You’ve probably seen the videos. A guy with a lemur on his shoulder, wearing clothes that cost more than most people’s cars, talking about the Sinaloa Cartel like he was describing a corporate internship. That was Camilo Ochoa, better known to millions as El Alucin. But behind the flashy TikTok filters and the "alucin" aesthetic—a slang term for those who flaunt a narco-lifestyle they may or may not actually lead—was a story far more complicated than a viral clip.
Honestly, the term "alucin" usually implies someone is faking it. With Camilo, the line between reality and performance was dangerously thin. He wasn't just some kid playing dress-up in his bedroom. He was Carlos Ochoa Delgado, a 42-year-old man with deep, messy roots in the very world he claimed to have left behind.
The Man Behind the Alucin Persona
Camilo didn't come from nothing. That’s one of the first things people get wrong. He was actually the son of Jaime Ochoa, one of the founders of the massive El Pollo Loco franchise. You’d think a guy born into chicken royalty would just enjoy the franchise checks, right?
He didn't.
Instead of staying in the family business, Camilo took a hard left turn into the underworld. In various interviews, specifically on the Gusgri podcast and with journalist José Luis Montenegro, he admitted to being a former operator and hitman for the Sinaloa Cartel. He claimed to have managed up to 60 men and dozens of safe houses. This wasn't just talk for the "likes"—he had the scars and the arrest record to back it up, including a high-profile detention in Mazatlán back in 2015.
Why he started posting
After serving time and supposedly walking away from the life in 2014, Camilo found a new drug: attention.
✨ Don't miss: Enrique Iglesias Height: Why Most People Get His Size Totally Wrong
He started "Camilo 8A" on YouTube and TikTok, amassing hundreds of thousands of followers. He became a sort of digital spokesperson for a lifestyle he called "alucin." He’d show off JGL (Joaquín Guzmán Loera) hats, luxury watches, and exotic pets.
But there was a darker side. He started naming names.
He spoke openly about the internal wars within the Sinaloa Cartel, specifically the rift between Los Chapitos (the sons of El Chapo) and La Mayiza (the faction of Ismael "El Mayo" Zambada). In the world of organized crime, "clout" is often a death sentence.
The Turning Point: Threats and the Final Video
By early 2025, the fun and games of social media started to feel very real. In February of that year, Camilo posted a video that felt like a premonition. He told his followers that he was receiving threats.
"They told me, 'You're the one who's next. Hasper is gone, Perusi is gone, you're the next one,'" he said in a chilling Instagram post.
🔗 Read more: Elisabeth Harnois: What Most People Get Wrong About Her Relationship Status
Despite the warnings, he didn't stop. He kept posting. He even mocked the "narco-flyers" (volantes) that were being dropped from planes in Culiacán, which featured his face alongside others allegedly linked to La Chapiza.
The end came on August 16, 2025.
The way it happened was almost poetic in its tragedy. Just hours before his death, Camilo was on Instagram, distended and relaxed. He was showing off different outfits, asking his followers which shoes looked better. It was a classic "get ready with me" video.
Later that day, an armed man entered his home in the Lomas de Cuernavaca neighborhood of Temixco, Morelos, and shot him dead.
What Really Happened with Camilo Ochoa?
There are a lot of theories floating around the internet. Some say it was "old accounts" being settled from his days as a hitman. Others believe it was his loud mouth on podcasts that did him in.
💡 You might also like: Don Toliver and Kali Uchis: What Really Happened Behind the Scenes
The reality is likely a mix of both. When you claim to be a "former" member of a cartel but continue to wear their iconography and discuss their internal politics for millions of viewers, you aren't really "out." You're just a target with a better camera.
The legacy of the Alucin
Camilo's death sparked a massive debate in Mexico about the "influencer-to-informant" pipeline. He was one of eight content creators killed in a single year who had ties to or spoke about organized crime.
It highlights a scary trend. Social media has created a space where the "narco-culture" is commodified. It makes the lifestyle look like a series of cool outfits and exotic animals. Camilo was the face of that, but his end serves as a brutal reminder of the cost.
Actionable Insights for Content Consumers
If you're following the world of "alucin" influencers or true-crime content related to Mexico, keep these things in mind:
- Verify the Source: Influencers like Camilo often mix 80% truth with 20% bravado. Always cross-reference their "confessions" with actual judicial records or reporting from veteran journalists like Anabel Hernández or Luis Chaparro.
- Understand the Risk: Engaging with and "liking" content that promotes active cartel factions can sometimes inflate the egos of people who are in actual physical danger. Clout is a liability in the underworld.
- Respect the Context: The "alucin" trend might look like a harmless meme or a fashion choice in the US or Europe, but in Sinaloa or Morelos, those symbols carry life-and-death weight.
- The "Ex-Narco" Myth: It is notoriously difficult to truly "retire" from high-level organized crime and then go public. Most who do so successfully live in deep hiding, not in luxury homes in Morelos with public GPS tags on their Instagram stories.
Camilo Ochoa Delgado lived fast and died exactly the way he predicted he might. He was a man caught between two worlds—the violent reality of his past and the digital fantasy of his present. Whether he was a hero to his followers or a cautionary tale to his detractors, his story is a permanent mark on the history of Mexican social media.
To stay informed on the evolving safety situation in Mexico or the legal fallout of the Sinaloa Cartel trials, follow official updates from the Fiscalía General de la República (FGR) or reputable investigative outlets. Avoid taking "influencer" claims as gospel without looking at the broader security landscape.