Some people leave a mark so powerful that time itself bends around their story. Cristina Ortiz Rodríguez, known to the world as La Veneno, was one of them. Her life was a dazzling mixture of glamour, pain, and survival, shaped by both destiny and her unbreakable will. The book ¡Digo! Ni puta ni santa. Las memorias de La Veneno, written by journalist and filmmaker Valeria Vegas together with Cristina herself, captures this extraordinary life in all its contradictions. It is the story of a woman who never pretended to be a saint, who embraced her flaws with humor and fire, and who became one of Spain’s most iconic transgender figures long before the word “visibility” was even part of public discourse.
Born in 1964 in the small Andalusian town of Adra, Cristina came into the world as José Antonio Ortiz Rodríguez, one of six siblings in a traditional working-class family. From a young age, she knew she was different. The boy her parents saw was not the person she felt inside. Her childhood was marked by bullying, violence, and rejection, both from neighbors and relatives who refused to accept her gender identity. Yet even in that hostile environment, Cristina’s creative energy was unstoppable. She designed clothes, organized local fashion shows, and discovered a flair for performance that would later define her life. Ironically, before beginning her transition, she was crowned Mister Andalucía in 1989. But that title belonged to a chapter she was already eager to close.
Her transformation began in the early 1990s, after leaving her hometown and moving to Madrid. There, she found both liberation and struggle. She began dressing as a woman, first under the name Tanya and later adopting the name Cristina, honoring a fellow sex worker who had passed away. The nickname La Veneno (“The Poison”) came from her friend Paca la Piraña after a particularly heated argument with a lover. That name, born from street wit and resilience, would become a symbol of strength and sensuality.
At the height of her fame, La Veneno recorded songs, performed as a vedette, appeared in TV shows, and toured nightclubs across Spain. She was adored by the public, mocked by some, and misunderstood by many. Yet her fame came without a safety net. The entertainment industry that embraced her for ratings later turned its back when the spectacle faded. She found herself caught in scandals, financial troubles, and a series of personal betrayals that culminated in a prison sentence in 2003, accused of insurance fraud after a fire in her apartment. Her time in a male prison was one of the darkest chapters of her life, filled with abuse and humiliation. When she emerged three years later, her body was heavier, her spirit bruised, but her personality remained as fierce as ever.
Her return to television in the 2000s was marked by both nostalgia and tragedy. She spoke publicly about her experiences in prison, revealing shocking details of the violence she endured. She appeared on talk shows, often alternating between humor and sadness, revealing a woman shaped by survival yet haunted by the price of it. In those later years, she suffered from eating disorders, anxiety, and financial ruin. Her relationships were often toxic and exploitative. Still, she never stopped fighting.
Tragically, only a month after the book’s release, Cristina was found unconscious in her Madrid apartment, with severe head injuries. Four days later, on November 9, 2016, she died at the age of fifty-two. The circumstances surrounding her death remain controversial. While official reports classified it as an accidental fall caused by a mix of alcohol and medication, many of her friends and admirers have long suspected foul play. Cristina herself had hinted, in her final interviews, that she had received death threats related to revelations made in her book. Her sudden death, just as she was reclaiming her voice, left Spain in shock.
Valeria Vegas, herself a transgender woman, has often said that La Veneno changed her life. By telling Cristina’s story, she also told the story of many trans women who had been silenced. Valeria’s meticulous work turned gossip into history and tragedy into a symbol of courage. Beyond this book, Valeria has become one of Spain’s most respected cultural voices, writing and directing works such as Vestidas de azul, which explores the portrayal of transgender women in Spanish cinema during the Transition.
¡Digo! Ni puta ni santa. Las memorias de La Veneno is more than a biography; it is a mirror of Spain’s social evolution, from intolerance to slow acceptance. It shows how one woman’s laughter and pain could spark a national conversation about gender, identity, and fame. Cristina Ortiz may have lived fast and died tragically, but through Valeria’s words, her story continues to inspire. She was neither saint nor sinner, but a woman who dared to live out loud, teaching us that authenticity, even when punished, is its own kind of victory.
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