I am done with white girls and I am definitely done with cellulite. All I want these days is a nice down-to-earth Taiwanese girl who can make me traditional Taiwanese dinners. Is this asking for too much? I greet this question with a resounding no?I mean, packing lunches and cuisine with a more pan-Asian flavor is strictly optional (knowing how to cook up a mean dika misua may be a requisite but unagi-don or dolsot bibimbop is entirely up to her). After all, I am by no means an over-demanding or unreasonable person.
And I am being genuinely sincere here by sharing this instinctual (and perhaps even primitive) desire that I have without actually thinking of its cultural and social ramifications. But in retrospect, it certainly does beg a variety of questions. To list a few: Am I now a bigot (racism and misogyny come to mind)? Or am I just subconsciously following the advice (or propagandist brainwashing) that my mother has pounded into me with a bamboo stick since the earliest days of my childhood? And what does this desire, as an objective fact, imply about the fetishizing of “Oriental” females?sexy bound feet and all?by both Caucasian and Asian-American males?
Just a few months ago, my best friend and I were sitting around the dining room table enjoying a hot bowl of noodles my mom conjured from within the magical recesses of her kitchen. Our tummies were quite satisfied with this recent development, which was a stark contrast to the microwaveable fare that usually graced our own dining room tables (read: apartment floor) at school. Now, it should be noted that both my friend and I are decent cooks and we have inherited several standard dishes from our mothers. But “decent” is still the operative word, and the way our respective mothers see it is this: “Sure, they won’t starve to death, but ? [a short pause and simultaneous shrug and eye-roll].”
So my friend turns to me and laments the fact that the female Taiwanese cook has become somewhat of an endangered species. I seconded this motion and acknowledged how much nicer (for us and our tummies) it would be if our future wives possess magical culinary abilities. My friend nodded, I sighed, and we both hung our heads down in silent reverence for the sad, sad state of affairs that currently afflicts Asian society on both sides of the Pacific.
Yeah, so much for classical stereotypes of “Oriental” women. All carriers of yellow fever be forewarned: The new breed of Asian and Asian-American females hardly possesses any of the characteristics one would have come to expect from them. Forget docility and passivity. Forget the mysterious eroticism. We’re talking unbound feet and as much know-how around the kitchen as my father, which isn’t much. The nay-sayers out there probably still hold firmly to their na?ve belief that women across the Pacific are different, somehow untainted by Western feminist and liberal ideals. But don’t be fooled. Sure, they may appear to be docile and obedient, but nine times out of 10, they’re only in it for the Green Card. The moment that little bit of plastic arrives in the mail, they’re “audi5000” with your Audi 5000.
Some would say that this is a good thing, a sign of progress. They might be correct. Intellectually speaking, I understand that my desire for a wife to make me dinner should not exist. But despite all this, the fact remains that it does and is as strong as ever. What I do not understand is how this is different from any of the multitude of superficial qualifications we have for future mates. How is my wanting a Taiwanese wife who can cook different from my wanting an athletic Swedish wife or simply just any girl who was cellulite-free? In my opinion, they all rate fairly equally on the superficiality scale. But because “cooking” is reminiscent of the domestic sphere to which women were historically (and unjustly) bound somehow transforms me into a bigoted, hateful male perpetuating the inequalities of society and its attendant discriminations and stereotypes against women in general and Asian and Asian-American women in particular.
There are even those audacious enough to argue that my desires marked an appropriation of the nefarious yellow fever syndrome, which was originally reserved for white people. Giving up on white girls, they say, and instead redirecting my “lust” towards my own fetishized version of the “Oriental” female (in this case a nice, down-to-earth Taiwanese girl who can make me traditional Taiwanese dinners) is simply a permutation of yellow fever and a vacuous means of “getting in touch” with my Asian identity. An identity that I have thus far ignored and even denied. Perhaps, but I suppose, in the end, all of this debate is a moot point. That day my friend and I learned a painful little secret: It ain’t happening, so why bother even thinking about it? Curses to girls out there for not keeping their end of the bargain.
Andrew Lin is a junior in the School of Foreign Service. Drew likes long romantic walks on the beach and hamsters.
