When an Accent Becomes a Barrier: The Unfair Criticism of Selena Gomez (and Many of Us)

When Selena Gomez took on her role in Emilia Pérez, a movie that celebrates Mexican culture, she likely anticipated some challenges—perfecting the role, learning lines, stepping into a character. What she might not have anticipated, however, was the sharp critique of her Spanish accent, most notably from figures like Eugenio Derbez.

For many, this critique may seem like a simple observation about language, but for those of us who live in the space between two cultures, it feels personal. It’s not just about Selena Gomez’s Spanish; it’s about the impossible standards placed on mixed and first-generation individuals to “prove” their heritage.

As a first-generation American with Dominican roots, I know this struggle intimately. It’s a story of feeling both deeply connected to and alienated from your culture. It’s about how accents and language become a weapon used to decide whether you’re “enough” to claim your identity.

I was born in the United States to two parents who emigrated from the Dominican Republic. My parents were navigating a new world and a new language. They spoke English as a second language and were determined to ensure I wouldn’t face the same challenges my older brother had when he started school without knowing much English.

To give me the best chance at success, my parents focused on teaching me English first. Spanish surrounded me—it was spoken at home, in family gatherings, and even in my mother’s lullabies—but my parents prioritized fluency in English.

As a toddler, I tried to speak Spanish too. I would hear the words, mimic the sounds, and string together sentences as best I could. But my family didn’t celebrate these efforts; they laughed. My little mistakes and accented Spanish became a source of amusement for them. This goes beyond my parents. At first, I didn’t understand why they found it so funny. I was just a child, learning to communicate in a world of two languages. But over time, the laughter started to sting.

Their jokes taught me something they didn’t intend: speaking Spanish wasn’t safe for me.

It became easier to stay silent than to risk the humiliation of saying something “wrong.” And so, I withdrew.

What my family didn’t realize was that even as I stopped speaking Spanish, I never stopped understanding it. I listened to everything—every joke, every conversation, every scolding. I understood it all.

But the ridicule had silenced me.

As I got older, the pressure to speak Spanish increased. Family members expected me to use the language more, but the fear of their judgment held me back. When I did speak, it was only when absolutely necessary. And even then, I was hyper-aware of every syllable, every possible mistake.

It wasn’t just my family. As I ventured into the wider world, every Spanish-speaking person I met seemed to carry the same critique. They would ask why my parents hadn’t raised me to speak fluent Spanish, why I had an accent, or why I didn’t practice more.

When I did speak Spanish, the reactions were frustratingly predictable. A simple, correctly formed sentence spoken with an accent—like “Hola, estoy bien.”—would immediately shift the dynamic. People would switch to English, assuming my Spanish was inadequate. They’d ask why I wasn’t “really” speaking Spanish, as if my effort wasn’t enough.

Image Credit: Midjourney for AI Generated image of Selena Gomez

It was disheartening. My Spanish was treated like a burden. Yet, these same individuals expected me to patiently listen to and encourage their broken English without a hint of judgment. The hypocrisy was glaring.

The language struggles were just the surface of a deeper issue. I wasn’t just judged for how I spoke Spanish—I was judged for how I identified.

To my Dominican relatives and acquaintances, I would never be truly Dominican. I hadn’t been born there, I hadn’t grown up there, and I didn’t fully embody their idea of what it meant to be Dominican. But if I called myself American, that wasn’t acceptable either. To them and pretty much everyone outside of my family, I was Dominican, whether or not I lived up to their standards.

It felt like I was constantly being pulled in two directions, never fully belonging to either. My identity was up for debate, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t win.

This is why the criticism of Selena Gomez’s Spanish in Emilia Pérez feels so personal to me. It’s not just about her—it’s about all of us who’ve been told we’re not enough.

Selena is a half-Mexican woman navigating her cultural heritage in the public eye. Her Spanish accent doesn’t erase her connection to her roots, but the criticism makes it clear that for some, it does. It’s as if speaking with an accent invalidates her effort, her heritage, and her pride in her culture. Actress or not, the reality of accents is what she protrayed; it also comes in all shapes and sizes.

But let’s be honest—this isn’t really about Selena’s accent. It’s about gatekeeping.

It’s about the impossible standards placed on mixed and first-generation individuals to prove their authenticity.

What makes this issue even more frustrating is the double standard. Immigrants who speak English with an accent often face ridicule, assumptions about their intelligence, and impatience. Yet, these same individuals will turn around and impose those exact behaviors on their children or others trying to speak Spanish.

The lack of empathy is astounding. How can we, as a community, expect people to honor their heritage if we ridicule them for trying?

Selena Gomez deserves to be celebrated for embracing her heritage, not torn down for her accent.

And the same goes for every mixed or first-generation individual trying to stay connected to their roots.

Language is not a test of authenticity. It’s a bridge—a way to connect, to share, and to honor where we come from. We should encourage these efforts, not criticize them.

It’s time to move past these harmful patterns and create a culture of support and inclusivity. Let’s celebrate the diversity within our communities, accents and all.

For those of us who’ve been told we’re not enough—whether because of an accent, a birthplace, or a lack of fluency—know this: you are enough.

Selena Gomez is Mexican enough.

I am Dominican enough.

And you are enough, too.

It’s time we stop letting others dictate who we are and start embracing the fullness of our identities.