She raises the gun to fire. A wide-brimmed hat protects her jet-black hair and her flawless white skin from the already scorching March morning sun in Sinaloa. Her teeth bite her full lower lip painted red, and her thick French-manicured nails rest on the Glock as she adjusts her aim. She stands firm on her strong, athletic legs while her heels dig into the gravel ground.
Then she lowers her finger to the trigger and pulls it once to fire; the gun kicks back against her outstretched arms. It is the first time she has ever fired a weapon in her life, but the bullet hits the human silhouette a few meters in front of her, right in the throat.
Surprisingly, the woman behind the gun looks a lot like Emma Coronel, the wife of Joaquín “El Chapo” Guzmán, but she is actually an accountant and mother of two who has no connection to drug trafficking. She simply grew up in that environment, where Emma is not only El Chapo’s wife but also a role model in appearance and lifestyle. For some, she is an artist.
Emma Coronel was born in California but raised in the northern Mexican states of Durango and Sinaloa. Women hungry for glamour, empowerment, and excitement eagerly watch her exploits on television and social media. She also learned to shoot just like this, and not far from here.
—Once I was in a beauty salon, and there was a young woman getting hair extensions. She turned to the stylist and said, “I want an Emma look,”—Sara Bruna Quiñónez Estrada, former attorney general of Sinaloa and previously a feared judge, told me during a visit to her office in February 2022.
El Chapo’s extradition to the United States in January 2017 to stand trial for the drug empire he built from humble beginnings in Badiraguato, Sinaloa, further propelled Emma into the public eye, as she attended every day of the trial. However, once El Chapo was removed from Mexico’s criminal landscape, Emma was left alone, and it became time for her to learn how to protect herself on her own, regardless of having grown up in the mountains of Durango and Sinaloa.
—Once El Chapo was extradited, nobody here gave a damn that she was his wife—said a source who has trained cartel hitmen in urban combat.
Emma grew up in a rural town in Durango bordering Sinaloa. Many generations of families have grown up in the same small towns of Mexico’s Golden Triangle, a region that includes the states of Sinaloa, Chihuahua, and Durango, and that is home to thousands of illegal poppy and marijuana fields scattered throughout the mountains. Their production fuels the Sinaloa Cartel’s business.
The state of Sinaloa is different from the rest of Mexico. The eponymous cartel, founded and based there, has for decades controlled large urban and rural areas, creating a set of values and customs that have become embedded in people’s way of life. Rural and agricultural traditions have blended with a contemporary culture of flashy consumers now spread and promoted through TikTok, YouTube, and Instagram. It is narcoculture at its peak. For many who live there, narcos are heroes. Legends. Benefactors.
There is a “chapel” in downtown Culiacán dedicated to Jesús Malverde, the unofficial saint of narcos, a Robin Hood-style bandit whom locals visit to pray and ask for favors. The white-tiled floor is surrounded by dark green tiled walls; at the center is a cave-like room covered with photos of men, women, and children, as well as bills (both dollars and pesos) stuck to the walls. At the back stands Malverde’s bust, in front of a kneeler and framed by artificial flowers. Many times I visited, a musician was playing melancholic songs for those seeking a miracle. Visitors kneel before Malverde’s bust, place their hand on his head, ask for what they need, and leave an offering in return.
For a long time, tourist souvenirs such as keychains, mugs, and candles with Malverde’s image were sold outside the chapel; but around 2019, a new souvenir appeared at the stalls: a perfectly sculpted, roughly 40-centimeter-tall statuette of Emma Coronel’s husband, El Chapo, glowing, wearing a blue cap and a pink shirt, holding a plastic AK-47.
El Chapo is the symbol of the Sinaloan male archetype: rural-looking, rough, simple, brave, and strong. He uses his knowledge of the terrain and mastery of violence to defeat his rivals. A real tough guy. In the state’s rural areas, a fiercely macho culture dictates that men take care of livestock and land, while women handle the home and children.
However, his effigy for sale shows a broader trend: the commercialization and exportation of narcoculture worldwide as his cartel grows in power and influence. Before, his image only appeared in the media, but now it decorates caps, shirts, and keychains. Of course, many reject this, in Sinaloa and other parts of Mexico, but its place in local legend is already secured.
—We’re like a big ranch with a Costco,—feminist activist Natalia Reyes, who grew up in Sinaloa, told me.
She was referring to the combination of rural, conservative values with American consumerism, which has been increasing in Sinaloa and Latin America in general over the past fifty years. This has gone hand in hand with the growing demand for cocaine, methamphetamine, heroin, and—more recently—fentanyl, which has given narco businesses like the one created by El Chapo long-term power and influence.
If drug traffickers are heroes, their women are also adored and revered; but in an era ruled by social media and influencers, Emma has taken her fame and power far beyond being just the wife of a famous narco and has become a full-fledged celebrity. From appearing in reality-style documentaries and music videos to walking runways in Milan and launching clothing, lingerie, and jewelry lines inspired by both her fame and her husband’s, Emma has managed to turn her notoriety into economic profit.
