Before AfroLatina was a word she even knew, Bianca Spencer was already living it.
Raised by a Black-American father and Mexican American mother in the suburbs of Detroit, she didn’t see herself in magazines, on TV or even in the spaces she moved through every day.
“I was proud of who I was, but I didn’t know what to call it. I didn’t know where I fit.”
Spencer searched for inspiration in the media, finding glimpses of herself in the legendary Cuban singer Celia Cruz or Taina, a Nickelodeon show about an AfroLatina girl in New York. But mostly, she was alone in trying to make sense of her identity in a world that didn’t have the language for it.
It wasn’t until she moved to New York after college that something shifted.
“I was in a taxi and the driver said I looked like his niece, who was Black and Dominican,” Spencer recalled. “I told him, ‘I’m Mexican and Black’ and he said, ‘Oh, you’re AfroLatina.’ And I was like, oh. I guess I am.”
Those words gave her clarity. So she did what many millennials do when they’re looking to connect. She created an Instagram account. She called it Yo Soy AfroLatina and began posting about culture, identity and representation. The following grew fast. Soon, she was selling merchandise, shirts, hats and mugs designed to celebrate the duality of being both Black and Latina.
“I just wanted to reflect our culture in a fun, visible way,” she says. “And people really responded.”
A 2020 report by the Pew Research Center estimates that about 6 million U.S. adults identify as Afro-Latino. This represents about 2% of the total U.S. adult population and 12% of the adult Latino population. And with the national conversations around colorism, race and anti-Blackness within the diaspora, creating a safe space for women to express their duality with pride comfortably was a significant priority for Spencer.
By 2020, Yo Soy AfroLatina had gone viral. Amid a national reckoning around COVID-19, Spencer’s work was featured on Good Morning America and other major digital news outlets. Orders came in from across the U.S., and even as far as Japan and Germany. But even with that success, something felt off.
“I loved what I was doing,” she says, “But I started to feel guilty. We were in a pandemic. People were losing jobs, family members, homes and I was still selling product. I wanted to reconnect with my community in a way that wasn’t transactional.”
So she pressed pause. She left New York and moved to Houston during the height of the pandemic, taking a leap of faith with her partner (now wife). They didn’t know anyone in the city, but they had visited once before and were struck by the entrepreneurial spirit and the presence of thriving Black businesses.
“Houston reminded me of Detroit,” Bianca says. “The pride, the hustle, it felt right.”
Still, she wasn’t sure what to do with the brand. After reflecting, the answer came naturally to turn Yo Soy AfroLatina into a social club.
“I realized I wanted an offline connection,” she says. “ I wanted us to build friendships, to just be together. That’s where the real impact happens.”
Today, Yo Soy AfroLatina is less of a brand and more of a movement. The social club hosts monthly meetups, from bachata classes and yoga to perfume-making workshops and book clubs. Some events celebrate cultural roots. Others just give AfroLatinas space to relax, breathe and exist unapologetically.
That impact is already showing up in the lives of women like Artonique Nelson, a member of Yo Soy AfroLatina since fall 2024. She discovered the group on Instagram and was pleasantly surprised.
“I was like, oh my gosh, there’s an entire group just for women like me,” she says. “I felt seen.”
For Artonique, who is of African American and Mexican heritage, the space provided a kind of relief she didn’t know she needed.
“Being part of this community means both my Blackness and my Latin heritage are respected,” she said. “I finally have a sense of community.”
Yo Soy AfroLatina also helps its members navigate the layered complexity of identity, something Artonique knows well.
“People often stereotype Latinas. They think Blackness and Latin heritage can’t exist together. Like, you have to pick a side,” she explains. “And if you embrace being Latina, it’s seen as rejecting your Blackness. If you embrace your Blackness, then people question if you’re really Latina.”
Educating others remains part of the work.
“In New York, everyone knew what AfroLatina meant,” Spencer says. “In Houston, not so much. I’ve had people say, ‘I thought you were just Black’ and I’m like, I am. And I’m Latina. You can be both.”
Spencer approaches those moments with patience.
“People aren’t trying to be offensive. They’re curious,” she says. “And I love that, because it means we’re creating space for conversation.”
She’s also intentional about who she partners with. After working with major corporations in the past, she now focuses on collaborations with small Black and Latinx-owned businesses.
“I want our partnerships to reflect our values,” she says. “It’s not about surface-level representation. It’s about showing up with real purpose.”
The Houston community has shown up, too.
“I thought it’d be hard starting something in a new city,” Spencer admits. “But people here welcomed us with open arms. They want to support. They want to build.”
Spencer hopes to expand the social club’s impact across Houston and eventually open chapters in other cities.
“I’m doing this for the younger me, the one who didn’t see herself,” Spencer says. “I want AfroLatinas to know they’re not alone. We belong.”
