crumb#004: Who the Hell is Cortés and Why Is He in Your Sneakers!

From cursed gold in Pirates of the Caribbean to the Nike Cortez and beyond- how a 1500s empire-killer slipped into everything.

---

Cortés. Cortés. Cortés. No matter where I look or what I watch, this guy is everywhere. The other weekend, I went to my friend’s place for a night out, and we decided to binge the first three Pirates of the Caribbean movies. That turned out to be a way more ambitious plan than we had originally imagined- guess we’re just old now. We’ve mostly given up on any such plans for the future. Still, we managed to finish the first one. And what does the movie mainly revolve around? The curse of Aztec gold, tied to Cortés’s plunder. When I watched the movie as a kid, I didn’t really pay attention to the name behind the curse- I just assumed it was fictional. Fast forward to the present: the only thing that had changed was that I now knew the person wasn’t fictional, but beyond that, I was really none the wiser.

What irritated me even more was that this wasn’t a name I’d never heard or read before. I came across it while reading Shoe Dog, where Nike decided to name one of their shoes Cortez. That’s also the exact shoe Forrest Gump wears while running across America. And if you’re into music from the ’70s and ’80s, you’ve probably heard Neil Young’s “Cortez the Killer.” Damn you, Cortés. Who are you?

Frustrated by my lack of knowledge, I decided to finally dig in and find out. What I discovered was kinda overwhelming. This man left a legacy far beyond what I had imagined. He’s just like that meme- no matter where you look, he’s everywhere. Even in the tomatoes you eat!

The more I read, the more unhinged and chaotic it got. Blood, gods, and betrayal everywhere. Turns out, this guy didn’t just show up for a history lesson- he tore a hole through it. And the ripples are still everywhere.

For this story, we travel to the early 16th century- an age of maps with more sea monsters than land, and of kings who believed the world was theirs for the taking. Fresh from centuries of reclaiming their land from Muslim rule, a saga worthy of its own epic, Spain now cast its gaze outward: across oceans, in pursuit of wealth, adventure, and everlasting glory. The New World wasn’t just a discovery; it was an obsession.

Into this storm of ambition and conquest stepped a man named Hernán Cortés. He was part of a wave of men known as conquistadors- soldiers of fortune turned empire-builders. Veterans of Spain’s centuries-long war to reclaim land from Muslim rule, they were now unleashed on foreign continents under the banner of God, Gold, and Glory. Backed by the Spanish crown (and sometimes not), they weren’t just looking to explore- they came to conquer. And convert. And loot.

Born to minor nobility in the rugged town of Medellín- not Colombia, but Extremadura (going by my Duolingo translation that’s roughly: extremely hard), Spain- Cortés had briefly studied law before ditching books for blood and ambition. The New World offered everything Spain’s lower nobles lacked: land, status, and a fast track to fortune. Cortés wasn’t rich, but he was hungry, and he had just enough charm and ruthlessness to turn take this gamble.

And so, with 600 men, 16 horses, a few cannons, and far too much confidence, he sailed west- in an expedition that would change the history (or rather the future) of the world. Cortés, the head of the fleet, was around thirty years old, sharp-tongued, silver-tongued in fact, and completely insubordinate. He wasn’t even supposed to be going. He’d been ordered not to launch the expedition, but he ignored those orders and went anyway.

Their destination this time? A place whispered about like a fever dream-rumours of golden cities, blood-soaked altars, and strange gods. The locals called the region Anáhuac, “the land between the waters.”
We now call it Mexico.

A quick warning before we go further: the names are going to get wild in this one. From Tenochtitlán to Moctezuma (there are quite a few pronunciations out there for this important character, this one is apparently the closest to the native pronunciation) to Tlaxcala. They may sound like a wicked tongue-twister, which, to a non-native speaker, they kinda are.

The Mexico Cortés walked into wasn’t anything like the clichéd taco-scented vacation brochures of today. This was Tenochtitlán, the beating heart of the Aztec Empire- a floating city built on a lake, laced with canals, temples, markets, and causeways. They even had pyramids! It had a population of over 200,000- more than most European cities at the time. Their roads were cleaner, market system more efficient, and education more universal.

And their worldview? As unique as the names we’ve been reading. The Aztecs believed the universe was constantly teetering on the edge of collapse. The only thing keeping it going? Human blood. Not metaphorically. Literally. They believed the gods had sacrificed themselves to bring life into being- so it was only fair that humans repay that debt, with a little open-heart surgery atop a pyramid, if you catch my drift. So, on average, about five people (this is the most conservative number out there) were led each day to the temple, where a priest- acting with the precision of a surgeon- removed their hearts and held them aloft for all to see, much like Rafiki presenting Simba in The Lion King. All this, or else the sun wouldn’t rise the next day.

Every war they fought was partly for land and power- but also to collect fresh bodies for the temple. The Sun God needed fuel, and people were the logs. Into this civilisation, riding on a horse (which the locals had never seen before), clad in steel, and backed by guns, came Cortés. You can imagine the impression he must’ve left on the Aztecs. He wasn’t supposed to conquer; he was technically just an explorer under the governor of Cuba. But Cortés had what polite people call “initiative.” To make sure his men had no choice but to push onward, he sank his ships right there on the Mexican coast. With their way home up in smoke (or, technically, underwater- Davy Jones had it now), the only direction left was forward- straight into history.

Cortés didn’t just march in with muskets blazing- he played chess while everyone else played war. He saw that the mighty Aztecs had enemies. Plenty of them. So he struck alliances, most importantly with the Tlaxcalans, a fierce people who hated the Aztecs with all their guts. Soon, Cortés was leading an army where Spaniards were the minority.

But his real weapon? Language. Also, a woman named Malintzin.

She was given to the Spaniards as a slave, but quickly became indispensable. She spoke Mayan and Nahuatl, the language of the Aztecs, and with the help of a Spanish priest who spoke Mayan, Cortés built a human translation chain. Soon, Malintzin was more than just an interpreter. She was his eyes, ears, voice, and mind in a world he didn’t understand.

With her help, he didn’t just talk to local leaders, he read them. Played them.

And then he went one step further- he became a myth.

According to legend, the Aztecs believed in a god named Quetzalcoatl, a feathered serpent who had once sailed east and was prophesied to return one day. Enter Cortés- pale, bearded, and showing up from the east in giant wooden ships with beautiful horses. The timing was perfect, the resemblance uncanny, and the rumours started to swirl.

He and his men were greeted when they entered Tenochtitlán- welcomed, even- by Emperor Moctezuma himself. The Aztecs weren’t sure what to make of these pale-skinned, bearded strangers with thundersticks and four-legged beasts. Some genuinely thought they were divine. Others, an omen. I mean, if you’ve never seen a horse before, an entire cavalry would definitely feel otherworldly.

(And yes- Quetzalcoatl is a nightmare to pronounce. I’ve tried and failed. I don’t try anymore. Sigh.)

Did Moctezuma truly think he was a god? Maybe. Or maybe he was just scared of being wrong. And Cortés? He played along. Smiled. Gifted. Took notes. Then, without missing a beat, he took Moctezuma hostage inside his own palace. A political heist of the highest order. He held the emperor captive while pretending everything was fine- like some twisted episode of Succession, but with obsidian daggers and gold masks.

Tensions exploded not long after. While Cortés was off handling rival Spaniards (he was technically a rogue commander, remember), he left his lieutenant Pedro de Alvarado in charge of Tenochtitlán. During the sacred Toxcatl festival, Alvarado panicked- or seized the moment- and launched a brutal attack, slaughtering unarmed Aztec priests and nobles gathered at the Great Temple.

The city erupted.

Aztec fury surged through the streets as stone clashed with steel. The Spanish were suddenly the ones under siege. Trapped in the palace, Moctezuma tried to calm the crowds- only to be killed in the chaos. Whether by his own people or the Spaniards, no one knows for sure. But with his death, whatever fragile control Cortés had shattered.

Then came La Noche Triste- The Night of Sorrows.

The Spanish tried to slip away under cover of darkness, dragging stolen gold (easter egg) across narrow bridges and canals. But the Aztecs were waiting. They attacked from rooftops, from the water, from the shadows. Hundreds died, many drowning under the weight of their greed. Cortés barely made it out alive.

Bruised, humiliated, but not done, he retreated to the mainland- and began again. Over the next year, he rebuilt his army, this time bolstered by thousands of native allies who despised Aztec rule. But he also brought back something else: smallpox. One infected Spaniard was enough. The disease tore through the empire, killing nearly half the population before the final battle even began.

When Cortés returned, Tenochtitlán was a ghost of its former self. He cut off food and water. Bombarded the city. And when it finally fell, it wasn’t just a defeat.

And in August of 1521, Tenochtitlán fell. The greatest city in the Americas, once called the Venice of the New World, was reduced to rubble. The Aztec Empire- a brilliant civilisation renowned for its advanced calendars, vibrant culture, and awe-inspiring achievements- had vanished.

Just gone.

But weirdly enough, the story didn’t end there.

Because while the Aztec Empire disappeared from the map, Cortés never really left.

He’s been hanging around for centuries- like a ghost haunting our pop culture. Sometimes he's mentioned by name. Sometimes he’s just the shadow in the background, a symbol of conquest, greed, and cursed gold.

Let’s go back to Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl, the first one- arguably the best one. If you need a summary, here’s a recap (since my memory is still fresh): The whole plot revolves around cursed Aztec gold. Coins taken from a chest of treasure plundered by none other than Cortés. The pirates steal the gold, and boom- curse activated. They become immortal, but lose their humanity, turning into skeletal wraiths under moonlight. It’s theatrical, sure, but the themes? Right on the money. Greed. Guilt. Punishment. Legacy. All tied back to Cortés.

And here’s where reality and legend start to blur. Cortés’s obsession with Aztec gold wasn’t just a Hollywood invention- he really did seize a fortune, melting down treasures and shipping most of it off to Spain. Some of that gold vanished along the way, fuelling centuries of rumours about lost treasure still hidden somewhere in Mexico’s jungles- based on which subReddit you follow.

Pirates of the Caribbean takes this old myth and spins it into pure fantasy: the stolen gold becomes cursed, a supernatural punishment for greed. Sadly, there’s no Isla de Muerta on any real map- but the idea that some treasures are too costly to claim? That part feels all too real.

But Cortés didn’t just get trapped in treasure chests and pirate curses. He somehow ran all the way into the world of sneakers- Nike named one of its first running shoes the Cortez.

And not just any shoe. This was the shoe that helped launch the Nike empire. Clean white leather, a bold swoosh, a sharp red stripe- it became iconic. And if it looks familiar, it’s because Forrest Gump wore it while literally running across America. “Run, Forrest, run!” Yup. He ran in a pair of Nike Cortez.

It’s funny when you think about it.

A shoe named after a Spanish conquistador who marched across a continent, now worn by a fictional guy who accidentally jogs through American history. Coincidence? Maybe. But you can’t deny the poetry.

And the name itself? Oh, that was a straight-up jab.

Back in the 1960s, Nike wasn’t even called Nike yet- it was Blue Ribbon Sports, and they were selling Onitsuka Tiger shoes from Japan. Meanwhile, their biggest rival- Adidas- was getting ready to drop a shoe for the 1968 Olympics in Mexico City. They called it the Azteca Gold, a name honoring the host country’s heritage.

---

Enjoying these curious crumbs?
If today’s story left you smiling or wondering, just tap to recommend it to a fellow explorer. Every crumb you share helps our little trail grow!

---

Phil Knight and Bill Bowerman, the founders of Nike, didn’t miss a beat.

They cooked up their own rival shoe and named it Cortez- after the guy who conquered the Aztecs.

It was a branding middle finger. A sly historical burn.

Adidas had Aztec pride? Nike had the man who burned their temples.

So now, every time someone laces up a pair of Nike Cortez, they’re unknowingly stepping into a centuries-old beef- not just between empires, but between two of the biggest sports brands in the world.

But here’s what no one talks about.

For all the fire and blood and plunder Cortés brought with him, the Aztecs gave us things that still shape our lives today. And I’m not just talking about myths or pyramids.

Let’s talk chocolate. The Aztecs were among the first people to cultivate cacao. But they didn’t eat it like we do. Oh no. They drank it. Bitter, dark, spiced with chili and maize. They believed cacao beans were a gift from the gods- literally. It was sacred. So sacred, they used it as currency. You could buy a slave for 100 cacao beans.

Then there’s tomatoes- which didn’t exist in Europe before the conquest. That’s right. No spaghetti sauce in Italy, no ketchup, no pizza as we know it. Tomatoes are native to Mesoamerica, and the word itself comes from the Nahuatl language: tomatl.

Europe stole the fruit. And Cortés delivered it.

Chilies? Also Aztec.

Cortés and the Aztecs are baked into our digital fantasies too- especially in video games, where the line between history and myth is often a side quest.

If you’ve played Age of Empires II or III, after long days at school, you’ve likely commanded the Aztecs in battle or led Spanish conquistadors on brutal campaigns through Mesoamerica. The games don’t hold back- sieges, alliances, betrayals- it’s all there. Cortés is sometimes a playable character. So is Moctezuma. You, the player, decide how the conquest unfolds. A bit ironic, considering how uncontrollable it was in real life.

It’s weirdly poetic.

The man who helped erase a culture now keeps showing up in stories that resurrect it.

So yeah. Cortés.

He’s everywhere- in movies, in sneakers, in songs, in games, in history books gathering dust, and in chocolate melting on your tongue.

What began as a lazy movie night and a passing curiosity about a name turned into a wild plunge through centuries of ambition, blood, and brilliance. I set out to solve a pop culture riddle- why does Cortés haunt everything from pirate curses to the shoes on our feet?- and unearthed a saga that’s still pulsing beneath the surface of our modern world.

Maybe that’s the true legacy of Cortés and the Aztecs: not just lost empires or cursed gold, but the way their stories refuse to die. They echo in every bite of chocolate, every word borrowed from Nahuatl, every time a pair of sneakers hits the pavement. These are the ghosts that history can’t shake; the conqueror and the conquered, locked in an endless dance across centuries.

Empires crumble. Cities sink. But some names carve themselves so deep into the world that, even after the dust settles, they keep walking among us- sometimes as heroes, sometimes as villains, always as a warning.

So next time you watch a blockbuster, lace up your shoes, or bite into something sweet, remember: you’re treading on the ruins of legends. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the real curse- history never truly lets us go.

That’s it for this crumb. See you in the next one soon!

---

---