Conjoined twins Carmen and Lupita Andrade, 25, have always shared more than most siblings. Now, as Carmen marries Daniel McCormack, they navigate autonomy, intimacy, and respect under public scrutiny.
Carmen, who wed McCormack in October 2024, said that her marriage works in part because of the way the trio communicates. “Constantly talking” is how she described it in a joint interview with People published Sept. 22. When Lupita expresses discomfort with cuddling or even certain conversations, “we just respect that.”
Lupita, who identifies as asexual, has found her own strategies for stepping back when needed. “I have headphones and a phone,” she said. “I don’t care.” That clear boundary allows her sister space for intimacy while preserving her own comfort.
Transitioning from the challenges of intimacy, Lupita views McCormack simply: “I love him as a brother. That’s about it.” This distinction underscores the healthy separation between Carmen’s marriage and the lifelong bond the twins share.
Carmen admits she has never been especially demonstrative, a quality that may make navigating this unusual arrangement easier. “I’m not a very overly affectionate person that way,” she explained.
She added that outside expectations about what a relationship should look like can be misplaced. “I think there’s a certain societal expectation that there needs to be affection the entire time within a relationship. [But] all we do is joke around a lot of the time.” Respect, they have both pushed back against invasive curiosity. McCormack, 28, was blunt in the interview: “People are obsessed with sex. And it is just like, frankly, it’s none of your f—— business.” Carmen echoed the sentiment, saying, “I don’t understand why people need to know about my private parts in order [to] humanize us.”
This pushback is connected to a recurring problem that extends beyond their marriage. Coverage of the sisters’ lives has often focused on sensationalism, with outsiders eager to pry into details that should remain private. Disability rights advocates have noted that this type of objectification reduces people with visible differences to curiosities instead of acknowledging them as whole individuals. Carmen and Lupita’s insistence on privacy reframes the conversation — emphasizing that boundaries, not voyeurism, should guide how society engages with their story.
Beyond intimacy, the couple has also been open about their future plans. Specifically, parenthood is not in their plans. “No kids, never plan on it,” McCormack said. “I kind of like the aunt/uncle idea of, you know, it’s like rent a kid… You get to give them back at the end of the day.” Carmen agreed, adding, “I never saw myself being a parent.”
The Andrade twins were born in Mexico before their family moved to Connecticut as young children. They share parts of their skeletal and organ systems, including ribs, circulatory systems, digestive systems, and reproductive systems. However, each has its own heart, lungs, and stomach.
Early in their lives, doctors warned that surgery to separate them could prove fatal. Defying expectations, they have lived not only into adulthood but into careers, hobbies, and relationships that reflect their individuality. Having 250,000 YouTube subscribers and a large Instagram audience, Carmen and Lupita maintain that their digital presence is not a spectacle. Instead, it is an extension of the honesty and humor that ground their lives.
Their story is a reminder that intimacy is not a performance for outsiders. For Carmen and Lupita, the measure of success is not how well they conform to traditional ideas of marriage or family but how clearly they communicate, how deeply they respect one another, and how firmly they insist on their right to privacy.
Their example challenges us to reconsider what it means to humanize others. For Carmen and Lupita, humanity is recognized not through intrusive questions but by respecting personal boundaries and embracing empathy.
