The first time I stepped into a London club at 19, I was greeted by a 24-year-old finance guy who immediately brought up his Taiwanese ex, as if to explain his interest, before offering to be my first kiss. It wasn’t a compliment; it was the start of a pattern I would come to know all too well—a pattern of being seen not as an individual but as a stereotype shaped by someone else’s assumptions about my race and gender. Later, I learned that someone I shared many firsts with had described me to another girl as just a ‘little Asian girl.’ It wasn’t just the diminutive words—it was the belittling tone, a double blow that diminished me, not only as an individual but as an Asian woman. More than anything, that was what hurt me the most, leaving me feeling small and humiliated.
Growing up in Japan, my identity wasn’t defined by being Asian but by being haafu (ハーフ)—mixed-race—a marker of difference shaped by speaking English in public, having brown hair, and wearing crop tops. Yet moving to London reframed my experience entirely, as I found myself for the first time racialised as Asian in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Struggling with low self-esteem throughout my teenage years, this racialisation seemed to confirm the insecurities I already harboured about myself, reinforcing my feelings of inadequacy.
Living in London, I quickly lost count of the times a man approached me, eager to bring up his Asian ex, his favourite anime, or some romanticised idea of Japan. Friends shared similar experiences: boys with hentai posters on their walls or a man who, upon learning my friend was Japanese, made the crude comment that he’d heard Japanese women were particularly ‘tight.’ These encounters are not just uncomfortable—they chip away at self-esteem. It is exhausting to have others impose narrow ideals of who you should be, reducing you to a caricature. I began questioning every interaction, wondering if someone was drawn to me for who I was or simply for how I looked.
Anna Storti, Assistant Professor of Gender, Sexuality, and Feminist Studies at Duke University, poignantly observed: ‘There is power in vulnerability. As women, you learn how to cultivate that power in very specific ways, but it really scares me what that can do because it doesn’t feel like power at all.’[1] She was referring to a live performance in which the artist, exploring whether their mixed-race Asian and white identity was Asian enough to satisfy the fetishisation of Asian women by some white men, dons a shitagi—a traditional undergarment worn beneath a kimono. Positioned at a distance, the audience sits along the opposite wall, their detachment echoing the voyeuristic gaze the artist seeks to interrogate. As the performance unfolds, they clutch the shitagi tightly, covering as much skin as possible—an act that embodies the suffocating pressure of objectification, caught between visibility and erasure. Reflecting on their experience, the artist recounts how, as they grew older, people became increasingly eager to classify them as Asian, despite having been perceived as white for most of their life: ‘Suddenly, I felt that with my womanhood came this Asian identity as well.’[2]
This resonates deeply because vulnerability—often seen as a feminine quality—can feel risky, even dangerous. Displaying softness, kindness, and empathy is frequently misunderstood, especially in contexts beyond friendships. For Asian women, these misunderstandings carry even higher stakes. On the one hand, we are frequently expected to be quiet, excessively polite, and submissive; yet, when we assert ourselves, we risk being dismissed as too loud, opinionated, or ‘too much.’ This pressure only reinforces conformity, pushing us to the sidelines of conversations and spaces dominated by men. It feels like a relentless balancing act—unravelling the weight of these expectations while constantly questioning whether we unconsciously conform too much or resist too strongly.
The history of racial and gendered stereotypes is intimately linked to broader systems of colonialism, militarisation, and immigration policy. The Page Act of 1875, the first federal immigration law in the United States, effectively barred the entry of Chinese women by classifying them as ‘immoral,’ granting authorities the power to determine whether a woman was entering the country for ‘lewd and immoral purposes’ — essentially, prostitution.[3] This law was part of a wider effort to limit Chinese immigration following the California Gold Rush, which had seen a significant influx of Chinese men to the U.S.[4] The racialised gender dynamics established by the Page Act were further reinforced by the U.S. military-prostitution complex, which flourished around American military bases in East and Southeast Asia throughout the mid-20th century. This system of exploitation not only perpetuated harmful stereotypes but also cemented power imbalances between the U.S. and the countries it occupied. Indeed, mail-order bride systems involving Southeast Asian women, which continue to persist today, proliferated in areas with a U.S. military presence, serving as a stark example of how gendered stereotypes have been developed and reinforced, commodifying Asian women as submissive, idealised partners for Western men.
The widespread fetishisation of Asian women can also be traced back to European imperialism, particularly during the 19th and early 20th centuries, when they established enduring cultural, racial, and gendered hierarchies that objectified and commodified Asian women. One early example of this is the novel-turned-opera Madame Chrysanthème (1887), which tells the story of an affair between a French naval officer and a temporary Japanese ‘bride’ in 19th-century Japan.[5] In the novel, the author describes the Japanese woman as a ‘delicate and graceful figure’ but also conveys a sense of her exoticism, noting that ‘the darkness that envelops us conceals the fact that her face is quite ugly, and almost without eyes.’ This depiction underscores how Asian women have long been portrayed as both alluring and mysterious, reinforcing reductive and dehumanizing stereotypes that persist in cultural narratives today.
This enduring objectification is evident in terms like ‘yellow fever’—which a Japanese friend once explained to me was in vogue when she was studying in Australia—reflect how ingrained this objectification is. This objectification is not just restricted to individual encounters; it is reflected in contemporary cultural products. For example, Asian women are often the most-searched categories on platforms like Pornhub. In 2023, the terms ‘hentai,’ ‘Japanese,’ ‘Pinay,’ and ‘Asian’ ranked first, fourth, fifth, and seventh, respectively, among the most searched terms globally.[6] This widespread portrayal of Asian women not only commodifies them but also distorts their identities, reducing them to sexualised objects in a way that ignores their full, complex humanity.
Thus, while Tommy Nguyen—a graduate of UC Berkeley journalism school and Emmy-winning documentarian—argues that not every relationship between an Asian woman and a white man is driven by fetishisation, it is troubling that he seems to downplay the power dynamics that inherently shape straight relationships, particularly when race and gender are involved: ‘The problem comes when we yell, “Asian fetish!” and there is no “wolf to speak of-just a person of another race who happens to enjoy the looks of an Asian person.’[7] In some cases, however, there is a real ‘wolf’ to speak of. In March 2021, a 21-year-old Southern Baptist man murdered six Asian women and two others at Atlanta massage parlours, citing a desire to destroy his sexual ‘temptation.’[8] This tragedy underscores the devastating impact of stereotypes that result in women disproportionately suffering and losing their lives to violence inflicted by men driven by a desire to assert control over their own sexual desires.
Research by Brian TaeHyuk Keum—assistant professor at the Boston College Lynch School of Education and Human Development—further underscores the mental health consequences of racialised objectification.[9] He shows how it can foster heightened anxiety, depressive symptoms, and self-doubt amidst an ongoing struggle to assert one’s individuality when constantly reduced to racial and gendered stereotypes, which can, in turn, affect the life choices and opportunities that Asian women might be willing to explore. These harmful effects extend beyond individual relationships between Asian women and non-Asian men. They also reverberate within communities, as descendants of Asian migrants in the West may internalise and perpetuate these harmful stereotypes, reinforcing a cycle of racialised thinking even within those of the same race.
The adoption of ‘kawaii’ and ‘weeb’ subcultures by non-Asian individuals also reflects a broader tendency to engage with aspects of Asian culture in ways that may oversimplify and commodify it. These practices can reinforce harmful stereotypes, often portraying Asian women as submissive, sexualised, and exotic. While, of course, not everyone who appreciates Asian culture engages in such distortions— globalisation and cultural hybridisation play a significant role in shaping these phenomena—the line between cultural appropriation and appreciation remains a fine one. It is easy to adopt aspects of a culture without fully understanding or respecting its origins and context, and the reductionist views that often emerge from such engagements strip Asian women of their individuality and humanity, reducing them to objects or caricatures designed to satisfy external expectations and desires.
The critical issue here is that the consequences of these distortions ultimately burden Asian women, not the non-Asian individuals who partake in them, regardless of their good intentions. What may appear as well-meaning cultural appreciation can, therefore, inadvertently perpetuate cycles of exploitation and objectification. This highlights the importance of engaging thoughtfully and respectfully with cultures beyond our own, especially those that might be commodified and popularised through the media.
As I’ve grown older, interactions like the one I had at 19 have become less frequent—perhaps because I’ve learned not to entertain them. Yet, they have undeniably left their mark, shaping how I see myself and the world around me. I hope that, by now, or at least in time, someone who may have experienced something similar will have developed—or come to develop—a strong and unshakable sense of self: someone who is shaped not by the expectations of others but by a tapestry of cultures, languages, and experiences that make you uniquely you. Through these experiences, you will find empathy for others, cultivate an open mind, and be a truly worldly individual. And when you stand in your truth, unwavering and unapologetic, you will realise that the opinions of those who can’t see beyond their biases are not just irrelevant—they are powerless.
*This article is limited in scope: it focuses primarily on heterosexual relationships, my personal experience as a mixed woman with white heritage, and my perspective on Japan. The dynamics of relationships outside these contexts—whether involving different sexual orientations, ethnic backgrounds, or cultural settings—are distinct and warrant deeper exploration and are areas I do not claim to understand. Nevertheless, I hope this piece sparks a broader conversation and contributes to the ongoing dialogue surrounding these complex dynamics.
[1] Anna M. Moncada Storti, Racist Intimacies; or, The Femme Alter Ego and Her Retribution (2024) https://solo.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/permalink/44OXF_INST/ao2p7t/cdi_crossref_primary_10_1215_10407391_11101348
[2] Anna M. Moncada Storti, Racist Intimacies; or, The Femme Alter Ego and Her Retribution (2024)
[3]Chinese Women, Immigration, and the First U.S. Exclusion Law: The Page Act of 1875, National Park Service: https://www.nps.gov/safr/blogs/chinese-women-immigration-and-the-first-u-s-exclusion-law-the-page-act-of-1875.htm#:~:text=Section%203%20of%20the%20Page,for%20lewd%20and%20immoral%20purposes.%22
[4] Women’s History Month: Spotlight on the 1875 Page Act, Reproductive Health Access Project (March 3, 2017): https://www.reproductiveaccess.org/2017/03/womens-history-month-spotlight-on-the-1875-page-act/#:~:text=The%20law%20restricted%20Chinese%2C%20Japanese,and%20denegration%20in%20the%20media.
[5] India Roby, Hollywood played a role in hypersexualising Asian women, Teen Vogue (March 24, 2021): https://www.teenvogue.com/story/hollywood-hypersexualizing-asian-women
[6] 2023 Year in Review:
[7] Tommy Nguyen, The Kimono Quandary: The Problems with Asian Fetishism (2006):
[8] 8 dead in Atlanta Spa Shootings, With Fears of Anti-Asian Bias, New York Times: https://www.nytimes.com/live/2021/03/17/us/shooting-atlanta-acworth
[9] Brian TaeHyuk Keum, Jennifer L. Brady, Rajni Sharma, Yun Lu, Young Hwa Kim, and Christina J. Thai, Gendered Racial Microaggressions Scale for Asian American Women: Development and Initial Validation (2018):