On a small corner of the internet, people are wearing house slippers, drinking apple-infused hot water, gua sha-ing and raiding H-Mart to load up on jujubes and experiment with herbal medicine and Eastern wellness practices. The narration: "Day one of becoming Chinese." "I'm at a very Chinese time in my life." "Chinamaxxing." "Chinese baddies." The simple declaration of them all: "I am Chinese." Spoiler: Many of the creators behind these videos are not. As a Chinese/Taiwanese-American, I've had mixed feelings since catching wind of this trend.
On the one hand, I appreciate that it's generating interest in Chinese culture—from food to wellness and beauty. Unlike, say, the quietly luxurious French exports and ubiquitous influence of Latin America on the United States, China is more of a mystery, and often portrayed as an aggressor. Thus, in a way, the "becoming Chinese" trend is helping to disseminate aspects of Chinese life and traditions in a consumable, friendly format that feels approachable. Many Asian creators have echoed this sentiment, and are continuing to create content around the trend. Creator Kaila Wenn has dubbed herself "your Chinese big sister." Sherry Zhu has gone viral for making the "Chinese baddie" her personality. Angela Shan Hu simply welcomed the curious with "I'm so happy that you're at a very Chinese time of your life." Even Asian-owned brands are jumping on the bandwagon to get eyes on their content and products.
Of course, there's the darker flip side that gives me pause. Because in some respects, this is opening a discourse over who gets to benefit from "being Chinese." When I was younger, I was bullied over my lunch. I was stereotyped by my university department head. Two years ago, The New York Times published a guide to hosting and included a very controversial quote from an interviewee that proclaimed you should never ask guests to take their shoes off. So the fact that non-Asians, and specifically Westerners, suddenly decided that wearing house slippers, drinking hot water and trying holistic medicine is hot, makes me feel illegitimate.
I'm also hyperaware of the fact that anything I do relating to my culture will make me appear "ethnic." Example: The rise of the Tang jacket, often misidentified as a Mandarin collar. Last year, I was on a window-shopping spree looking for a qipao (traditional Chinese dress). But as I scrolled through hundreds of beautiful designs, one thought haunted me. That if I bought one, and I wore one, I would be pegged as "very Chinese"—and not in a good way. When I participate in these practices that literally should belong to me, I have no clout, no cachet. And I'm mad that it takes non-Asian approval for these things to be cool. For the record, I never bought the qipao.
A Westerner's enthusiasm should never be required to legitimize another culture.
