when i started this book, something about it just felt…off. i didn’t think much about it, assuming it was the writing style—which i’d expected would be full-out, in-depth journalism (it was instead a bit amateurish and repetitive, which doesn’t really matter, i’m just picky). then, at sixty-some-percent i actually read more about the author, her career, her book, and, anything i could find on her. i came across a video where she more-or-less says the book is a good gift for a white man with an asian partner. this book was written for white men. well, frankly, it shows.

this realization unfairly pissed me off, because i’d done zero research into kaila yu or fetishized before picking it up, and thought this book was, i don’t know, for the girlies ?? but, i think anyone looking to read this should know it’s targeted to a white male audience. in my opinion, it completely changes things.

the author gives an overall pretty well researched and clear explanation of fetishization and asiaphilia, but told alongside her personal memoir there’s a disconnect. it’s like two different stories are being told; one is yu’s experience in the beauty industry, and the other is definition and examples of asiaphilia. while yu’s life was undeniably affected by racism, misogyny, and fetishization, many of the events chronicled in this book seem to be driven by the insecurity and loneliness of a girl desperate to fit in under the expectations of women in our society. the blurb actually says: no one fetishized kaila yu more than she fetishized herself.

suffice to say, i have some mixed feelings about this one. but, to sum it up short and sweet; this book is a rattling, brutal, and vulnerable memoir about a woman whose pain is real and raw.

still, i have to say it–despite everything it tries to be (“a reckoning” it says on the tin) this book is about one person and one person only. i’m not saying yu had a perfect life, deserved the things that happened to her, or doesn’t have the right to speak on her problems, etc. the things she went through are horrible. her voice is valid, deserves to be heard, and i’m glad to have had the chance to hear it. it just irks me that the book is focused on the experience of a cishet, privileged, east asian woman but basically assumes to speak for every asian woman of every demographic. when the word “asian” is used here, it only ever means “east asian”, but never specifices this. even though the experience of being fetishized as a southeast asian woman could be wildly different from that of an east asian woman. look, i’m not trying to nitpick. it makes sense that she’s using it as a general term and it “goes without saying”, but the language could have been more exact or clarified and…wasn’t. as written, the book excludes unique experiences and clumps it all together in a condensed, stereotyped version. (to me, this is pretty much an example of the racism the author is literally calling white men out for. and, like @titania said in this forum post, seeing as this book is for white men, with the goal of educating them on such topics, it seems logical to be more specific in this area.)

it’s really not my place to say this, but i feel that if yu’s career had been more successful she wouldn’t be trying to “reclaim” anything now. i feel this book is a continuation of her attempts to adhere with what society expects of her. only those expectations are no longer for her to be a hypersexualized doll but to be a mature, demure woman reclaiming her young, naive self’s past. from where i’m standing, it looks like she was catering to the white male gaze then and still is today. maybe i just had high expectations, but this feels overall like a weak blow to sexism and racism. it comes off nearly…hypocritical isn’t the right word, but kind of incoherent….? and to be completely honest, i don’t see this convincing its target audience (white men with asian partners) to call out asiaphilia.

i don’t not recommend this book, but i wouldn’t go out of my way to, and almost certainly not to an uneducated white male fetishist. pretty much the whole thing can be summed up in her closing statements of chapter 15: a reckoning:

“no woman should ever feel as restricted as I did, believing that reducing myself to fit a male fantasy was the only way to be acknowledged. this isn’t to say that women shouldn’t feel empowered in their sexuality. women should embrace their sensuality as much as they like, as long as they have full agency and are free from external pressures or control. for me, leaning into that aspect of myself wasn’t genuine, and i was acting from a place of low self-esteem. in contrast, healthy sexuality—rooted in personal agency and authenticity—should be celebrated. i hope young women today will make better choices and that, by sharing my imperfect, damaged, and yet hopeful story, more young asian women recognize their multifaceted beauty, focusing on inner strength over physical appearance. i dream of a day when young women stop releasing so much power to men, realizing their vast and limitless set of qualities are far more enduring and valuable than sexual desirability. we cannot ignore the implicit misogyny behind the asian fetish and how it’s portrayed in the media. it’s imperative that we continue to fight to be heard and be seen in the media as multifaceted beings. representation matters.”

still, i’m glad to have read this book all the way, even if the phrase “scantily clad women” was used generously. and please, take my opinion with a grain of salt here; i’m both privileged and white as chalk with little-to-no experience on this topic.