People often ask me what I do for a living. I don’t know exactly how to respond.
I’m not ashamed of the skin-tight pants or brightly colored capes with which I enter the ring. It’s just that, well, I’m a Luchador. We, the brave entertainers of Mexicans-at-heart, are honor bound never to reveal our true identities. Not to our spouses. Not to our mothers.
I often tell friends I’m an actor or a musician. It’s just easier for them not to know I earn my tortillas wrestling other brightly clad masked men, mustachioed air-wizards, militant midgets with death grips, or the occasional bear. We all sleep easier thinking I got that bruise falling down the stairs.
In truth some men wear the mask for honor, some for love. I wore mine for a shoot with the super cool photographer Kareem Black.