Tamara Falcó says in her
Netflix
reality show that "the Virgin is very important."
That her faith fills her "an emptiness that had nothing to do with the material" because "instead of wanting to go out at night and have seven drinks, what I wanted was to stay at home praying the rosary."
That her mother asked her "why she couldn't do anything normal" when she decided, as an adult, to confirm herself along with 3,000 kids.
And she explains it as if hers were a Martian, when, according to data from the CIS of 2021, six out of ten Spanish women feel Catholic.
So deviated, nothing;
his is still the norm.
Winds of reaction to the achievements of modern women are blowing.
It will not be an orchestrated conspiracy and it will seem depoliticized, but signs surround us that ask us to return to our usual roles: submissive to a higher order, pious, obedient.
The Marquise and her friends pray at a "macro rosary party" with Hermès capes and sell it to us as if it were the monda.
Haute Couture once again aestheticizes widows locked up in mourning and designers such as Domenico Dolce call for a return to “the sacred, the family, black”.
The New York Times
warns of the "terrible advent of reactionary elegance" and that "the most fashionable club in New York is the church."
Catholics who believe they are rebellious and provocative.
In 1991, Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Susan Faludi described in
Reaction
the gloomy panorama that awaits us every time we make timid advances in equality.
And, what a coincidence, it always happens to highlight those retrogrades who, feeling like outcasts without being one, will defend a cure for unhappiness by progress holding on to a worn and old rosary.
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