Last week, the New York Times featured the Dallas home of the White woman founder of Oh My Mahjong, who wanted to capitalize on the game by selling $500 pink Mahjong sets. The company’s CEO said: “Mahjong is becoming this beautiful way of hosting—not just slapping a game on a table.”

Another company founded by White women was already criticized four years ago for selling $425 sets.

A third company selling expensive pink Mahjong sets doesn’t even mention China on its About page, or even on the page explaining why it’s so expensive, calling the game “American Mahjong.” Instead, it is a love letter to “Female Friendship,” and two sets are offered: the “Country Club” collection and the “Chinoiserie” collection. Chinoiserie is a French term describing the aesthetic of Orientalism in Europe—a casual blend of distinct Asian cultures (not only Chinese) for the European consumer.

Every couple of months or so, a new TikTok drama arises: either a trend borrowing something from Asian culture and repackaging it for the White consumer, or some instance of Sinophobia rearing its head. Sinophobia is a form of Asian hate specific to Chinese people, often perpetrated by other Asian groups, such as ethnic Chinese communities in places like Hong Kong and Singapore.

Years ago, it was Gua Sha, a technique from traditional Chinese medicine (TCM) using blunt tools to scrape at skin. TCM is often devalued in comparison to Western medical practices, yet the cosmetic industry has co-opted it to sell rose quartz, jade, steel, and even expensive LED Gua Sha tools. These products are widely promoted on TikTok, promising anti-aging, face-lift effects, and facial slimming.

In 2020, after the outbreak of COVID-19, anti-Asian hate surged. According to Pew Research, nearly 2 in 5 (39%) Chinese adults in the U.S. personally know another Asian person who has been threatened or attacked since the outbreak, with rates ranging from 21% to 39% across other Asian groups.

Last January, TikTok was nearly banned under the pretense that CEO Shou Chew had loyalties to the Chinese Communist Party (he is Singaporean). It was another instance of Sinophobia, assuming that an Asian CEO must be spying on American users and selling data to China.

A couple of months ago, Asian creators were discussing whether side-eyeing White people in H-Mart was counterproductive. One creator, Madeline, described a moment when she and another half-Asian, half-White girl side-eyed each other at H-Mart, each feeling defensive about their sense of culture and belonging. Another creator defended White shoppers, saying Madeline “shouldn’t be gatekeeping Asian supermarkets.”

Yet…I wonder, should we gatekeep more? Bubble tea (I don’t call it boba because that’s West Coast slang and I’m from NYC) has been gentrified, and the $1 shops I used to visit in high school have been replaced by shops selling drinks for over $8.

Chinese New Year was last month. Suddenly, the word “Chinesemaxxing” entered the social media lexicon, and being “in a very Chinese time of my life” started trending. People weren’t just borrowing beauty secrets, they were now “becoming” Chinese entirely, with White creators posting recipes for “brothy rice,” giving tutorials on “Douyin” makeup, and (poorly) explaining Chinese New Year traditions and superstitions. How strange it was to be told by a White girl not to clean or wash your hair during Chinese New Year, rules my own parents never emphasized.

I often struggled with not knowing the beauty trends that might have helped me avoid being bullied. It was only upon entering a majority-Asian high school that I felt safe exploring pieces of my culture, though it still felt strange and out of reach after spending so much time trying to fit in with the Italians and miscellaneous Whites of Bay Ridge. Now, White girls were boiling apple slices in hot water for its slimming effects, while my grandmother once applied the juice of pickled crickets to my throat when I had tonsil stones. At least the apple water is tasty.

I grew up believing TCM was backward, almost akin to witchcraft. I was skeptical when friends got acupuncture or practiced Qigong. Yet I still bought a $30 Gua Sha kit to “fix” my round face and achieve a more “sculpted” look. Was I subconsciously trying to “Westernize” my face? At least I bought it from a Korean creator. Now these tools are sold everywhere, from Sephora to shops I visited in Turkey. I was always considered too chubby and boyish to be attractive among other Asian girls, but now White girls are calling themselves “Chinese baddies.” What a world.

“What a privilege it is, to be able to try on someone else’s identity for a day without inheriting any of the consequences. To pick out the parts that you like and adorn yourself with them, then to peel it off when you tire of it, hanging it up in the back of your closet to collect dust, already moving onto the next trend, the next bauble.” — Faith Xue, Coveteur

Yet it is often other Asian creators who open the gates. Sherry Zhu shares wellness tips with her “Chinese baddies,” telling her 740,000 TikTok followers: “Tomorrow you’re turning Chinese. And I know that sounds intimidating, but there is no point in fighting it now.” On TikTok, some creators even joke that viewers have been “diagnosed as Chinese,” as if it were a contagious condition.

Were we feeling Chinese when Asian Americans, whether Chinese or not, were blamed for COVID?

Were we feeling Chinese during Stop AAPI Hate?

In 2023, Coqual found that 63% of Asian professionals said ongoing violence against the AAPI community negatively impacted their mental health; 45% reported physical health impacts; 40% said it affected their relationship with their manager; and 43% said it affected their relationship with coworkers. Violence has also affected their ability to focus at work (50%). While Stop Asian Hate peaked in 2021 and other global issues have taken center stage, that does not mean Asians have reached equity in the workplace. Racism still appears in seemingly celebratory contexts, appropriating Chinese New Year, or selling our customs back to us.

So what can DEI leaders take away from all this? Our 2023 report found significant disparities in experiences among Asian subgroups (East Asian, South Asian, and Southeast Asian professionals). Asian professionals continue to experience the “perpetual foreigner” stereotype, especially around citizenship, a concern heightened by increased ICE raids targeting Asian immigrants. People of color feel unsafe, and returning to office settings can heighten fears of harassment, surveillance, or deportation.

Cultural elements are often showcased at events, but when it comes to leadership, AAPI professionals feel pressured to adopt Western and White leadership styles “which clash with values they learned from their families” (p. 74). Our culture is valued when it can be consumed—but not when it comes to promotions. Asian professionals are less likely than White peers to say the promotion process is fair (33%), that performance reviews are fair (38%), or that their company invests in their professional development (36%). Asians are stereotyped as overachievers yet remain underpromoted compared to Whites (44% vs. 52%).

Before saying your company is equitable for Asian employees, or for any workers of color, look at the data. Who is getting promoted? Who feels safe? Who is being heard?

Understand the political and social stressors your employees carry with them into work. Celebrate cultural differences, but be cautious about claiming ownership over what isn’t yours. There is a stark difference between appreciation and “mastery.” Even as backlash against “anti-woke” efforts grows, the responsibility doesn’t disappear, it becomes more urgent and requires more intentionality.

We still have an opportunity to do this right: not just to celebrate Asian culture, but to support and include Asian people. I’ll share my snacks with you, if I know you’re a friend.