Love this piece by Lena Chen:
Though I could excuse his penchant for cultural appropriation, I couldn’t overlook his peculiar dating history. All of his exes, I soon learned, were Asian. A handful of data points aren’t enough to constitute a trend, but even my 18-year-old self realized that there was a very low statistical probability that this could have unfolded in an arbitrary or unconscious fashion. Pierre, who didn’t exhibit much self-awareness to begin with, claimed that his dating disposition could be explained by the qualities he sought in a partner. Asian girls just happened to be more likely to possess his preferred traits: According to him, we weren’t nearly as loud, crass, promiscuous, or out of shape as white women.
Luckily for Pierre, my dating history was beginning to exhibit a pattern, too. In fact, Pierre was emblematic of the spectacularly bad taste in men I’d cultivated in my young adulthood. Prior to meeting my now-boyfriend of three years (my fluke success story), I dated several serial cheaters, at least one confirmed homophobe, and way too many Asian fetishists to count. I cringe at the memory of each of these illustrious gentlemen, but years later, it’s the latter group that continues to make my skin crawl. An enthusiasm for Asian folks might not seem so bad, especially next to an irrational hatred of gay people. But my personal experience has taught me that even “positive” stereotypes are frustratingly reductive.
Though Pierre clearly meant what he said about “white women” as some sort of compliment, I was far from flattered. Actually, I was confused. At age 18, I shared more in common with the flighty, unkempt women of Pierre’s nightmares than I did with his geisha girl fantasy. I was, in fact, the very embodiment of all of the things he supposedly hated—loud, crass, promiscuous, and out of shape. Somehow, my race managed to obscure all of these qualities. There are many faults for which I administer free passes (timeliness and hygiene, to name two), but I’m rarely capable of overlooking generalizations about my race, no matter how positive. My heritage, though a part of my identity, hardly says much about me as a romantic partner.