Chohikaru
Painting artist Graduated from Musashino Art University in 2016 Completed a master's program at Pratt Institute in 2021 Gained attention for works that feature realistic paintings on bodies and objects, becoming a topic of discussion both domestically and internationally. In addition to numerous media appearances, including "Waratte Iitomo," she collaborates with companies such as Samsung, Amnesty International, and Shiseido, and engages in a wide range of activities including solo exhibitions, illustration production, clothing design, art direction, and program planning. Her recently published painting picture book "Not!" has won the Hibakarasu Award and the Sakura Medal, and has also been selected for the Green Shade Library. Her publications include five picture books, as well as art collections, illustrated books, manga, and essay collections.
2024.11.27
When I first came to New York, I decided to try a dating app just for the experience. Swiping through people with faces I had rarely encountered in Japan, who also spoke different first languages, felt strangely surreal, almost like a game. White, Black, Latino—I honestly had no idea who my type was. I realized that my "preferred face" was only shaped by my experiences in Japan. Among them, I started chatting in English with a matched white man.
"Hello, you're beautiful."
"Thank you."
"I'm weak for Asian girls."
Oh, I see, to him, I am an "Asian." I understood that I was Asian in terms of race, but it was the first time I felt so vividly that I was being viewed through the lens of "Asian" by someone who knew nothing about me. To him, I was just a "preferred Asian." It felt unsettling, as if I were being reduced to just my outline, seen in 2D. In New York, a city filled with various races, I became acutely aware of my identity as an Asian (mainly categorized as East Asian).
They say that to hide a tree, a forest is good, but the trees in the forest probably don't even realize they are trees. When surrounded only by trees, being a tree is the "unspoken standard." This is also true in Japan, where about 97.5% of the population holds Japanese nationality. Even if I understood that I was Japanese in a place where only Japanese people were around, there were hardly any moments in daily life where I truly felt, "I am Japanese."
Having grown up as a "Chinese resident in Japan," I have lived with the constant awareness of being Chinese, for better or worse. People deepen their understanding of themselves through comparisons with others. In a place where only Japanese people were around, I couldn't forget that my shape was just a little different from those around me. However, in this country, America, where many races coexist (though many suburbs are quite conservative, so diversity may only be felt in cities like New York), the difference between "Chinese residents in Japan" and "Japanese" is so trivial that we are collectively seen as "Asian."
As I savored my first awareness of being Asian, the conversation on the dating app continued.
"Why do you like Asian girls?"
"Asian girls are feminine and obedient, unlike white or Black women."
"Asian girls are sexy. I always watch Japanese AV."
If I heard that now, I would be mildly offended, but a few years ago, when I had just arrived in America, I didn't quite grasp the creepiness of that response. Oh, so Asian girls are popular. While I felt a vague discomfort that I couldn't articulate, that was about the extent of my reaction. It was then that I first learned that the image of "Asian women" is partly shaped by AV.
What does it mean to be Asian in America? Even in this country that boasts diversity, Asians are a minority. Just as there are stereotypes associated with professions (like band members being seen as carefree or accountants as serious), being viewed as Asian comes with its own stereotypes. Asians are often depicted in the media as simplified and exaggerated characters, forming the basis of many people's images. Specifically, they are seen as smart or good at math, which is often more favorable than the prejudices faced by other people of color, and Asian Americans are frequently referred to as "model minorities." However, Asians living in America often struggle with the gap between this ideal image and their actual selves. Additionally, being a model minority can make it harder to speak out against the racism that actually exists towards Asians.
Recently, the phenomenon of Asian fetishism has been added to this mix. There are various theories about the origins of the fetishization of Asian women (especially East Asian) in America, but the way they are portrayed in the media plays a significant role. Famous examples include Madame Butterfly and Miss Saigon, where Asian women's sexuality is depicted as fundamentally different. They are portrayed as obedient, willing to do anything, with bodies that seem untouched yet are also portrayed as promiscuous and exotic. They are not depicted as independent individuals but rather as embodiments of male fantasies. This ideal, which cannot be imposed on other races, may have been easier to project onto a race that was still relatively unknown. Such tendencies have persisted for over a century, and I still encounter people who casually say things like "Asian women are obedient and sexy." While receiving creepy messages might be the least of it, this stereotype has actually led to hate crimes. Recently, there was an incident in Atlanta where a man went to a massage parlor run by Asians and committed a mass shooting. Six of the eight victims were Asian. He reportedly said, "I'm a sex addict, so I thought I should eliminate the source of temptation." To him, the Asian women working at the massage parlor were not human but merely sexual objects.
Conversely, Asian men are reportedly the least desirable demographic according to a certain dating app survey. (This trend may be changing with the recent rise in K-POP popularity.) The general image of Asian men is often "weak" or "not masculine," which does not fare well in a society like America that has a strong preference for macho ideals. It's quite strange that only those presenting as female within the Asian demographic are sexualized.
Along with my awareness of being Asian, a sense of solidarity with other Asians began to grow. As mentioned earlier, I grew up as a Chinese resident in Japan, living with the awareness that I was different from Japanese people. Therefore, when I was in Japan, I rarely thought, "I'm Asian, so I belong in the same category as Japanese people!" However, surrounded by different races with diverse backgrounds, I found myself making eye contact and reaching out to international students from Asian countries like China, Korea, the Philippines, and India (though I tend to lean towards East Asia). Even though my Chinese is poor and I can only say "Annyeonghaseyo" and "Saranghaeyo" in Korean, communication ultimately happens in English, which should be no different from talking to people of other races. Yet, in this foreign land of America, just because we both eat rice and noodles, I feel as if we have fought through struggles together. Even when I meet Asian Americans who were born and raised in the U.S., I feel as if we share something unspoken, even if just a little. It may not be negative, but it is a definite bias. Growing up in Japan, I could never quite align myself with others and was often placed in the "exception" category, yet I loudly proclaimed that "everyone is different, so it's strange to judge by race or country of origin." However, the moment I found an identity I could belong to without question as an Asian, I was drawn into a baseless sense of security and began to see Asians as my peers. Balancing the comfort of finding comrades and the pride that comes from it with the tendency to simplify and label people is always challenging.
I went on a date with the white man I met on the dating app. He had only traveled to Japan once and confidently took me to a mysterious izakaya in Midtown, claiming, "I'll let you try the best ramen I know." He slurped a bowl of ramen (?), which had a completely flavorless, thin broth, and said with a smug face, "It has a clear taste, right?" I couldn't bring myself to say, "No, this is bad," and thought, wait, this makes me seem really obedient. I slurped down another dish of equally bland yakisoba (?). Being Asian, sometimes fitting into stereotypes, while trying to acknowledge that without flattening myself or others, might be as difficult as finding truly delicious ramen in NY.
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