In the male-dominated world of professional wrestling, few stories are as compelling as that of Las Irmas, the legendary mother-daughter tag team who revolutionized women’s lucha libre in Mexico. This is the remarkable journey of Irma Gonzรกlez and Irma Aguilar, who overcame societal barriers and wrestling prohibitions to become icons of Mexican women’s wrestling from the 1950s through the 1990s.
The Rise of Las Irmas: Breaking Barriers in Mexican Wrestling
In 2022, Edson Ortรญz for El Blog de Lucha sat down with the legendary mother-daughter tag team duo of Irma Gonzรกlez and Irma Aguilar, where time seemed to stand still as they shared their remarkable journey through lucha libre.
The interview revealed a touching moment when Gonzรกlez, in her mid-80s, believed she was still in her 60s. Her daughter Irma Aguilar gently corrected her, causing Gonzรกlez to pause, momentarily stunned by the reality of time’s passage.
Always protective of her mother’s legacy, Aguilar quickly brightened the mood. “If it wasn’t for her knees, I think she’d still wrestle!” she declared proudly.
Gonzรกlez’s eyes lit up with determination.
“Even so, when they call me, I always go,” she asserted, her voice carrying the same passion of her glory days. “We both go,” she added, gesturing to her daughter, her tag team partner in the legendary duo known as ‘Las Irmas.’
“So, you two have kept close to wrestling, then?”
“Wrestling has never allowed us to leave!” mother and daughter exclaimed in unison, their shared laughter filling the room.
Their journey wasn’t always filled with such joy. Las Irmas overcame significant obstaclesโfrom fellow wrestlers’ hostility to intense social pressure against women in lucha libre, including Mexico City’s notorious wrestling ban. Yet through it all, Irma Gonzรกlez and Irma Aguilar not only survived but thrived, blazing a trail for generations of luchadoras to follow.
The Golden Age of Lucha Libre: Mexico’s Wrestling Boom and TV Era (1952-1956)
In the early 1950s, lucha libreโnot fรบtbol/soccerโsparked a television revolution in Mexico. Families who owned one of these coveted new devices became neighborhood entertainment hubs, charging 20 centavos (roughly equivalent to today’s prices of 120-190 MXN, $7-11 USD) for neighbors to gather and watch the matches. These impromptu viewing parties created a unique social phenomenon that united communities through their shared passion for wrestling.
The sport’s popularity soared until 1956, when mounting pressure from concerned parents forced wrestling off the airwaves. Their primary complaint? Children were too eagerly imitating the violence they witnessed on screen (It was real to them!). Critics denounced the spectacle, with one notable comment declaring that “watching two ungentlemanly brutes fighting dimmed the mind.”
Women’s wrestling faced particularly harsh criticism as it challenged traditional notions of femininity. This resistance would soon become outright opposition under Mexico’s changing political landscape.
The shift began when former military revolutionary Adolfo Ruiz Cortines assumed Mexico’s presidency. After exposing his predecessor Miguel Alemรกn Valdรฉs’s alleged excessive spending, Cortines appointed the authoritarian Ernesto Uruchurtu to oversee Mexico’s capital in 1954. Under Uruchurtu’s iron-fisted rule, a sweeping moral crusade began.
By 1959, this crusade had evolved into a full-scale assault on the capital’s arts and entertainment. Uruchurtu’s administration:
- Refused licenses to burlesque and mainstream theaters
- Censored magazines and books
- Restricted nightlife venues’ operating hours
- Suppressed anything deemed politically or socially provocative
Freedom of expression survived only within strictly defined moral boundariesโ”as long as it didn’t promote anything morbid.”
In this climate, lucha libre became a convenient target. Critics dismissed it as lowbrow entertainment for the uneducated, linking it to gambling, fraud, and social decay. In response, the government established a special commission in 1956 to regulate wrestling, similar to the existing boxing commission.
Rather than legitimizing women’s wrestling, however, this new oversight would prove devastating to the careers of female performers.
The 30-Year Ban: How Mexico City Prohibited Women’s Wrestling (1954-1986)
The struggle of women’s wrestling for legitimacy wasn’t unique to Mexico. Across North America, female wrestlers faced systematic discrimination, with states like Ohio, Illinois, and California enforcing decades-long bans that forced performers into underground venues and unsanctioned shows.
California’s restrictions finally ended in 1965, while New York’s Madison Square Garden welcomed its first women’s match between The Fabulous Moolah and Vicky Williams on July 1st, 1972.
Women’s lucha libre emerged in Mexico during the mid-1930s, pioneered by visiting American talents like Mildred Burke and Buddy Wolfe’s touring group. Local talent began formal training in the 1950s under Jack O’Brian’s tutelage, though exact dates remain unclear.
In 1954, everything changed. Governor Ernesto Uruchurtu and newly appointed commission president Luis Spota effectively ended women’s wrestling in Mexico City and the surrounding State of Mexicoโhome to the country’s largest arenas. Their justification? Women’s wrestling supposedly set an “improper example” for society.
But here’s where the story takes an intriguing turn: the ban existed in a legal grey area.
According to Gรฉnero, Poder y Lucha Libre Femenil en el Mรฉxico Contemporรกneo, no official law was ever passed. Instead, commission secretary Rafael Barradas Osorio simply “strongly recommended” that women not wrestle in the capital, which then had over 3 million residents.
The only documentation of this prohibition appears in wrestling magazines of the era. A June 1960 issue of Clinch magazine reported: “In the DF, women’s wrestling is prohibited, and they’ve found refuge in provinces outside of the city or some outside the country.”
This unofficial ban, perpetuated through media and social pressure, created an invisible barrier that effectively suppressed women’s wrestling in the capital for three decades.
As Combates Magazine noted in 1975: “Women can’t wrestle in any ring within the city limits. It is a law that has existed for many years and has yet to be abolished. Why such a drastic measure? We don’t know! Who said it? We ignore it…”
Yet even in this restrictive environment, determined wrestlers like Irma Gonzรกlez found ways to thrive.
From Circus Acrobat to Lucha Libre Legend: The Rise of Irma Gonzรกlez
“We just wanted to prove that the weaker sex isn’t that weak! It doesn’t make us less feminine.”
โ Las Irmas, 1987
Born on August 20th, 1936, Irma Gonzรกlez emerged as one of lucha libre’s most influential pioneers. Her journey began under the bright lights of Circo Hermanos Flores, where her father served as owner and promoter. As part of a traditional circus family, every member contributed to the show, and by age six, Gonzรกlez had mastered the intricate arts of trapeze, acrobatics, and contortionism.
Tragedy struck when fire consumed their beloved circus, forcing the family to relocate to Mexico City. With twelve siblings to feed, the family relied heavily on their grandfather’s income from his work at the prestigious Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus in the United States.
Yet this early adversity and her circus background would prove invaluable, laying the foundation for Gonzรกlez’s remarkable wrestling career.
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Breaking Into the Ring: How Irma Gonzรกlez Revolutionized Women’s Wrestling
At thirteen, Gonzรกlez stumbled into lucha libre through a charming misunderstanding. When approached about joining, she asked about boxing gloves, having no concept of professional wrestling. The recruiter assured her no gloves were neededโthough the promise of “no harm” proved somewhat optimistic!
Making her debut in 1955, Gonzรกlez entered the ring during a pivotal era for women’s wrestling in Mexico. While Natalia Vรกzquez had broken ground in 1935, and “La Dama Enmascarada” (Magdalena Caballero) became the first Mexican National Women’s Champion in 1955, Gonzรกlez emerged as part of an influential first wave of Mexican-born female wrestlers.
Through sheer determination and natural ability, Gonzรกlez built an impressive legacy. She captured the Mexican National Women’s Championship five times and claimed the UWA World Women’s Championship twice, establishing herself as one of lucha libre’s most decorated competitors.
Her talents weren’t limited to the ring. In 1984, Gonzรกlez released a music album titled “La Campeona” (The Champion). While she takes pride in her musical achievements and still loves performing, the wrestling ring remained her true home, where she helped forge a path for future generations of luchadoras.
Fighting for Respect: Women Warriors in a Male-Dominated Sport
In the machismo-filled world of lucha libre, Irma Gonzรกlez faced constant discrimination. “I remember some male wrestlers calling us hideous,” she recalls. “Or they’d tell us to go home and do the dishes! However, we earned their respect. They thought they would only see hair-pulling, but we proved our professionalism and desire to learn.”
Even as her skills grew, Gonzรกlez remained mindful of wrestling tradition. Once, after using one of El Santo’s signature holds, she approached him apologetically backstage. The legendary luchador, whom she describes as a “peaceful person and patient instructor,” offered wisdom that would define her career: “Holds don’t belong to me or anyone. They belong to lucha libre, so you’re free to use it whenever you please and when you feel the moment is right.”
With El Santo’s blessing, Gonzรกlez later adopted a masked persona as “La Novia del Santo” (El Santo’s Girlfriend/Bride), partially appeasing her husband’s wishes for her to stop wrestling. The character resonated with fans, leading to successful tours across Central America in 1979.
In the ring, Gonzรกlez developed her own arsenal. While La Tapatรญa (Mexican Surfboard) was among her favorite moves, she became renowned for her perfectly executed senton splash. Her skill even earned playful protests from Japanese wrestlers during her ten tours with AJW starting in 1975, though she admits that in the heat of battle, she often “forgot” their requests to avoid her devastating finisher.
“I loved wrestling and was able to buy a house and take care of my family,” Gonzรกlez reflected. “Wrestling was my life; the best part was the fans and how they’d applauded me.”
The Mexico City wrestling ban forced Gonzรกlez to work primarily outside the capital, creating challenges in balancing motherhood with constant travel. Yet she rarely turned down bookings, fearing that declining work might end her career. Despite limited financial backing and all-female cards, Gonzรกlez consistently drew crowds as a headliner.
A breakthrough came on December 23rd, 1979, when women’s wrestling reached the outskirts of Mexico City. At the historic Toreo de Cuatro Caminos bullfighting stadium, Estela Molina defeated Vicky Williams for the National Women’s championship, marking a significant milestone for luchadoras.
When Mexico City’s wrestling ban was finally lifted in 1986, Gonzรกlez and her daughter Irma Aguilar headlined the September 21st card. Though in the twilight of her career, this historic moment perfectly symbolized how far women’s wrestling had come under pioneers like Irma Gonzรกlez.
The Price of Glory: Balancing Wrestling Fame and Family Life
The demanding schedule of professional wrestling created a complex dynamic between Irma Gonzรกlez and her young daughter. After Gonzรกlez’s divorce, wrestling became not just a passion but a necessityโshe was now the sole breadwinner for her family.
Aguilar describes her mother’s frequent absences as “suffering,” a term that still makes Gonzรกlez bristle. During their interview, she quickly counters that her daughter never went without. Aguilar, slightly embarrassed, clarifies that while her material needs were met, she yearned for her mother’s presenceโa desire that would later draw her into the wrestling world herself.
“I remember there was a small shop in front of the house, and the mother worked surrounded by her kids,” Aguilar recalls. “I’d tell my mom to sell fruits, vegetables, anything she could, just to stay home. But she always told me she needed to bring back money for everyone.”
With a playful gesture suggesting a mock slap, Gonzรกlez interrupts: “You didn’t lack anything.”
Her daughter responds with a knowing grin, ending what her mother perceived as complaints about their unconventional past.
Like Mother, Like Daughter: Irma Aguilar Enters the Ring
Irma Aguilar made a life-changing decision at seventeen while her mother wrestled inย Germany. Her mother’s constant absence had left a mark.
“Despite being her biggest fan, I didn’t have a ‘normal’ stay-at-home mother who was there to wash my clothes and feed me,” Aguilar recalled. “She’d get home and sometimes not even unpack because, within a few days, she was off again for several months to another city, town, or even country. All I wanted was to be with her. That was my dream.”
Though her aunt and grandmother provided care, Aguilar yearned for her mother’s presence. It was Gonzรกlez’s tag team partner who offered an unexpected solution: “Why don’t you learn to wrestle? That way, you could travel with your mom.”
This suggestion led Aguilar to a gym in Mixcalco’s Baรฑos Providenciales, where she trained under Pedro “Bestia Salvaje” Nieves. Despite skepticism from fellow trainees about her abilities, Aguilar persevered. Her training had barely begun when a local promoter discovered the champion’s daughter was learning the ropes.
“I tried explaining that I knew very little and was still learning to ‘tumble,'” Aguilar remembers. “The only move I knew was ‘El Changuito’ (Monkey Flip).” Nevertheless, the promoters saw potential and accelerated her debut.
Then came the shocking twistโher first opponent would be Chabelita Romera, her mother’s most bitter rival.
Las Irmas Make History: Mother-Daughter Tag Team Champions
Aguilar’s debut match in 1975 came against her mother’s fiercest rival, Chabelita Romero. “I was in shock. I hated her because when she wrestled my mom, those were fierce bouts, and she’d kick my mom hard! Sparks flew in that ring when they’d square off!” Aguilar recalled. “So Chabela cleaned my clock and wiped the floor with me. That’s how I started.”
When Gonzรกlez returned from touring Germany, her daughter delivered the surprising news. “Hi, Mom! Guess what? I debuted!”
“What do you mean by ‘debuted?’ Do you mean lucha libre?”
“Yeah, Mom. I’m a luchadora like you now!”
Gonzรกlez’s maternal instincts kicked in when she learned her opponent had been Chabelita. “What?! Chabelita? Oh my, are you alright?” she asked, immediately checking her daughter for injuries.
“My mom made it clear that once in lucha libre, I’d have to learn to care for myself,” Aguilar explains. Early in their partnership, she would instinctively rush to her mother’s aid during matches, but Gonzรกlez taught her an important lesson: “She explained that she knew how to get out of holds, which was important for the fans to see.”
The wrestling world wasn’t immediately welcoming to Aguilar. “There are a lot of egos in lucha libre,” she revealed. “Others saw that I was pushed as a star practically overnight because of who my mom was. This didn’t sit well with most, who trained hard but never reached the heights I did alongside my mom. So, I was harassed and bullied.”
Like her mother before her, Aguilar had to prove herself. She eventually captured the first championship issued in the capital at Arena Coliseo, but success brought new challenges. “My travel schedule increased threefold, and everybody gunned for the champion. I became a target, and so was my mom by default!”
Though different in styleโGonzรกlez compact and tough, Aguilar taller and more photogenicโthey complemented each other perfectly in the ring. When promoters saw their chemistry, they knew they had something special. “We want Las Irmas!” they’d say. The name stuck, and the legendary mother-daughter team was born.
From Wrestling Champion to Family Life: Irma Aguilar’s Next Chapter
Unlike many wrestling careers that end through injury or tragedy, Aguilar made the conscious choice to step away from the ring. Having experienced firsthand the challenges of growing up with an absent parent, she was determined to give her son a different childhood.
“You can’t be a slave to two masters,” Aguilar explains. Together with her husband, who performed as both Hara-Kiri and La Furia de Oriente (The Orient Fury), they chose to retire from wrestling. She found a new calling as an English teacher, while he joined the police force.
Their story took a tragic turn in April 2006 when her husband, recently promoted to commander, was killed in the line of duty in Cuernavaca. Though they had left the wrestling ring healthy and whole, fate had other plans for their family’s future.
The Next Generation: How Las Irmas Shaped Modern Women’s Wrestling
Looking back on their remarkable journey, Aguilar reflected with gratitude: “Wrestling was God’s gift of allowing me to be with my mom. I traveled everywhere for 25 years to different cities and countries, sometimes tagging along with her. I loved it!”
The fire still burns bright for Gonzรกlez. Even as the interview concluded, she insisted they weren’t finished yet. “Let’s put it this way: if someone calls and tells me that so and so didn’t show up, and if I wanted to wrestle, I would jump in a heartbeat. I came in old, and I’m leaving old!” she declared with characteristic spirit.
Their legacy is written in the record books: they were the first winners of the Mexican National Women’s Tag Team Championship in 1990, challengers for the prestigious WWWA Tag Team titles in Japan, and individual achievements, including Aguilar’s reign as the inaugural Mexico City Women’s Champion and her capture of the UWA World Women’s Championship in 1983.
But perhaps their greatest achievement was proving that women’s wrestling belonged in the spotlight, paving the way for generations of luchadoras who would follow in their footsteps.
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