“You’ve found me at a very Chinese time of my life.” I’m not trying to be facetious—you really have. As a Hong Konger based in London, my community and I have just spent the last few weeks celebrating the arrival of the Year of the Horse. But between feasting on heaping spools of noodles and sizzling pork at London’s myriad Chinese restaurants, a certain online controversy has been making the rounds at our dinner tables this year.
I’m the first to admit that identity is ever-evolving. Having grown up in Hong Kong, studied in the US and moved to London only four years ago, my sense of self has changed as often as trending denim styles. But whether we like it or not, identity is also informed by the way we are reflected in others’ eyes.
The new moon in Aquarius and a solar eclipse are bringing fresh start energy.
During the pandemic, that has meant people getting up and moving tables to sit farther from me. At work, that has meant being ignored at meetings or tokenised at events. On the mild end of the spectrum, it has meant getting confused looks when I asked for hot water at restaurants. But for many of the Chinese diaspora, it has meant being bullied or ridiculed at school, or harassed and abused on the streets.
These are the sentiments that have resurfaced in the wake of the “Chinamaxxing trend” on social media and the prevalence of the phrase “You’ve found me at a very Chinese time of my life” used by non-Asian TikTokers expounding their newfound appreciation for Chinese culture—from boiling soups to wearing Tang jackets. “Becoming Chinese,” as some of them claim, can be achieved by habits of discipline and self-care.
“I think for many BBCs (British Born Chinese), like me, it can be quite triggering,” says Ed Lee, entertainment and culture consultant for brands and co-founder of Red Flagged, a community organisation aimed at supporting the ESEA community in London. “Featured within the trend are things we were negatively called out on when we were younger, particularly at school and we would shy away from them in fear of getting bullied, so the shift in tone now feels externally validated rather than internally empowered.”
At first, many welcomed the trend. In fact, it comes off the back of the Chinese government’s years-long plan to disseminate a more contemporary and appealing image of China, debunking archaic myths spun by Western media. It also comes at a time when people’s own relationship with their government is fraught with disillusionment and distrust, with younger generations seeking refuge in Chinese culture, much like the wave of TikTok refugees that fled to Chinese social media platform Red Note during its potential shutdown in the US. “[Chinamaxxing] has become a form of escapism under the guise of memes and trends; subconscious rebellion disguised in hot water and acupuncture,” says Mia Wells, a Chinese TikTok and Instagram star based in London.
Yes, it goes without saying that this trend is far more preferable than the discriminatory discourse of winter's past. After all, shifts in cultural perceptions begin with curiosity and openness, and dialogue between cultures should always be welcomed. Mimicry is a form of flattery, right? But one can also understand the emotional whiplash this has caused many of the diasporic community, especially when cultural markers steeped in history have been cherry-picked, repackaged, and reduced to a handful of digestible “how-to’s”. As my fellow Asian journalist said to me: “Culture is not something you can dress up in and try on for size one day, only to discard it the next.”
This Chinese New Year—a period powered by a profound belief system, and deeply-rooted in personal identity—has seen a record-number of events in London, from Harrods’ annual festivities with Chinese designer incubation programme Labelhood to every brand from Penhaligon’s to Huishan Zhang hosting feasts. But we’ve also witnessed a plethora of non-Asians partaking in the tradition. “From my own experience, it has gone from brands only pretending I exist for a week a year [during CNY] in order to tick a box for them, to now leaving many of us out of the conversation entirely,” says Tamsin Wong, a biracial content creator. Some of these events have begged the question: Who is allowed to celebrate the traditions of a specific culture?
Instagram content
“If you’re not Chinese and have no ties to the culture and you’re sexualising, commodifying or representing it wrong, that can be disrespectful,” shares my same journalist friend. “For example: To see a group of people (none of them Asian) claiming to celebrate Chinese New Year in a room with red lanterns opening fortune cookies can feel like the holiday and its deep-rooted traditions is being co-opted for capital gain or reduced to superficial stereotypes.”
Just because anyone can throw a CNY party, doesn’t mean everyone should. I had always wanted to attend an Indian wedding, having long admired their grandeur from afar, but I would never have an Indian wedding if neither my husband nor myself are Indian. I’d wait for an Indian bride or groom to invite me.
Zing Tsieng, Singaporean author and former Editor-in-Chief of Vice, tells me she’s also seen a lot more content around the Year of the Fire Horse compared to past years, particularly from non-Asian content creators. “A lot of the Chinese zodiac information I've seen feels ill-informed, vague or just downright wrong – like someone just scraped the first page of Google for the sake of hopping on the bandwagon,” she says. “Chinamaxxing memes function in the same way – they're a superficial engagement with Chinese culture without any understanding of the nuance or complexity of the differing identities that exist within [the culture].” Chinese New Year traditions go beyond wearing red or hanging calligraphy on walls, they are inextricable from centuries-old philosophies and ancestral practice. The fear is that it will be turned into yet another commercialised date on the marketing calendar, like Valentine’s Day.
Skepticism is the best way to summarise how many feel about the world’s sudden adoption of the Chinese way of life. Is it sincere? Will it last? Or is this just a shiny, slipper-wearing toy that will be discarded tomorrow? The line between appreciation and appropriation lies in what happens next. Will those self-proclaimed “Chinese Baddies” actually support the OG Chinese Baddies?
“Appreciation involves context, credit and community,” says Ed, who has produced several of the most high-profile events this CNY with a Robert Wun x Johnnie Walker dinner and Peninsula Hotel’s annual bash. He’s expressed frustration at the difficulty of garnering meaningful media coverage of the community activations during this time that goes beyond product-led messaging (ie: a list of red handbags to shop). “Appropriation extracts the aesthetic, monetises it, and moves on when the algorithm does. The people posting these videos are probably purchasing the ingredients from Tesco and not giving back to their local Asian supermarkets that are struggling to stay afloat. There’s a difference between consuming culture and sustaining the communities behind it.”
This means where possible, invest in local Asian communities, sponsor cultural events, involve Asian creatives in your projects, or simply engage with your friendly neighbourhood Asians to get their take on their traditions before blindly co-opting them as your own. Maybe, then maybe, this will be a step towards true allyship. For now, I’ll settle for hot water being served at my next meal.
