They kidnap you. You can't enjoy it.
Ana María Orozco worked 18-hour days for 22 months with minimal rest, earning only $100 initially despite the show's massive success and global recognition. The actress struggled with casting pressures, couldn't enjoy the show's popularity due to exhaustion, and faced demands she couldn't fulfill while unable to leave home safely.
- Ana María Orozco worked 18-hour days for 22 months on 'Yo soy Betty, la fea'
- She initially earned 444,000 Colombian pesos (approximately $100 USD)
- The show premiered in 1999 and later became one of Netflix's most-watched programs
- She fashioned her character's braces from aluminum foil during the audition process
The lead actress of Colombian telenovela 'Yo soy Betty, la fea' reveals the difficult working conditions, low pay, and exhaustion behind the show's success, including 18-hour workdays and minimal compensation despite the series' massive popularity.
Ana María Orozco spent twenty-two months making one of the most successful television shows in Latin American history. By the time "Yo soy Betty, la fea" became a global phenomenon, she was working eighteen-hour days, sleeping poorly, and earning roughly one hundred dollars a month.
The Colombian telenovela, written by Fernando Gaitán, premiered in 1999 and became a cultural juggernaut. Years later it found new audiences on Netflix, where it ranked among the platform's most-watched programs before being removed. The show made stars of its cast, led by Orozco alongside Jorge Enrique Abello and Mario Duarte. But Orozco has since been candid about what that stardom actually cost.
The difficulties began before filming even started. During the casting process, producers divided the auditions into two phases: one for Betty in her unglamorous state, another for her transformed self. The concept of an unattractive female lead was risky enough that casting directors wavered. Orozco arrived with a clear vision of the character. She fashioned makeshift braces from aluminum foil and built the physical vocabulary of the role through rehearsal and instinct. Once she nailed the audition, the part was hers—but the real ordeal was only beginning.
During production, the schedule became punishing. Orozco and her castmates worked an average of eighteen hours daily, including weekends and holidays. The show was taping while simultaneously airing, which meant the pressure intensified as audiences grew. The "boom" was happening outside the studio walls—the series was becoming a sensation—but inside, the actors were exhausted and chained to their work. Orozco described the final months as particularly brutal: there was almost no rest, sleep was fragmented, and the demands kept mounting. She couldn't fulfill all the obligations placed on her. She couldn't even leave her house without difficulty.
The financial compensation bore no relationship to the show's success or her labor. Orozco initially earned 444,000 Colombian pesos—equivalent to two minimum monthly wages, or roughly one hundred dollars. Later her salary rose to one million pesos, about two hundred thirty dollars. The channel, she said, was the entity that truly enriched itself. In a 2001 interview with the magazine Caras, she expressed the paradox plainly: people assumed that appearing on television meant wealth, but even when earning decent money, it was impossible to enjoy it. "They kidnap you," she said.
Years later, Orozco reflected on the show's cultural legacy with nuance. The series contained moments saturated with homophobic and machista language and attitudes—it reflected the society of its time and, she noted, those attitudes persist. But she also argued that the production made those dynamics visible, gave them form and consequence. If the show were made today, she acknowledged, it would face immediate critical scrutiny. The language and casual cruelties that aired in 1999 would not survive contemporary standards. What mattered then was that the work got done, the audience watched, and the channel prospered. The cost to the people who made it remained largely invisible until Orozco chose to speak about it.
Citações Notáveis
If you tell me how much I earned, you'd die laughing. The channel is the one that got rich.— Ana María Orozco, in an interview with Caras magazine (2001)
The show reflected what was happening in society and still is. But I feel this production made those situations visible, with the language of that moment.— Ana María Orozco, in an interview with El País, on the show's homophobic and machista content
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
When you say you were working eighteen-hour days, were those consecutive hours, or broken up across the day?
Broken up, but the effect was the same—you're on set, you're in character, you're waiting between scenes. There's no real rest. You can't leave. You're trapped in the building.
And during those twenty-two months, did you have any sense that the show was becoming what it became?
We felt it, yes. We could hear it from outside the studio. But we couldn't participate in it. We were too tired to celebrate. That's the strange part—your work is succeeding wildly and you're miserable.
The aluminum foil braces—was that your idea, or did the costume department provide them?
That was me. I came to the audition with a concept already formed. I needed to see myself as Betty, to understand her physically. The braces were part of that search.
When you say the channel enriched itself—do you mean they profited from international sales, or something else?
Everything. The show became a format that was sold around the world. Remakes in dozens of countries. The channel owned all of that. We got paid a fixed wage while the property multiplied in value.
Looking back now, do you regret making the show?
No. I'm proud of the work. But I wish I'd been able to experience it while it was happening. I wish the conditions had allowed for that.