.
Behind The Dresses
Darah Hubbard
Each dress and dance in ballet folklorico represents a specific region in Mexico. In the photos, you will see six different dresses, each with details signifying unique traits of a particular region.
Jalisco
Renowned for its vibrant colors, the “estrella” dress from Jalisco is one of the most iconic costumes from the state of Jalisco. The dress represents the joy, pride, diversity, and the liveliness of Mexican celebrations.
Baja California
Influenced by both Mexican and American cultures due to the region’s proximity to the U.S. border. This costume is a celebration of the cowboy spirit and rural traditions, expressing pride in the region's cultural roots.
Veracruz
A light-colored lace dress whose light material is used due to the region’s hot weather. The dress and accessories include flower patterns and literal flowers. Where a dancer places these flowers also has significance, including whether she is married, engaged, or single.
Sinaloa
A region of Mexico that rests on the Pacific Coast at the tail end of the Gulf of California. The dress of Sinaloa, which includes wavy skirt work, is meant to represent the beach and the waves of the Pacific Ocean.
San Luis
This costume includes necklaces with seven color ribbons, whose meaning could either symbolize the seven deadly sins, the seven virtues, or the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit.
Aguascalientes
A handcrafted outfit rich in cultural symbolism. The decoration includes detailed images like a cockfight, grapes representing the region's wine production, and the San Marcos Garden.
