'crazy rich asians' and the long quest for representation

I recently attended a showing of Crazy Rich Asians, a movie that has gained much attention for being the first major Hollywood picture to star Asian actors since 1993's The Joy Luck Club. I rarely visit movie theaters anymore, but I was willing to pay for a ticket to support this push for greater diversity in American entertainment. I was thrilled to see not only a fully populated theater but also viewers of all racial and ethnic makeups; and I left happy with the film itself, a thoroughly romantic and funny story embedded within a wonderfully specific and relatable picture of Eastern culture.

It is unfortunate, then, to see how much criticism the film has received regarding its imperfect encapsulation of Asianness. First is the controversy surrounding the casting of actors who are not fully Chinese, particularly male lead Henry Golding and supporting actress Soyona Mizuno, to play Chinese characters. Then second, in a contrasting debate, is the argument that the movie focused only on Chinese Singaporeans and neglected to represent Singapore’s other prominent ethnic groups, like South and Southeast Asians. I understand that Crazy Rich Asians, in being the first film of its kind in many years, holds significance for a lot of Asian-American and Asian people. But what must be understood is that, despite its large presence and meaning, it cannot be everything for everyone—it is merely one story about one particular set of characters set within one short time period.

I have previously written about my feelings while watching Fresh Off the Boat, an American comedy series also significant in its presentation of an Asian cast. Having never witnessed a featured Asian-American family on television before, Fresh Off the Boat acted directly as a reminder of my own status as of an ethnic minority, relating many of its specific depictions of Asian-American life and characters to how I grew up with my own Chinese family. Seeing Crazy Rich Asians was a somewhat different experience: while it included certain widespread aspects of Asian culture, I certainly could not verify the authenticity of its specific portrayal of Singapore's wealthiest, high-profile elite, who throw extremely lavish parties and drop millions of dollars on jewelry. Though the film did not directly portray anything particularly relevant to my life as an Asian American, I still understand its significance in putting Asian faces on the prevailing, influential platform that is Western cinema.

Moreover, the film was grounded in universal truths: the desire to protect one's family and its legacy, the difficult navigation of love and relationships, and the ability to understand and welcome those who are different—all of which happens to play out amidst a backdrop of Asian life. I believe the movie set out to show that Asians can certainly be dimensional or amorous or complex or empathetic or accepting and dismantle the many harmful and false stereotypes that has long been associated with Asian characters—and yet all some critics and viewers can focus on is ethnic accuracy. Overanalyzing actors’ backgrounds seems especially silly: an entire, rather large rabbit hole could be entered regarding how, outside of Crazy Rich Asians, so many actors are cast in productions despite their ethnic makeups not wholly matching with those of their characters; in truth, one’s real background should not have such a halting effect on how well they are able to play a fictitious part (barring extreme cases, of course).

This single movie cannot represent all things to all peoples: it is but one step—and not even the first one, but an intermediary one—on a long journey towards full equality in media representation. I understand that seeing characters who physically look like oneself, when such an instance is rare, is a significant aspect of inclusiveness and an emotional experience for minority viewers. But they need to look beyond just this one picture and see that this is all the more reason that more films like this should be produced, to create ever increasingly diverse portrayals of Asian and all other walks of life.

fashion and the gender divide, part 3

[   part 1   \   part 2   \   part 3   ]

The U.S. has seen gender equality thrown for a major loop this past year, between the disgusting remarks Donald Trump has made about women, the many cases of sexual harassment coming to light, and transgender people's rights being threatened every day. Such stories magnify the fundamentally unequal power dynamic between men and women, and I, alongside most of the American population, have come to realize the enduring negative effect that gender determination, one of humanity's most basic psychological dividers, has had on sociopolitical affairs and everyday behaviors.

The gender binary is so deeply ingrained in all cultures and virtually all of human history that it is rarely questioned—the extreme division between masculine and feminine is still sufficiently prevalent in modern society, even as gender and sexual identities are becoming more fluid. More figures have stepped up to try subverting toxic masculinity (Justin Baldoni's new series is a noteworthy example), which is undeniably a first step towards progress. But the underlying problem I still feel with such discourse is that a strict definition is maintained as the goal: "how can I be a better man?" I believe that designations like "man" and "woman" inherently instills the attitude of being one versus the other. And, again, while public acceptance of individuals living outside of that perspective is wider, current events demonstrate that the mere existence of those labels still greatly defines human mindsets, specifically with conservative, patriarchal values in mind.

In considering the explanations behind these ideas, I've learned how huge a role clothing plays in gender politics. In our prevailing heteronormative world, fashion is an instant indicator of a person's gender and how to judge someone accordingly: men wear clothes that represent their strength and privilege, and women don looks that represent their weakness and vulnerability. Of course, in no way can the dichotomy be boiled down that crudely, nor be true: women today have taken major strides in making their voices heard and achieving influence equal to men's. But I maintain that people's general insistence on classifying things as masculine versus feminine—and the fashion industry seemingly being the greatest culprit of this—preserves the reductive binary and gender inequality as fundamental, detrimental aspects of society, which is why we are still facing terrible issues, like homophobia and sexual assault, to this day.

I believe that changes to menswear may be instrumental in dismantling this construct of power that men hold. A total transformation cannot and should not happen instantaneously: men wearing dresses, for example, is usually automatically seen as too feminine, so I think smaller shifts need to happen presently that can gradually modify our narrow understanding of male appearance. Just as women wear menswear-inspired clothes, contemporary menswear could introduce into its vocabulary more womenswear-inspired elements—such as one-piece garments, ornamental elements like ruffles and fringe, or fabrics like voile and lace—to progressively chip away at the misguided notion that fashions, and humans by extension, are naturally categorized by masculine and feminine. The rejection of these associations is becoming a more popular thought, but the way garments are made and sold still adhere to a more traditional philosophy.

These concepts about gendered codes are by no means new, but they have inspired me to examine the connection between my masculinely-defined wardrobe and my increasingly flexible identity and take on the craft of sewing to not just express myself through personal style but also promote freer, remodeled impressions of masculinity versus femininity. Of course, my amateur pieces may certainly not inspire much revolution on a large, public scale—but if I can inspire even one person who sees my clothes to reconsider the determination, function, and meaning of the items they wear, I'd like to think I'm doing my part to push the world in an improved, positive direction.

< part 2

finding a family in juggling

A piece of my life that I value dearly but often only mention in passing is my hobby of juggling. I bring it up occasionally as a fun fact or party trick, but I don’t usually explain it in greater detail due to its unconventionality. On the surface, juggling is mainly another creative outlet and a common interest I have with close friends; but looking back, it also represents a signficant part of my journey growing up and becoming the adult I am today.

As a third-grader in the fall of 2001, I entered Jugheads Youth Juggling Company, an after-school program based in my hometown of Edina, MN. After seeing me neither excel in nor enjoy more typical sports, my parents pushed me to join Jugheads—and my older brother had enrolled three years prior, as well—but I even struggled there too, taking six months to achieve the basic pattern of three balls. After that period, though, I did begin to thrive as a Jughead, becoming a more advanced juggler in the years to come and qualifying for the group's varsity-level team, the Ultimate Club, by 2007.

Jugheads does not only teach juggling, however; it also instills in its members the values of perseverance, mentorship, and community. The company's motto, "Developing youth through juggling," is truly its driving force, as modeled by the effervescence and compassion of its director and head coach Paul Arneberg. Paul has always put the kids of Jugheads first, through acknowledging every student by their name, taking the time to help each individual with their juggling, and encouraging them to keep practicing and growing on their own. By extension, the kids themselves also assume that mantle of mentorship: the older Jugheads are able to take on the roles of Assistants to the littler members (the official title involves attending one of the daily clubs as a student leader). I became an Assistant in 2008, strongly desiring to help those younger than myself achieve their goals, paying forward the love and support I received as a budding Jughead and positively contributing to a community that I had come to cherish immensely.

I graduated from Jugheads (and high school) in 2011, eternally grateful for what I had learned about hard work and leadership and for the family-like home that Paul, his wife Wendy, and my fellow Jugheads had fostered. This past May, I plus other graduated alumni were invited to participate in the 20th anniversary of the company's annual production, Juggle Jam, which features all 90 current members (down from the record 140 in Juggle Jam 14) in a variety of juggling routines, themed vignettes, and skits. Being in the performance reminded me of everything that makes Jugheads so wonderful and important: friendship, collaboration, unity, and championship. While remembering warm memories of Juggle Jams past, I happily experienced all of the show's honored traditions: the high-energy opening set to The Brian Setzer Orchestra's "Rock This Town;" running around and laughing backstage with friends; the Slide Show honoring every Jughead with a distinct commendation; and the finale set to Gloria Estefan's "Reach" that embodies the joy of cultivating young dreams.

Juggle Jam 20 was the perfect reunion and more: I not only witnessed the enduring strength of the Jugheads community through the bond we alumni share, but I was also inspired seeing the present members maintain the fun, nurturing spirit of the company and embark on their own paths of personal growth. Now, years after my last Juggle Jam, I am more motivated than ever to sustain my unique relationships with the close friends I made while in Jugheads and to continue living by the lessons I learned as a member: to always reach for the sky, and help others do the same.

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Every year Paul and Wendy take a picture with all of the graduates and alumni present at Juggle Jam. Obviously, this year’s crowd was the biggest ever!

fashion and the gender divide, part 2

[   part 1   \   part 2   \   part 3  ]

Since buying that first jumpsuit in 2016, I continued to search for more interesting, alternative men's clothes, but with little success: other than another jumpsuit I purchased that didn't even fit me quite correctly, the options were severely limited or not exactly to my taste.

Spurred by that frustration with conventional retailers, I set my sights on starting a new craft: constructing my own clothes. During high school and more so college, I had been casually interested in fashion design, intermittently sketching ideas—for womenswear or menswear—that appeared in my brain. In recent years, I found myself producing dozens of more detailed drawings and renderings, solidifying a new well of imagination I hadn't thought existed—and with my dissatisfaction with corporate, gendered dress codes came a desire to act more tangibly on that creativity.

As a more serious gauge of my interest and dexterity, I enrolled in a short introductory course in the fall of 2016 at the Fashion Institute of Technology, in which I made a pair of pajama pants. Since I didn't own the right equipment yet, that class was my first and only attempt at sewing during that year, and I didn't seriously reconsider trying the activity until, in the summer of 2017, I happened to walk by an abandoned sewing machine on a sidewalk in my neighborhood of Brooklyn. I was so thrilled I didn't have to worry about buying my own first machine—though it still took a few more months of getting over mental humps and a firm New Year's resolution for me to finally bring the machine out of my closet and try making things.

And make things I did: since the start of 2018, I've created a coattail-inspired T-shirt and a ruffled-shoulder T-shirt; I've also turned a pair of khaki pants into shorts with a belted tie and altered that ill-fitting jumpsuit by adding some contrasting fabric at the top. I have been very proud of myself for not only conceiving and bringing to life my own personal designs but for also undertaking the responsibility of grasping new techniques mostly by myself. Since taking that FIT class, I knew I wanted to do any future work on my own time, in the interest of not being restricted by assignments dictated by instructors or acquired patterns. With this newfound skill, I might as well invent something totally unique; otherwise, why would I make it myself? Granted, ample time and effort is needed to construct a garment, and my craftsmanship is nowhere near perfect—but I am merely delighted to be able to physically produce ideas that I don't see anywhere else.

Apart from purely wanting to look differently, I found a renewed sense of purpose in life thanks to my emerging hobby. My time throughout most of 2016 and 2017 was spent majorly on my job, some close friends, cooking, and watching too much television; through sewing, I now feel that my time is being invested in something much more worthwhile, productive, and progressive, with regards to both my personal happiness and the world's general perceptions.

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