Culture as Commodity: East Asian Flavours and Stardom

Illustrated by Mara Chintea

The calm green of a freshly poured matcha and the rich brown of chocolate oozing from Taiwanese restaurant chain Din Tai Fung’s famous dumplings have become internet staples of East Asian cuisines. But before finding virality, these foods were vessels carrying centuries of culture, beloved in immigrant households. 

The popularity of East Asian cuisines has skyrocketed across North America, with a few ultra-viral items becoming the face of the movement. Sharing and passing down a culture is integral to its survival, but such a quick turnaround means paraphrasing cultural significance and taking shortcuts around recipes until the line blurs between cultural appreciation and appropriation. As household secrets become commercial gold mines, the communities that introduced these items are backseated in favour of those who can better navigate the dominant consumer market.

The Mainstream Uptake of East Asian Flavours

Led by rising multicultural populations and supplemented by social media exposure, trying new foods has quickly become a gateway into exploring different cultures and traditions. Ethnic-owned mom-and-pop stores often evoke comfort and a sense of home for those of the same ethnic background, while offering a sense of adventure and novelty for first-timers. So, while it is natural, inevitable, and even desirable for curious diners to turn into avid visitors, social media has transformed how this discovery happens, and what happens afterward: selected items become objects of innovation and reinterpretation, driven by the intense attention of hyperfixated consumers.

Rather than gradual introductions through family, travel, or local communities, select dishes begin to gain traction through carefully curated visuals, algorithm-driven popularity, and influencer endorsements. Like a game of telephone, relatability and perceived credibility of the messenger will take precedence over the cuisine’s cultural origins, until the dish is consumed less as a cultural expression and more as a trend in its own right. When a new cuisine becomes synonymous with a single viral dish, does this heightened exposure translate into greater recognition for the communities that created it, or does it simply create new commercial opportunities for those best positioned to capitalize on the trend while simultaneously pushing local business owners into a box? This question becomes especially pertinent in the context of East Asian immigrant communities in North America, where restaurants have historically served as sites for adaptation and survival in societies built against them. 

In the story of many East Asian immigrants, restaurants and food service represented one of the few paths to economic survival, and became a beacon of hope for those trying to build better lives for their families amid exclusionary immigration policies, rampant racial discrimination, and limited employment opportunities. Then, adaptation was not viewed as a way to chase trends or virality, but a way to draw in local audiences while staying true to cultural traditions.

The Unspoken Quota: Cherry-Picking What’s Worth Appreciation

All dishes are not created equal – at least, not in the eye of the curious foodie looking to try a new cuisine. The demand for global cuisines has heightened, but it is not evenly spread. Where select dishes receive overwhelming praise and attention, others, even from the same or adjacent cuisines, are still met with hesitation or outward disdain. Faced with such stark disparity, patterns are sure to arise in what categorizes a food as a novel delicacy versus a foreign oddity.

Consumers seek novelty and a sense of exploration, but it is easier to chase the feeling of adventure rather than straying far beyond what is familiar. Although individual preferences vary, one’s willingness to try new foods is heavily influenced by the circumstances in which they are introduced and the social environment that surrounds them. Consequently, foods with colourful visual aesthetics, novel health benefits, and non-threatening smells, textures, and preparation methods are more likely to achieve widespread appeal as they require relatively little adjustment to fit existing tastes and expectations. 

This pattern is reflected in the recent popularity of foods such as matcha and kimchi. Although both examples have deep roots within Japanese and Korean cultures, they also share qualities with foods that are already commonplace in North American palates. Matcha can be understood as a variation of tea or as a coffee alternative, while kimchi is easily introduced as a fermented vegetable or pickle. By drawing connections to familiar reference points, perceived barriers can be lowered to allow for appreciation of their character and benefits. Conceptually, these comparisons are not inherently problematic, and serve as an accessible entry point into new cuisines. However, in the process of adaptation and marketing to the dominant market, catchy taglines and commercially viable characteristics are given preference over cultural significance. As cultural ties are slowly detached, consumers may lose sight of the histories and traditions that gave the product meaning – even while trying to celebrate it.

You Reap What They Sow: Origin Versus Palatability

What is most commercially or aesthetically appealing, however, is not always a possibility, or even a desire, for locally-owned East Asian businesses. Staple Chinese restaurants across North America are fondly identified by their intricate decor and often extensive menus – characteristics that don’t exactly fit the blueprint for Westernwestern fine dining. Lingering biases and social prejudices widen the gap between immigrant East Asian business owners and the dominant consumer market. When seen as “lower class” compared to European peers, East Asian foods have to overcome additional barriers to become more than the quick, cheap option.

Success is built upon many more factors than the food itself, and is reliant on the combined efforts of linguistic, social, financial, and cultural capital. Knowing how to communicate with dominant consumers, navigate retail and media networks, and build a visual identity that resonates with aesthetic preferences are skills that come more easily to those already embedded within these systems, therefore making them better positioned to define, market, and ultimately profit from cultural cuisines. Take chili crisps and sauces: a well-loved condiment used in a wide variety of Chinese cooking. Within many Chinese communities, Lao Gan Ma remains the universal choice, but its traditional Chinese-style branding and minimal English translate to a reliance on reputation and word-of-mouth interest that doesn’t aim to capture the Western customer. Contrarily, Fly by Jing deliberately uses bright, minimalist packaging and leans into social media marketing and relatability to curate a Westernized consumer base. At their core, these two companies sell remarkably similar products and build the case that commercial success hinges on an ability to package authenticity in a way that aligns with the dominant consumer market.

The Price of Authenticity

If you were offered the opportunity to purchase an all-new superfood promising dreamlike health benefits and perfectly Instagram worthy visuals, would you take it? What if the price had now doubled?

While popularity and increased exposure play an important role in building appreciation for and sustaining cultures, they run the risk of unintentionally commodifying cultural traditions. For many culinary staples, their cultural significance is derived from their place in everyday life, their ability to bring people together, or their accessibility. When they are instead transformed through viral trends into a premium product and a sign of being “in the know”, the values that gave them meaning can become an afterthought to their commercial and social appeal. 

When niche products see a sudden – and large – spike in demand, it becomes difficult for the market to keep up, thus creating an increase in price, a decrease in stock, or both. What is an inconvenience to one person is a disruption to another’s daily life, traditions, or even identity. Ironically, these aftershocks of virality disproportionately affect the communities from which these foods originate. For diaspora communities, the effects are even more pronounced. Cultural participation and immersion is already a deliberate effort, and with language and traditions slowly fading over generations, shared meals become the most accessible and meaningful way of maintaining and expressing cultural identity. 

Conclusion

Exposure is valuable, and sharing cultures is an experience full of joy, but not every aspect of culture can be viewed through a commercial lens without consequences. East Asian communities in North America carry a history of resilience and adaptation that is deeply embedded within their food and culinary traditions. As many of these foods become internet sensations and cafe essentials, it becomes a shared responsibility to ensure that the communities who created, and continue to shape, these traditions remain central to the conversation.

Authenticity and true appreciation for cultural cuisines starts long before the product reaches the consumer. It requires a careful understanding of the histories and significance of the cuisine and its products alongside a commitment to recognizing and supporting these communities. Although algorithms favour short videos with aesthetic appeal and clever marketing, they do not excuse the responsibility to encourage cultural discovery beyond the newest viral product. Certainly, they should not be allowed to dictate whose story gets told, and whose are forgotten.