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We Talked to 5 Hispanic-Looking People to Ask About the Whole Morrissey Thing But Lost Our Nerve Each Time

Stephen Patrick Morrissey has touched thousands of fans, figuratively speaking. Vegans love him. Your one friend who still wears Members Only jackets loves him. But perhaps no one group has worshiped at this charming and aloof altar as much as Mexican-Americans.

The goal was to get to the very corazón (which I believe means “center”) of Mexican identity by finding out just what this undisputed Mexican icon means to them. Cultures, after all, are made up of individuals, and Mexican culture, specifically, is made up of individuals whose national treasure is a pale, forlorn Englishman.

I found my first Hispanic-looking person selling bacon-wrapped hot dogs outside Dodgers Stadium.

HS: Is it hard to eat carne asada knowing how important veganism is to…. some people?

HLP: ¿Que dijiste? Sorry, we don’t have vegan hot dogs right now.

HS: People like… Never mind. I’ll take two, please.

Like Moz himself, she was an enigma. I pushed onward, taking an Uber into Highland Park. My Uber driver’s name was Luis, which is a conspicuously Hispanic-looking name.

HS: So. You ever been to a concert where the headliner didn’t show up?

HLP: Not that I can think of. Why?

HS: Forget it.

We didn’t talk much for the rest of the drive. I hummed a few bars of “The National Front Disco” to see how Luis would respond. A few seconds later, he put on a loud trip-hop station.

I got out on a busy street and found my next Hispanic-looking person standing outside a bar. He had sort of a greaser-cut, so I knew I was on the right track.

HS: Hey, what’s your name?

HLP: Hector.

HS: Haha, no shit! “First of the Gang?”

HLP: Yeah, I just remembered I need to go.

I bumped into another Hispanic-looking person inside the bar. The crown of thorns tattoo on his bicep was an obvious reference to “Every Day is Like Sunday.”

HS: Hey, can I ask about your ink?

HLP: No. Vete a la mierda.

Recalling an interview where Morrissey said, “Latinos are full of emotion…whether its laughs or tears, they are ready to explode,” I approached my final Hispanic-looking person carefully.

HS: Hi, señor? I’d like to ask you if you think it’s racist that Mor….More taco trunks aren’t here right now.

HLP: I’m Greek. Also, it’s pretty shallow of you to reduce representation down to a commodified, cheap distillation of a culture’s cuisine. But for the record, more taco trucks would be rad.

Much like the lost city of El Dorado, the true secret of why Mexican-Americans are all crazy about Morrissey may never be found. But at the end of the day, it’s a fact that every single one of them loves that pasty, narcissistic crooner who won’t eat anything that had a mother.

Now if we could only figure out where Mariachi El Bronx are originally from.