Relive a Y2K quinceañera in L.A., in all its nostalgia and tenderness

Los Angeles Nomadic Division is celebrating 15 years of championing the city’s artists, and cultural curator Anita Herrera is throwing a true Y2K L.A. quinceañera in its honor on April 26. Titled “El Quince,” the creative project, fundraiser and celebration is just the latest example of Herrera using parties as an artistic medium, which feels like a fitting way to celebrate the milestone at LAND, an organization known for realizing artists’ projects. For “El Quince,” Herrera is paying homage to the classic quince cornerstones, hosting a sit-down dinner catered by La Birria House and honoring lauded Huntington Park dressmaker Diego Medel with an installation. She’s also bringing in her community of artists to add to the tapestry of the night, including a photo booth designed by artist Alfonso Gonzalez Jr. and a performance by singer San Cha.

“El Quince” not only calls back to the early 2000s aesthetically, with a color scheme of baby blue and white, but symbolically, being a kind of family affair where everyone pitches in. “The quinces of that time were full of imagination, love and community effort,” Herrera says. “There were so many classic details that marked the era: spiral balloon arches, fog machines, foam plates stacked high with the celebratory dish of birria, the recuerdos with custom ribbons, the fountain castle tower cakes, the airbrush T-shirts for the baile de sorpresa, which became popular in the 2000s. They were more humble back then. They were more about being together, and less about perfection.”

Felix Quintana, from left, William Camargo, Ozzie Juarez, Christopher Suarez and Paul Flores.

For the occasion, Herrera and LAND brought together a group of beloved L.A. artists as the quince court. For the quince photo shoot, they were immortalized by photographer Carlos Jaramillo at Huntington Park City Hall and styled by designer Hoza Rodriguez. “It’s this major milestone,” LAND director Laura Hyatt says about the organization turning 15. “It got [me and Anita] talking about that moment in people’s lives and what it means — all of the kind of complicated colonial, patriarchal associations of a quinceañera. Anita’s work is all-inclusive — it is so specific to her diasporic experience and upbringing in Huntington Park, but there’s such an invitation there for everyone no matter what your individual background is. Everyone can identify with that moment in time.”

We asked the “El Quince” court to share their first or favorite quinceañera memory, evoking feelings of nostalgia, cringe, reclamation and tenderness.

San Cha

My parents would talk a lot about having debts in this country. With quinces, everyone has to pitch in. One time, my mom was a madrina for a quinceañera and she would take us to Food 4 Less to buy all these sodas — the 2 liters. She would do one Pepsi and one off-brand cola. She was like, “We’re going to be cheap but also present as if we have money.” She told me she was the Madrina de las Sodas. We went to that quince and left, then heard there was a fight and a possible shooting — this was in the Central Valley. My whole life she told me, “You’re not going to have a quince because we’re not asking for money.” But I did have a small quince. I used to sing at church. The children’s choir was on Saturday nights. What we did was get a dress — and I’m from San Jose — from the little fashion stores there that would be the equivalent of Santee Alley. It was more of a dama dress. They dedicated the mass to me and then we took everyone to my backyard. My tío got us a conjunto and we had norteño music all night. It was the first time I had money in my pocket too. All my uncles gave me cards with money.

Ozzie Juarez

I grew up in Huntington Park and I was literally the chambelan of so many quinceañeras. I was trained as a little kid to dance. It was kind of a nightmare to be honest because I wanted to do so much as a kid, but instead, after school, I had to go to some tía’s backyard to learn [choreography] and it just never stopped. I was like, “Dude, I hate this.” There were a lot of them — three in one year. It just absorbed my teenage years. I’d have to wear this pachuco suit as a little 14-year-old dude, hanging out in the limo and s—. There’s a quince market and some chambelans are in demand. You want that person on your court because they’re a good dancer or whatever it is, but it is exhausting on your end. But now I know how to waltz with my eyes closed. I hit the tempo right. The waltz is really traditional and easy, but the baile sorpresa is what you actually spend your hours trying to learn. I remember one [quince] they made us dance to the “I Like Big Butts” song by Sir Mix-A-Lot. I remember it being so f—ing cringe to do it in front of my mom. [Laughs.] It’s almost like going to church: you don’t want to go, you have to go. It’s your duty. Also, you’re celebrating your loved ones’ coming of age. It’s this traditional thing that’s more prideful for the parents.

Maria Maea

I grew up in a really mixed Long Beach Mexican and Samoan family, so a lot of my cousins were also half Mexican and half Samoan. I remember being really little and having a lot of teenage girl cousins and getting to be in and around their quinceañeras. My mom, who actually is the Samoan one in my family, got really into making quinceañera cakes during the early ‘90s. She would make them for my cousin’s parties and there would be these huge tiered cakes that would have a little water fountain in them and I remember pouring 7Up into these little plastic bubbly water fountains and they’d have all these little figurines on plastic little staircases that went between the tiers. I remember my mom making whipped cream roses, placing them on the cake. Then I remember my godsister’s quinceañera. She had this really elaborate party in Long Beach and I remember going to the parks, taking photos. I remember the big curly bangs and the plastic tiaras that they would all wear. The big 2 liters of soda on every table. All the centerpieces and decor. I attended way less [quinces] when I was actually quinceañera-aged — I thought of myself as a little punk rocker and didn’t have one or want to have one. Which is why this is so sweet that we get to do this in our art community. When we did the photo shoot, it kind of took me back to that level of preparation and our big family home.

Lizette Hernandez

There’s a great collective effort that comes together for a celebration like a quinceañera to take place — a convergence of many hands and histories. But with that comes complicated feelings and difficult truths. I often sit with the tension of what quinceañeras represent: the way families, often with limited means, stretch themselves thin to honor a tradition rooted in classism, sexism and cultural expectations that don’t always serve us. Still, my earliest memory of a quince is tethered not to critique, but to awe. It was in preparing for my older sister’s party that I first consciously witnessed my mother in her fullest creative expression. Amid long workdays and raising a family, she carved out space to dream. She pored over magazines, piecing together a mood board of colors, fabrics and florals. She envisioned every detail and sourced every material herself. We took countless trips across Los Angeles — to Pacific Boulevard, Santee Alley and the Flower District downtown. Each stop was a step in her vision’s unfolding.

Everyone in our family played a role: transforming our multi-unit shared yard in Compton into an imagined ballroom, stringing lights, arranging tables, turning the driveway into a makeshift dance floor. My mother made my sister’s lavender dress by hand, sewing late into the night. My siblings and I helped with centerpieces and floral arrangements to match. I remember our home became an artist’s studio. Looking back, I still hold my critiques — but I also hold immense tenderness. The magic wasn’t in the tradition itself, but in the way my mother poured love and longing into creating something she never got to experience in her own childhood. In many ways, it was healing for my mother and for us, as her children, to witness.

Felix Quintana

I was thinking a lot about my cousin’s quince, probably around 2002. My cousin’s colors were the classic baby blue, similar to what Anita’s trying to do. I was, of course, the little cousin chambelan, and I was the youngest one amongst her homies and homegirls. It was definitely that era of beepers and pagers. I remember all of her friends kind of having them. They were in a party crew as well, they would post on Techno4.us, an early website. That was a trip. One thing that I remember was the choreographers for the quince. It was an elderly couple, but they were really serious about their choreography — they would have us stand up straight and practice the steps over and over. They got down. Really OG-like. I remember the baile sorpresa was to “Big Pimpin’” by Jay-Z. I remember us rolling up in a Yukon to the party. It was at a salon in Huntington Park, of course.

Jackie Amézquita

I got kicked out of school because I got into a fight with another girl [at a quince], and I just remember it was something that didn’t even matter to me. I was not here in the U.S., I was in Guatemala. I got expelled. It was hard for me to get into another school and so I had to go to school on the weekends, and here I am now. Even though it’s not a happy memory, to me it’s still funny.

Shizu Saldamando

Back in 2007, whenever I turned 30, the “Phantom Sightings” exhibition just opened and I was feeling especially good about myself and my career. Me and my friend Brenda Zuniga, a camera person for “Abbott Elementary,” among others, had our joint treinteañera together because we’re both Aries. We had a doble quince at this gallery I was showing at the time called Tropico De Nopal Art Space in Echo Park. We had a band play, and we put Boone’s Farm centerpieces on the tables. All my friends who never had quinces got to come and I told everyone to put on their best quince dresses. It was a bunch of 30-year-old women in quince dresses.

Christopher Suarez

When I did start going to quinceañeras I was pretty young. All of my older cousins were maybe four years older than me — that would put me at 10, 11 years old. More than anything, I remember having to dress up, putting on a nice outfit, but being excited that I get to see my cousins and we get to play tag and cause a ruckus. The quinceañera that I’m thinking about, they had a separate room just for the kids because they knew we would probably be getting annoying. I can remember hearing the music in the other room going off, obviously cumbias and stuff like that, and then watching the baile between the father and the daughter. Seeing all my uncles and my aunts and everybody coming from out of town that is family, but you don’t even know them. That energy of everybody coming together and being really excited to see each other and obviously celebrate the quinceañera.

Paul Flores

I’ve been a chambelan before. It was for my cousin. My suit was all white and baby blue inside. It’s funny, I think we actually took the photos at the Huntington Park City Hall because she’s from that area. At the time, I was a skater, so I was always late to the rehearsal, showing up super sweaty from skateboarding. My other cousins were in it. I was excited for the quince, of course, but all the guy cousins were just excited for the limo. We scooted back the sunroof and chugged as much soda as we could before showing up at the church and waiting for it to be over because it was the most boring part. Then we went to the party, and we were all excited because it was all of my cousin’s friends, and you’d try to talk to all the girls and show off whatever dance moves you had. We tried to sneak out a couple beers, drink them in the back. You’d take off your dress shirt in the middle of the party, so that by the end of the night you were just in your white T-shirt and pants.

William Camargo

From left to right: San Cha, Paul Flores, Christopher Suarez, Ozzie Juarez, Felix Quintana, William Camargo.

I grew up in Anaheim and our apartment complex that I lived in had a space in the middle of the apartments, and we’d just have parties there — baptisms, a couple of quinceañeras with my cousins. It was also cheaper not to rent a salon, of course, but I just remember everyone from the neighborhood also being invited. My mom was usually the one that would get asked to make the food for some of the quinceañeras. It’d be birria, frijoles … For me, that food would be one of the biggest things of the quinces that I enjoyed growing up. Amazing food, tías talking over beers.

Danie Cansino

Danie Cansino, second from left.

I don’t have too many quince memories because I didn’t have one. My family is born again-Christian, so almost nobody in my family had one — none of my cousins had them, they all had a Sweet 16 instead. We converted from Catholicism when [all of my cousins that lived in Montebello] were about 7, 8, 9 years old. So the quince memories that I have were with my friends in middle school, high school. The one memory that stands out the most is that I had a friend who had this giant quince at Tacos Mexico on Olympic because they have a big banquet hall. It was catered by Tacos Mexico and the colors were sea-foam green and silver. I think this was 2002. It made me really jealous because my cousins and I wanted quinceañeras, and our parents were like, “No.” That was my first quinceañera — I wasn’t on the court or anything, but all my friends were and it was such a cool party, like a mini wedding. [Participating in “El Quince” now], it feels very nostalgic, like an alternate universe. It’s going to be so much fun because I know they’re gonna play all of the music from back then and I get to relive my butterfly clip and twisted hair dreams.