Crying at Crazy Rich Asians

Notes on representation from a British-born Chinese woman.

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Picture this: the year is 2018. I’m a mere 27 years old.

Dressed in my favourite jumpsuit, pink suede scalloped edge mules and toting my favourite handbag, I walk into a Glamour early cinema screening of accompanied by my sister and two friends. I sit down in my plush cinema seat, brimming with nervous excitement and utter disbelief that what I’m about to experience is even happening.

When Crazy Rich Asians came out in 2018, I was at the beginning of my journey of sharing my life as a British-born Chinese woman – a little segment of the diaspora that is overwhelmingly underrepresented. In fact, East Asians as a whole are incredibly underrepresented in mainstream media. (Shoutout to Yin who was on our screens for 47 whole minutes during season three of The Traitors on BBC One this January!) I could hardly believe that Jon Chu had assembled, effectively, every single East and South East Asian actor to form the cast of Crazy Rich Asians and I was about to watch a Western film that solely featured people that looked like… me.

Over the years, I’ve given a lot of thought to representation, own voices, and what representation means to me. Of course, representation is important so that we as a society become more understanding, receptive and accepting of people that are not from the same walk of life as us. But it’s also crucial to stepping stones forwards and, most importantly, it allows those of us from classically underrepresented – or, indeed, misrepresented – communities to see ourselves.

As a child I loved reading for escapism but not through the likes of Harry Potter and His Dark Materials. No, while these were two essential series in my formative years, I was enthralled by books set in the British everyday like Jacqueline Wilson’s The Suitcase Kid and The Illustrated Mum, or Enid Blyton’s boarding school adventures, or The Sleepover Club. Growing up in a traditional Chinese household nestled in Hertfordshire, England, meant that I lived a different childhood to that of my friends and, also, I’d be fascinated by these evocative worlds and descriptions of everyday life that wasn’t like mine.

I loved it.

I pored over each story with relish and nobody was more excited than little seven-year-old me who got to try a fish finger for the first time at a real sleepover. Childlike wonder and curiosity; there’s a lot to be said for it.

If I’m honest, I had no idea how important representation was until I moved to secondary school and life came at me. I hadn’t read an East Asian character in a book¹, seen a Chinese person on a Western TV show or film, or even really seen anybody that looked like me in a position of authority. On the surface, this wasn’t a huge deal: I’d loved escaping in White stories as a kid. Right?

Right?

When I was 14, I stumbled upon Devil Beside You (2005), a Taiwanese drama series. And, although I’m Chinese by way of Hong Kong and Malaysia, it was a big turning point for me. All of a sudden, I was watching a 20-episode TV show that featured an entire cast of people that looked like me. Soon, I was a teenager obsessed. I listened to every single song that Rainie Yang had to offer. I watched all of her other dramas. I gobbled up every subtitled interview, wide-eyed that someone like me could do all of that. A year later, I came across a South Korean idol group named BIGBANG. And the rest is history: that cemented my need and want to see East Asian people in my media. Needless to say, I spent my teenage years watching mildly illegal volunteer-subbed dramas, Inkigayo recordings and variety shows on YouTube, Viki, and watchkdramasonlinenow.com. Ah, what a time! And, yes, I am so glad many K-dramas are on Netflix now!

What I mean to say is, finding these forms of media were a pivotal point for a teenaged girl floating about through secondary school. It wasn’t until I was 17 that I came across bloggers like Susie Bubble, Rumi Neely and Bryanboy who offered fresh representation in fashion that I thought I might know what I want to do ‘in life’. Even my own parents constantly told me I should reconsider my further education and career ideas, that I’d never succeed in because ‘where are the people that look like us?’. Now, I had a shred of hope that I too might become a fashion writer someday². In fact, social media has completely democratised representation and for that I’m ceaselessly thankful.

As Yellow rung out in the final scenes at the cinema, I hesitated before letting streams of tears leak from my eyes. I was 27 and, finally, here was a feature-length film starring only people that looked like me. A cast of characters with vivid, fleshed-out lives and personalities beyond being a takeaway owner (I made that up, because there are none of these characters on British TV!) or dodgy DVD seller (I’m looking at you, EastEnders). A squad of actors, brilliantly talented and who fought with all their might to make it.

As Yellow rung out, I thought to myself, maybe we’re getting somewhere after all.

1. Can we count the mystery and aura around Cho Chang from the Harry Potter world? I mean, the less I say about that, the better.

2. Reader, I did it! (I’m a copywriter, ex-Stella McCartney, Molton Brown, M&S, Lane Crawford, Tommy Hilfiger, Louis Vuitton.)