Why I Matter: Representation and the Importance of Crazy Rich Asians

In elementary school, a white girl grabbed my head, turned it towards her, examining my eyes and the beauty mark on my cheek, and said “hmm.” 

In middle school, an art teacher said my eyes looked like dolphins and proceeded to help me draw them in an exaggerated slant.

In high school, I had two very best friends. My all-girls high school was primarily white and I was the only East Asian in my class of 72 girls. My best friends, who I am still friends with today, are perhaps the definition of American beauties. Distinctly gorgeous, with blue and green eyes, intelligent, ambitious, and two of the kindest souls I know. I’ve never told them, but there were times when I felt so inept and jealous, standing next to them as the third musketeer. I never felt good enough, I never felt pretty enough, I never felt like I could really match them because everything else around me was constantly reminding me that I was different than, lesser than, and still “not from here,” though I’ve grown up in America my whole life. 

This article starts here, with a very brief exploration of my identity and the genesis of an on-going identity crisis that reached its peak (of course) in college, because the context is important. Let me start by saying that I do not think I matter because of a movie, and I am not still jealous of my best friends from high school. It’s taken a lot of work, but through many discussions, experiences, story-sharing, and learning, I’ve grown to be confident and comfortable with all aspects of my multi-faceted Asian-American identity, including the way I look—I like my yellow-tinted skin, dark hair, small body, and slightly upturned eyes. I’m grateful for who I am and I wouldn’t change it for the world. 

However, this struggle with acceptance of oneself is significant because we hear so many stories like this. Not just from East Asians, but from many minorities all with their own cultures, stories, and—very often—own identity crises. 

Crazy Rich Asians, based on the trilogy of novels by Kevin Kwan, was the first movie I ever watched that felt distinctly like it was made for me. It was everything I’ve ever wanted in a movie, but never knew I could ask for. 

To say that this is the best movie ever and that it’s a perfect representation of all Asian and/or Asian-American life is misleading; to say this would very much lead to the dangers of a single story. We should also remain critical of what Crazy Rich Asians lacks—including proper representation of Singapore’s population, the inclusion of South Asians in the conversation, a closer look at the consequences of glorifying wealth disparities, and better character development.

That being said, Crazy Rich Asians was perfect in so many ways. Part of my awe, quite simply, comes from the fact that this is a romantic comedy based on a very satirical set of novels with an all-Asian and Asian-American cast. The fact that this— “The first contemporary English-language Hollywood film with an all-Asian cast since "The Joy Luck Club” 25 years ago…” is finally here made my heart soar. I finally got to connect with the main character. And though there are a plethora of other movies I’ve enjoyed and there have been many other main characters that I’ve felt connected to because of their stories, there was no connection like the one I felt with Rachel Chu. I’m not Chinese or Chinese-American. I am Korean-American, and yet, there was still something so relatable about her. I felt like I knew her, I felt like we could be friends, and I felt that I was her.

I distinctly remember thinking during the movie, “Is this what white Americans feel whenever they watch a movie?” If so, I want more. 

Beyond the fact that this movie is a diverse perspective not frequently explored in mainstream cinema, it also showcases strong Asian women characters. The depth of Eleanor Young was my favorite. She was beautifully crafted to be not just be a one-dimensional “tiger mom,” but a fiercely proud and protective mother.

The funny, though notably uncomfortable, comedic relief bits provided by the characters of Wye Mun Goh, Bernard Tai, and P.T. Goh were important. Not because anyone should be acting in such a way with women, but because these typical “stereotypes” one might see were finally placed where they belong—in the midst of other Asians. In movies, I always see the one awkward Asian character, the one chubby nerdy friend, the one stylish Asian, the one womanizer, or perhaps the one good-looking heart-throb. When it’s just the one character, with a primarily white cast, you know that we are placed there simply to be the side character of color next to the white person’s story. It was inspiring to see a variety of character archetypes represented. 

I felt a strong sense of connection to Crazy Rich Asians. Not because my family or anyone I know, really, is crazy rich, but because the movie does such an excellent job of carefully satirizing while simultaneously distinctly representing Asian-American life. I feel like I could point to every character in that movie and tell you someone they remind me of. I feel like the scene at Amma’s house will, without a doubt, happen when one of my cousins or siblings gets married.

The different dialects, accents, and lack thereof were like music to my ears. Taking multiple chunks of screen time out to showcase Asian food, and even a scene about making dumplings? Not wearing shoes in Peik Lin’s house? Having a seminal moment be based on a mahjong game that even I don’t fully understand the significance of because I don’t play mahjong? All of these small details were validating and powerful. They show that this movie is intended to be an Asian-American movie and it empowered me to say, “Yes! Yes, that’s real. Yes, that’s a part of my life!”

I’ve now seen Crazy Rich Asians three times. The first time was with my Mom, who also read the books. The second time was with my white significant other and two other friends, including one of my best friends from high school mentioned earlier, and the third was on a flight (because how could I resist?). I’ve cried after coming home and thinking about the movie the first two times I watched it, because what this movie really says to me is: We are people with our own stories. We have our own history—many rich, diverse histories—and it is high-time that history is told by other Asian Americans in a real way. We are here, we’ve been here, we are important, and we are here to stay.

I hope what we, as a society, can take away from Crazy Rich Asians is that it shows that we want diverse representation; we want an even more diverse cast than we got with this movie. We want even more issues to be at the forefront. We want to hear that seamless transition between dialects, we want accents to be present, we want real minority representation. 

We just don’t want it to be the one story. Crazy Rich Asians matters immensely to me, and I will stand by that statement. But I hope this is just the start. 

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Originally written for LIBRE editorials in 2019.