What Is The Message Of 'Julián Is A Mermaid'?

Reading 'Julián Is a Mermaid' felt like a warm hug—it’s such a tender celebration of self-expression and unconditional love. The story follows Julián, a little boy who sees women dressed as mermaids on the subway and becomes utterly enchanted. At home, he transforms himself into a mermaid using curtains, a plant crown, and lipstick. When his abuela walks in, I held my breath, worried about her reaction. But instead of scolding him, she gifts him a necklace and takes him to a mermaid parade. That moment hit me hard—it’s about seeing someone’s truth and embracing it joyfully.

The book’s message isn’t just about gender creativity; it’s about the quiet, revolutionary act of being seen and loved for who you are. The illustrations are bursting with color and life, especially the parade scene where everyone’s unapologetically themselves. It made me think about how society often polishes away uniqueness, but stories like this remind us to dance in our own skin. I’ve gifted this to friends raising kids because it plants such a beautiful seed: love doesn’t need conditions.

'Julián Is a Mermaid' is pure joy distilled into pages. The message? Let kids glow. Julián’s unabashed transformation—using whatever’s at hand—resonates with anyone who’s ever played dress-up. The abuela’s reaction is the heart of it: she doesn’t just tolerate his play; she elevates it. That necklace she gives him isn’t just jewelry—it’s a nod, a 'I see you.' The ending parade isn’t about spectacle but belonging. It’s a short book, but it carries weight: love looks like saying 'yes' to someone’s spark.

What struck me most about 'Julián Is a Mermaid' is how it normalizes imagination without making it a 'lesson.' Julián isn’t taught to be brave or different—he just is, and his abuela’s support feels organic, not performative. The subway scene where he stares at the mermaids captures that childhood wonder we’ve all felt, where something sparks a fire in your mind and suddenly, you need to become it. The book avoids heavy-handed messaging; instead, it shows a grandmother’s instinctive kindness. She doesn’t pause or question—she simply joins his world. That’s the magic: acceptance isn’t a grand gesture but a series of small, easy 'yeses.' I adore how the mermaid parade at the end mirrors real-life events like Coney Island’s Mermaid Parade, grounding the fantasy in community. It’s a reminder that being 'you' isn’t solitary—there’s always a tribe waiting.