Why I stopped trying to break Asian stereotypes


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Stereotypical Asian characters in Western media have long shaped global perceptions of Asians, with disastrous effects. Since Asian American writers and filmmakers have long been excluded from the U.S. entertainment industry, the Western perspective on Asians is largely built around portrayals from white creators. Many of these characters, from the emasculated nerd Long Duk Dong in Sixteen Candles to the exoticized bargirls in Miss Saigon, frame Asians as a decisively foreign “other” that can be ridiculed, fetishized and degraded to entertain white audiences.  

These mischaracterizations of Asians aren’t just offensive; they’re an active threat to real people’s safety. According to a 2021 article in the Los Angeles Times, Asians are often denied promotions at major corporations because non-Asian employers perceive them as too docile to handle executive leadership. Oversexualized Asian female characters cause increased rates of sexual harassment for real Asian women. And sometimes, like in the case of the 2021 Atlanta spa shooting, these stereotypes even result in death. 

As an aspiring novelist writing Asian characters, I have always been vigilant to ensure that I do not inadvertently create harmful representation in my own stories. While I draw heavily from my own experiences as an Asian woman, harmful representation tainted my perspective when I was growing up, and I have had to unpack many internalized beliefs about my own heritage. When I began developing my Asian heroines, I took caution to avoid the notorious tropes: the lotus blossom, the dragon lady, the exoticized geisha, the model minority, the tiger mother, the martial arts genius, the gold digger, the diligent servant. But as I compiled this list of stereotypes to avoid, I realized that there are so many offensive narratives about Asians that it is impossible for a single character to subvert them all. 

To put it simply, Western media has vilified the simple act of existing as Asian. If I prioritize academics over my dating life, I am the model minority. If I prioritize dating over my academics, I am an exotic sexpot. If I am quiet, I am the submissive ingenue. If I am assertive, I am a cunning femme fatale. If I am traditional, I am the obedient daughter who lacks agency. If I am rebellious, I’m an Asian Baby Gangster or a Purple Streak Girl. If I cling to my Asian heritage, I’m reinforcing cultural divisions between Asians and whites. If I assimilate into Western culture, I’m a self-hating Asian who must secretly believe in white supremacy. No matter how we present ourselves, we will always be reduced to caricatures. 

It is not Asian people’s fault if we inadvertently fall into some of the many stereotypes that are used to degrade us. There is nothing wrong with Asian people who are shy, nerdy or promiscuous. However, the Western entertainment industry grossly exaggerates these traits and attributes them to some fatal flaw in the entire Asian race. 

For example, Western media frequently features Asian immigrant parents who expect their children to achieve academic excellence and land lucrative careers, even if it means sacrificing their personal happiness. While many Asian parents do prioritize their children’s success to a greater extent than white parents, the media usually blames faulty values within Asian culture and neglects how systemic racism and generational trauma shape these ideals. They conveniently forget how Asian Americans must constantly outperform their white peers in order to receive the same benefits, or how immigrants who arrived in a new country with no money would want their children to be financially stable at all costs. In Western media, the impact of immigration on family dynamics is twisted to make Asians look brutal, opportunistic and unreasonable. 

Asian Americans are gradually gaining representation in the entertainment industry, bringing increasingly complex Asian characters to audiences around the world. Many of these works do so by exploring common experiences Asian Americans encounter in the United States while decentralizing the white gaze. 

Asian characters don’t need to be morally flawless to be good representation; in fact, holding Asians to higher standards than their white counterparts is inherently problematic. Good representation merely depicts Asians as they are—messy, multifaceted people who exist to pursue their own goals. For example, “Crazy Rich Asians” features a cast of wealthy Singaporean elites who are often greedy, vindictive and shallow. However, we experience this world through the eyes of Rachel, the sympathetic Asian American protagonist, rather than a white heroine. Therefore, the central conflict is class rather than race, and the film takes shots at the wealthy characters because they’re snobs, not because they’re Asian. While racism, immigration and generational trauma do influence the characters’ personalities, “Crazy Rich Asians” allows Asians to exist within a traditional rom-com without reinforcing racist narratives. 

Recently, Asian-led projects have also started to tackle representation with a more nuanced lens. Rather than trying to create characters who somehow evade every major Asian stereotype, these works uncover the systemic issues behind these characterizations. For example, the protagonist Evelyn Wang in “Everything Everywhere All at Once” initially embodies the “tiger mother” stereotype; she is rigid, critical and demanding towards her daughter Joy because she believes Joy has made a mess of her own life. The film powerfully demonstrates how Evelyn’s overbearing presence has inadvertently harmed Joy, but it also acknowledges how Evelyn’s struggles as a poor Chinese American immigrant and her disillusionment with the American Dream shaped her values and worldview. To save the world, Evelyn must work through her trauma, admit her own faults and make amends with Joy. The film handles Evelyn and Joy’s relationship with the compassion and sensitivity it deserves, and both characters learn to find compassion and forgiveness for each other.  

In Western media, the “tiger mother” stereotype is used to portray Asian women as cruel and incapable of loving their children, but as Evelyn searches every version of the multiverse for Joy, we see that her mistakes stem from a misguided but infinitely powerful love for her daughter. “Everything Everywhere All at Once” directly confronts one of the most prevalent Asian stereotypes to build a genuine story about the difficulties of navigating mother-daughter relationships influenced by generational trauma. 

As strong portrayals of Asian Americans continue to make their way into the entertainment industry, I’ve realized that racial stereotypes are, among many things, just one more way our oppressors try to police our behavior and artistic expression. I will never deliberately perpetuate racist narratives, and I call out characterizations that are clearly intended to disparage the Asian community. But I also refuse to spend my entire life jumping over land mines to avoid all the stereotypes that have been created about people like me. Racists will demonize every aspect of our existence regardless of how hard we try to escape their traps. While we cannot ignore the harmful effects of these misrepresentations, it’s important to remember that unlike these characters, we are real people with agency, and we do not exist to reinforce white supremacist rhetoric. So let Asians exist as they are—as complicated, independent humans who continue to rise despite centuries of efforts to stop us.