By Rosie Lu
No shoes in the house. Hot water on the regular. Gua sha. Chi-stimulating rituals. Traditional medicinal beverages. “You met me at a very Chinese time in my life,” they say. But have you forgotten COVID-19? Or go way back. The Chinese Exclusion Act? Why is being Chinese suddenly the new aesthetic—its previously ridiculed stereotypical behaviors now the best way to become the hottest trend on social media?
In case “Chinesemaxxing” hasn’t already dominated your For You Page, it is a social media trend where creators humorously share common Chinese cultural experiences from their everyday lives. Content generally revolves around traditional practices like drinking hot water, herbal remedies, and acupuncture, as well as relationship dynamics, such as tiger parenting or academic pressure.
In some way, this phenomenon of “becoming Chinese” represents American interest and open-mindedness towards China, its people, and its culture. Up until recently, Chinese immigrants were mocked for their unfamiliar customs, but virality for these cultural elements makes them desirable. Recognizing Chinese stereotypes also allows Chinese-Americans to find solace in shared visibility and builds a community to promote cultural pride. In its beginnings, this Chinesemaxxing joke was just harmless humor about shared cultural experiences, self-referential among Chinese people.
But that’s completely different from other people laughing about Chinese culture. With an internationally connected app like TikTok, trends are bound to go viral and leave the original community, ending up in the wrong hands. The non-Chinese audience sees a particularly appealing or interesting element of the Chinese experience and takes it to generalize the entire race.
When a Chinese creator shares what they’ve lived—practicing violin for 48 hours a day, being called a failure, punishments for bad grades—it’s funny for people with the same experience, but it becomes a confirmation to create a stereotype: Chinese families function through discipline and perfection, and that’s the only way. A stigma forms around Chinese parents, forming prejudices that they are narrow-minded, quick-to-anger controllers. On the “positive” side, the trend creates a presumption that all Chinese people are academically smart–which seems like a compliment, but also damages the mentality of a Chinese student who performs badly in school and fails to fit into that stereotype.
Equally important is the selective celebration, the inability to embrace Chinese culture fully, instead capitalizing on the consumable elements only. The virality of traditional health practices on social media translates to major corporations responding to online demand. Gua sha is available at Sephora, and jade rollers fill Urban Outfitters’ shelves. Just as easily, the rich 5,000 years of history behind Chinese cuisine are forgotten as non-Chinese creators take credit for “reinventing” traditional recipes. Sichuan-inspired brand Fly by Jing’s “Hot Pot Bomb” was labeled as the “first ever” of its kind by collaborating TikTok creator Logan Moffitt (@logansfewd), entirely ignoring the established instant broth products used by Chinese households. This marketing tactic, meant to expand reach beyond Asians by using a non-Asian creator, received backlash for sacrificing authenticity for virality. Forgetting the story of the people behind the original ideas is equally dehumanizing, especially when they were once shunned as aliens and abused with hate crimes.
Broadening one’s horizons by exploring other cultures can always have a positive impact, but a definitive line exists between cultural appreciation and harmful stereotypes. So yes, enjoy Chinese food because it’s delicious, and try gua sha to snatch your face, but spend some time learning their cultural significance and what they mean to a community. Listen to tiger mom jokes and empathize with academically pressured peers, but remember it’s not your history, and it’s not something that you can become to stay trendy.