Introduction: The Illusion of Power
In cartel culture, women hold guns, manage drug operations, and appear to wield influence. Social media, pop culture, and even certain feminist narratives frame them as powerful figures breaking into a male-dominated underworld. The rise of the buchona aesthetic—a hyper-glamorous, luxury-driven style associated with cartel wives and girlfriends—further fuels this perception. But does their presence in organized crime signify genuine empowerment, or is it simply another manifestation of patriarchy?
Choice feminism suggests that any decision a woman makes is inherently empowering. This logic extends to women who enter cartel life, assuming that if they choose to launder money, traffic drugs, or command sicarios (assassins), they are asserting autonomy. In reality, cartel culture does not liberate women—it subjugates them to a hyper-violent system designed to use and discard them. Radical feminism makes this clear: participation in oppression does not equate to freedom, as choices made within oppressive structures are often shaped by those structures. Cartel women may appear powerful, but their influence is conditional, and their survival often hinges on their relationships with men in power.
Women in the Cartel World: Authority or Survival?
While a handful of women have reached leadership roles in cartels, their ascent is almost always tied to male figures. For example, Enedina Arellano Félix of the Tijuana Cartel took control only after her brothers were arrested or killed, managing finances rather than commanding troops. Similarly, Rosalinda González Valencia, associated with the CJNG (Jalisco New Generation Cartel), handled financial operations but was ultimately arrested while her husband, a major cartel leader, remained at large. Sandra Ávila Beltrán, the so-called "Queen of the Pacific," leveraged her family’s cartel ties but ended up imprisoned, like so many others before her. These women may have wielded influence, but they were never at the top of the power structure. They occupied a position of authority because the men around them were temporarily absent and unable to do so.
Beyond leadership, women serve other roles in cartel operations, yet none offer true security. The buchona aesthetic is often presented as a symbol of cartel women’s financial independence because, on the surface, it visually signals access to wealth, luxury, and power. Women who embody this look typically display markers of high status—designer clothing, luxury handbags, dramatic makeup, and surgically enhanced bodies—which are conventionally associated with success and autonomy in capitalist, image-driven societies. It is, however, actually a reflection of control. Cartel-affiliated men dictate the physical appearance of their wives and girlfriends, funding plastic surgeries and designer wardrobes to fit a beauty standard designed to flaunt their wealth, even if it kills them. These women, though seemingly elevated by their proximity to power, remain vulnerable. If they lose their usefulness—whether through age, disloyalty, or legal troubles—they are easily replaced.
Others are thrust into direct criminal activity. Women are frequently recruited as drug mules because they attract less suspicion at border crossings. Some, like La Catrina, a high-profile cartel assassin, become sicarias themselves. However, many are coerced into these roles and given no real alternative. La Catrina, who became notorious for her involvement in cartel violence as a member of the Jalisco New Generation cartel, was dead by twenty-one, killed in a police raid. Her notoriety did not protect her, nor did it grant her the longevity or security enjoyed by her male counterparts. The promise of power in the cartel world is often a short-lived illusion.
Why Choice Feminism Fails
Choice feminism insists that women exercising agency—even within oppressive systems—are inherently empowered. This framework, however, collapses when applied to cartel women. While they may choose to enter the drug trade, that choice is rarely made in a vacuum. Many come from environments where cartel involvement is one of the few economic options available. Others are drawn in through coercion, manipulation, or familial ties. The argument that their participation is an act of empowerment ignores the structural conditions that drive them into organized crime in the first place.
Even for those who voluntarily enter cartel life, power remains tenuous. A woman’s influence within a cartel is almost always tied to a man—her father, brother, husband, or lover. Unlike their male counterparts, whose authority is recognized through force or reputation, women in cartels gain status relationally. The moment their connection to a male figure weakens, their protection disappears. They are not dismantling patriarchal structures, but operating within them, often at great personal risk. The notion that women gain equality by playing the same violent game as men disregards the reality that cartel structures were never designed for female autonomy.
Social Media and the Glorification of Cartel Culture
The romanticization of cartel life extends beyond the criminal world into mainstream culture, particularly through social media. Platforms like TikTok and Instagram promote an idealized version of the buchona lifestyle, showcasing extravagant wealth, designer clothing, and luxury cars under hashtags like #NarcoQueen and #CartelWife. These curated images create a false narrative that cartel-affiliated women live glamorous, consequence-free lives. Missing from these portrayals are the violence, domestic abuse, and lack of agency that many of these women face.
This glorification extends to music as well. Narcocorridos, or drug ballads, often depict women in cartel culture as either deadly and seductive or beautiful and submissive, reinforcing the idea that their worth is tied to their desirability or usefulness to men. Young women consuming this media may not recognize the disparity between the image and the reality. Instead, they see a path to financial security and status without realizing the inherent dangers of cartel life. The aesthetics of power should not be mistaken for actual power, and yet, social media blurs this distinction.
Conclusion: Narco-Feminism is a Façade
Women in cartels are not revolutionaries; they are participants in a system that was never built to protect them. The idea that their involvement represents a form of feminism ignores the realities of how power functions within organized crime. Holding a gun or managing cartel finances does not free women from patriarchy. Running a criminal operation does not shield them from the violence, exploitation, and disposability that define cartel life.
Choice feminism argues that because these women have chosen their roles, they are empowered. Radical feminism exposes this fallacy. True empowerment does not come from maneuvering within an oppressive system—it comes from dismantling it. If narco-feminism were real, women would not have to navigate cartel culture by the rules men established; they would be rewriting them entirely. But they aren’t. They are surviving, and survival is not the same as liberation. There is no feminism in a system built to destroy women. The only way forward is to reject the structures that keep them bound.