Before Crazy Rich Asians, before To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before – even before Ni Hao Kai Lan – there was Mulan. For years, the 1998 Disney classic was all I had to point to when it came to mainstream representation. Even this was a far cry – after all, saving China isn’t exactly a universal experience. But when you’re Asian in a predominantly white environment, you take what you can get.
After Mulan there was London Tipton from The Suite Life of Zack and Cody, the dumb Asian with a smart blonde best friend (see what they did there?). After her role as London, Brenda Song played another Disney character – Wendy Wu, homecoming warrior, from Wendy Wu: Homecoming Warrior. Less of a subversion, more of a lean into Asian stereotypes, but at least it was empowering… right? One of the movie’s plot points is that Wendy’s family has lost touch with their Chinese heritage. As desperate as I was to relate to this, I had never been in touch with my Chinese heritage to begin with.
As an adopted Chinese-Canadian, I identify more with the hyphen than either identity it’s trying to join. It makes representation a lot more challenging – the media I consume is either too white or too Asian to relate to.
And then came Crazy Rich Asians. I had my hopes set impossibly high, as I imagine most of the Asian community did. And while it certainly wasn’t the movie of the year for me, there were a few moments that seemed to speak to me directly. In one scene, the Asian-American protagonist’s mother tells her that although her face is Chinese and she speaks Chinese, inside she’s different. Another character calls her an unrefined banana – yellow on the outside, white on the inside. When my mother adopted me, she learned that people might call me that.
To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before felt much closer to home. The main character’s Korean, but I was struck by seeing a face that looked closer to mine than any other romcom protagonist’s. The similarities went beyond appearance – Lara Jean Song-Covey is a die-hard romantic, gets teased for her driving, and feels anxious about navigating relationships. These are qualities that could’ve been imposed on any actress, Asian or not, and I still would’ve connected with her – that’s one of humanity’s great gifts, that we can project ourselves onto almost anyone – but my heart felt full just to see an Asian character as the focus of the plot, not an afterthought or a sidekick or an extra but the heroine, the love interest, the main character.
It’s the same appeal of Crazy Rich Asians, but rather than having its Asian-centric story broadcast in the title, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before was a subtler type of representation. In fact, it almost meant more to me that the plot didn’t revolve so heavily around Lara Jean being Asian. She just was. It was just a normal facet of her character, like her love of Golden Girls and John Hughes movies.
And while To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before didn’t capture my experience exactly, it doesn’t have to, and it wasn’t supposed to. We’re the only ones who can tell our stories, and the beauty of representation through movies like Crazy Rich Asians and To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before and yes, even Mulan, is that it paves the way for us to be heard.
All good stories are universal in one way or another, but the ones that often leave the most impact are the ones that aren’t afraid to be specific – the ones that acknowledge and reflect diverse experiences without fear of being exclusionary.
Those kinds of stories teach us something we might not have known before; they show us experiences outside our own that can positively change the way we see the world.
Those kinds of stories are clamouring to be told, especially with each movie or book that shows them it’s possible. Now more than ever, the best thing we can do for each other is to listen.
By Ryanne Kap
Please note that opinions expressed are the author’s own. They do not necessarily reflect the views and values of The Blank Page.
