In another world, you could easily see Camila Cabello as a typical 20-year-old college sophomore, hitting the books, enjoying her friends, engaged in the issues of our time—taking part in anti-Trump protests, for example—but also going through the normal growing pains of anyone making the transition to adulthood. You could easily imagine her college adviser writing, “Camila’s reserved but she has such a bright mind. I’m excited for her future.” Well, her future is here. Because in this world, she’s Camila Cabello, a hitmaking singer/songwriter who just broke free from the manufactured yet super successful pop group, Fifth Harmony. One of her teachers in this realm is the Obi-Wan Kenobi of pop starlets, Taylor Swift. Yet, Cabello, a Cuban and Mexican immigrant, is her own woman. And, with her background, it’s paramount for her to share her story of perseverance and triumph as a solo artist. Her Latina photo shoot—for one of her first solo cover stories—took place in New Jersey’s Union City, a gritty town robust with Latino immigrant sabor and culture. It’s fitting for Cabello. During the interview she sits Indian-style, answering each question in her distinct smoky voice. She doesn’t run away from uncomfortable topics—she tackles them head-on. She doesn’t know any other way. This is Camila Cabello—solo star.

Bruno Mars doesn't walk; he glides. It’s as if he’s perpetually ready to perform a Motown-style choreography set in front of tens of millions watching the Super Bowl (which he has done twice in the past four years)—even easing his way into a suburban L.A. pizza parlor, where moments earlier, his sexy, chart-topping 2012 hit, “Locked Out of Heaven,” was on blast, as if anticipating his appearance. Mars just has that aura. His outfit is straight Fania-era salsa/blaxploitation swag—Gucci cap over his curls; sunglasses; an open shirt, floral and teal; tan shorts; dress shoes (no socks, to accentuate those smooth legs); and minimal gold jewelry.

She's a Snapchat queen today: Demi Lovato’s makeup and eyebrow game is so strong and her lip-syncing so on point (doing Cher’s “Believe,” of course) that she could win RuPaul’s Drag Race without ever touching an elimination stage. She even has a heart-shaped mole! Alas, the whole visual effect is simply created by one of the app’s filters, which Lovato uses to contort her face as crazily as she pleases. “With Snapchat you don’t have to worry about it looking a certain way,” says the unfiltered Lovato, looking snug and comfy in an oversize yellow Moschino sweater and Clark Kent–style glasses at the Malibu home where she just completed her latest Latina cover shoot. “I have so much fun with the filters. I love it.”

Albert Einstein was a genius. He was also a horrible dresser—seemingly always disheveled, wearing oversize sweaters—and that hair. Oh, for the love of Pantene, that hair. In comparison, modern-day genius Lin-Manuel Miranda is the coolest motherfunker on planet Broadway—sporting a Fania-inspired T-shirt (“Todo Tiene Su Final”), his hair slicked back in a colonial pony-tail—not a man-bun, thank God. But Miranda does have one thing in common with Einstein: He looks tired.

Ryan Guzman’s shirt is open. His abs appear golden, even heaven-sent, in the brilliant afternoon light that bathes the Hollywood Hills. For someone shooting his first Latina cover, the 27-year-old Mexican American actor appears at ease — no jitters, just chill. It helps that his partner-in-style is Jennifer Lopez, his costar in the The Boy Next Door, set for release in early 2015. The iconic boricua superstar, who has graced the cover of Latina numerous times in the magazine’s history, takes total control of the shoot and the day. “There’s too much rock in the background,” she says with authority, looking over the photographer’s test shots. With absolute confidence, she steps into a backless tiered Thomas Wylde dress that could’ve been plucked directly from a runway. Guzman wears a tuxedo better than James Bond. “She’s ready for you,” a Lopez handler tells him. “And I’m ready for her,” Guzman replies without missing a beat, betraying his playful California upbringing.

Carmelo Anthony is on a mission. He’s had it in mind since he entered the NBA in 2003. Yet this goal—to build sports venues for kids in tough neighborhoods—doesn’t culminate with a ticker-tape parade for his New York Knicks. Since 2010 Anthony’s charity, the Carmelo Anthony Foundation, has restored three basketball courts in his late father’s homeland of Puerto Rico and also held various fund-raising events such as celebrity softball and golf games on the island. Last summer the foundation renovated its third court in Bayamón, and the basketball player has said he looks forward to revamping more of Puerto Rico’s courts in the near future.

Let's start with what Demi Lovato isn't, which is the kind of 21-year-old who’s too self-absorbed to listen to advice, who mindlessly parties like it’s 3013 and wanders through life without any realistic goals. No, this young woman is the complete antithesis of that 21-year- old. Yes, she’s a judge on Fox’s music competition show The X Factor. Yes, she’s a Billboard-charting musician— her fourth album, Demi, sold more than 100,000 units in its first week and its lead single, “Heart Attack,” has sold more than 2 million units. And this fall she returned to acting with a six-epi- sode arc on Glee. But she knows there’s more to life than career success. Lovato has survived her own personal storm and come through with a wisdom beyond her years. Her mature demeanor is a positive by-product of her struggles with depression, bulimia and self-mutilation, which led her to rehab in 2010.

It begins with one thunderous, window-shattering, high-pitched squeal outside of the Hard Rock Cafe in Times Square. It’s another hustle-and-bustle day in New York City and the screams, courtesy of tween and teenage girls, are so overwhelming you’d think Guillermo del Toro’s latest horror movie just premiered. But the yells are not for bloodcurdling film scenes—they’re reserved for the ladies of Fifth Harmony.

Mention the name Ice Cube today, and images of a lovable family guy with a house in the Hollywood Hills may come to mind. Quite a contrast from the mean-muggin' . . .

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown, they say. Especially if the kingdom itself appears to be vanishing. But if you’re Marc Anthony, the undisputed king of salsa, you never give in. You just tilt your crown, recruit your ablest knight (in this case, longtime producer Sergio George) and storm the castle—releasing 3.0, your first album of original salsa music in nine years, undoubtedly the most exciting thing to happen in the genre in a long time. There is trouble in the realm, to be sure. In the first six months of 2013, according to Billboard, Latin music album sales declined to 4.3 million—14 percent lower than during the first half of 2012. But with more than 11 million albums sold worldwide in his career, we wouldn’t bet against Anthony’s ability to pump up those numbers considerably.

If William Adams aka will.i.am were at Dave Chappelle's fictional Player Hater's Ball he'd be the soiree's main target. On any given day he dresses in tight pinstriped slacks, pink Louis Vuitton sneakers and a nylon green jacket. Silky Johnson would have a field day. Seriously, the Black Eyed Peas' frontman is a hip-hop purist's antichrist. And he seems to be OK with that. Somewhat.

Common lost it. Or did we lose him? Lost or not, Chicago's premier wordsmith traveled beyond the hip-hop roots of his early albums with 2002's Electric Circus, which gave way to the rumors that Com had gone soft. But the author of one of the coldest dis records ever made hadn't. He was just in love. Shit happens . . . especially when you're in love.

It is hot! The kind of steamy, muggy weather that can turn an alfresco lunch date with a glamorous actress into a flop-sweat-soaked nightmare. I’m wilting in the heat at a table outside the Clementine Bakery Café in Beverly Hills, wishing I’d asked her to meet me indoors in the air-conditioning. Suddenly, she’s making her way toward me. Stay calm, stay cool, no matter what, I tell myself. She holds up a cold drink and a brown bag. “I got you a mini prosciutto biscuit sandwich,” she says, placing the snack in front of me. “I hope you don’t mind me touch- ing it with my hands.” As I bite down and the biscuit crumbles on my chin (suave move), it dawns on me: Morena Baccarin just touched my sandwich. The same Morena Baccarin who portrayed anguished military wife Jessica Brody for three heart- wrenching seasons on Showtime’s megahit Homeland. The same Morena Baccarin fans idolize for her roles in the sci-fi cult classics Firefly and V.

Dascha Polanco doesn’t just like truffles—she’s obsessed with them. It’s the kind of obsession that arises from recently dis- covering the expensive and savory delicacy. If truffles were human, she’d be spending this Saturday with them at Neiman Marcus, choosing bed linens together. Instead, she’s at a swanky restaurant in Boston, where she’s shooting David O. Russell’s next Oscar-bait film, Joy. The Dominican American actress, dressed in black, picks at her friend’s club sandwich while she awaits (what else?) the extra truffles she requested for her truffle popcorn, sipping on a White Russian with a pinch of nutmeg. “It adds life to the drink,” she says.

"J Balvin! Can we take a picture with you?" screams a fan. Another admirer waits her turn on a blustery fall evening outside New York City’s Madison Square Garden, where the Colombian reggaeton artist will later open for Pitbull and Enrique Iglesias. Balvin, 29, looking stylish in a leather jacket, black T-shirt and jeans, puts his arm around the thrilled fan and flashes his smile. The girl melts in his embrace. “It’s so beautiful to get love from the public,” Balvin says. If he savors the moment, it could be because it took him almost a decade, bouts with panic attacks and a strained relationship with his ex-manager father to get to the point where he’s touring with two of Latin music’s reigning pop gods. And there’s no question he belongs in that company: Balvin’s melodic style of reggaeton, his intimate connection with his fans via social media and his dashing good looks have him poised to be the new Latin heartthrob.

Oliver Stone's 1983 cinematic classic Scarface was a fraud--for the most part. Not the film's message, that living by the gun and sniffing a Costco amount of coke will eventually lead to one's demise, but the character of Tony Montana was far from realistic. Al Pacino's infamous performance forever vilified Cuban immigrants in the minds of American audiences as criminals. Very few people remember Montana's humble beginnings as a dishwasher in the early stages of the film. According to Cuban Americans like Miami-based MC Pitbull, that image was more in line with the average cubano living in Florida during the '80s. Before any outsider can truly understand the dynamics of these Cuban immigrants, they must first know the history.

It was a groundbreaking moment —the first American TV show to cast five Latina leads. But before the first Devious Maids episode even aired last summer, many in the Latino community hit the panic button, yelling, “Stereotype!” With the second season debuting this month, the show’s talented quintet—Dania Ramirez, Roselyn Sanchez, Ana Ortiz, Judy Reyes and Edy Ganem—speaks up about silencing the critics, forging a new path for Latinas in Hollywood and keeping each other sane.

After a two-year hiatus, Puerto Rican vaunted middleweight Felix Trinidad Jr. puts his gloves on again.

For a sign that can be rendered as simplistic the "Obey Giant" imagery has sparked the minds of a generation. Really, if you think about it Shepard Fairey's concoction is no more than a mammoth wrestler stating his demand.

It's just a regular hump day. Well, it’s actually nail salon day, and Génesis Rodríguez hunches over to accommodate Japanese nail artist Miho Okawara, who also painted Lady Gaga’s nails for American Horror Story. For Rodríguez, Miho is creating nail art that highlights her loves. On her index finger, it’s hip-hop, by way of DJ Khaled’s round-faced likeness; on her other index finger, it’s the logo of her hometown’s Miami Heat.