Ricardo Darín: the day Jaén opened its heart to him (and the curious reason behind the Eternalauta hoodie trend)

There are actors who feel so much like our own that it's hard to believe they weren't born here. But with Ricardo Darín, it goes beyond just public affection. A few days ago, Jaén gave him one of those unforgettable welcomes, making official what many of us in Andalusia have felt for years: that Darín, though Argentine by birth, has been one of us for decades. The city where he was born — yes, born, because the actor came into the world in Buenos Aires but his family roots brought him to Jaén long before he became the giant he is today — has named him a favourite son. And the ceremony, far from being just another institutional formality, had that touch of raw emotion he portrays so well in film.

I was there, blending in with the crowd that gathered in the square. It wasn't a massive event, but it was an intense one. There was a curious thing about it: many of us who went weren't just wearing our Sunday best; there was an unexpected fashion statement. Suddenly, you'd see young people, but also blokes in their sixties, sporting sweatshirts with prints that looked like they'd come straight out of a comic strip. It was the shadow of The Eternauta. That masterpiece Ricardo brought to the screen with that blend of solemnity and grit that only he can pull off. The curious part is that the trend wasn't just any sweatshirt; it was the oversized The Eternauta hoodie, the piece that's become the unofficial uniform of the modern cinephile. And I'm not talking about a cheap knock-off, but those bold graphic T-shirts that seem to scream "I was there in the bunker" or "I know what resistance means".

The day Jaén went Argentine (without losing a drop of its essence)

The tribute had a subtext I found brilliant. Jaén, a province that sometimes suffers from being overlooked by the media, decided to embrace Darín's figure to talk about itself. Because it turns out the actor's father, Ricardo Darín (yes, his father was also called Ricardo, and was also an actor), had a very strong connection to Jaén. During the ceremony, a fragment of a letter was read where the elder Darín spoke of Jaén as "that place I always want to return to". And his son, with that trademark measured pause of his, took the microphone and said something that rang true: "My old man taught me to love this place. It's not that I'm visiting; it's that I'm coming home".

The list of supporters for this curious tourism initiative — because yes, there's also a strategy behind it to attract visitors, but done with the class of not making it obvious — was varied. From the mayor, who confessed to having watched Nine Queens eight times, to the owner of a bar in the centre who put up a photo of Darín next to one of his grandfather. The thing is, they've understood that Darín's cinema (that cinema of complex characters, of ambiguous morals) is a perfect fit for the Andalusian way of life. We're not so different, after all: we both have a reputation for talking loudly, for solving things with wit rather than rulebooks, and for nursing grudges with a smile.

• The father-son connection: The elder Ricardo Darín was a pillar of Argentine entertainment, but it was in Jaén he found a family refuge that his son has kept alive. That emotional legacy was what was celebrated.
• The "Truman" phenomenon: Even though the day was about the official tribute, scenes from that film kept coming up. Because, let's be honest, when you think of Darín and male friendship, you think of Julián and Tomás.
• The "Eternauta" fashion: It's no coincidence that in Jaén's shops, after the event, the oversized hoodies with the iconic line "Who are you people?" sold out. The series has turned the literary into the aesthetic, and Chino Darín, who was also there (though more low-key), was fascinated by how his father's character has evolved in popular culture.

The best part is that this recognition isn't a full stop, but a "let's see what else we can come up with". I know for a fact they're already planning a film route through the places where the elder Darín spent his last spells in Spain, and I understand they might put up a plaque on the street where he used to stay. Meanwhile, the young people of Jaén have adopted the aesthetic of the Argentine sci-fi hero with remarkable ease. You walk down the Alameda and see guys wearing those bold graphic T-shirts that mix retro typography with the drawing of the helmeted hero, and you realise Ricardo Darín has achieved something few do: a city honours him, but in return, he has, perhaps unwittingly, given the city a new layer of modernity and a boost of identity pride.

In the end, when they took the official photo, Darín took off his jacket. Underneath, he was wearing a black t-shirt with the The Eternauta logo. It wasn't a publicity stunt. It was the gesture of a guy who knows his job isn't just to entertain, but also to be a symbol people latch onto. Jaén, which has never needed the big spotlight to feel important, returned the embrace. And we, those of us there, left with the feeling we'd witnessed something bigger than just a simple naming ceremony. It was like watching a local who went far away and came back a success, but still asks for the regional wine as if he'd never left.

So, if you see someone on the street wearing an oversized The Eternauta hoodie and holding a glass of Jaén wine, don't ask where they're from. Chances are they're celebrating that, finally, the world understands that a sense of belonging sometimes knows no borders. And that Ricardo Darín, that man with the intense gaze and dry wit, is a little bit of all of us.