Godfrey Gao heralded the decade of hot Asian men, then we killed him
By Arthur Tam
Asians on both sides of the Pacific are having a moment. From the mesmeric power of K-pop to the touching tales of Asian immigrant communities brought into focus by Lulu Wang’s Farewell, there is renewed interest in Eastern cultures. This, in turn, has created a counterbalance to the deep-rooted, racist narrative that Asian men are unattractive — a stereotype perpetuated by Western colonialism and Hollywood. Today, we see a shift from zero to heart-throb as Asian men start to take leading roles. Think John Cho in Searching, a bulked-up Kumail Nanjiani of The Big Sick and six-pack flexing Simu Liu of Kim’s Convenience, who will appear as Marvel’s first Asian superhero in Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings.
To be clear, whether cis or trans, hot men exist in every race, ethnicity and nationality. But before this decade, popular Western culture did all it could to emasculate Asian men, while on the other hand, exoticising and hypersexualising Asian women. In 2014, co-founder Christian Rudder of popular dating platform OkCupid released data showing that Asian men and black women were the least desirable on their site. The culprit? Institutionalised racism proliferated by white culture to upend communities of colour. The influence is so powerful that even members of Asian communities would buy into white standards of beauty. “He’s good looking for an Asian guy” and “he looks like he has white features” were the general comments casually thrown around. The translation: If an Asian man is deemed sexy, it’s because he looked white.
In came Godfrey Gao, a tall, bearded, bi-cultural Asian man with roots in Canada and Taiwan. He had that perfect look and background that transcended racial barriers, and Asians all around the world were eager to claim him as their own with utmost pride.
He was approved and brought into the folds of high fashion and marketed as the first Asian male face to represent Louis Vuitton in 2011 at just 27-years-old. After that, he graced the cover of hundreds of fashion magazines and starred in a handful of films. Then the media stories started flooding in about how Asian male beauty was being redefined. Look at these “25 hot Asian men defying stereotypes” headlines would read, and Gao would usually be on those lists. Pop culture was at a turning point, and finally, the acceptance of the Asian male form seemed to be on the horizon.
However, an issue remained. We were only propping up supermodel-looking Asian men while erasing the diversity and representation of the most populated race on the planet, comprised of 48 different nationalities with thousands of varying cultures. While unquestionably beautiful, Gao only represented a type of Asian beauty — East Asian specifically — and the kind Western media uses to show how racially sensitive and inclusive they are. Gao was that one Asian friend at the party in the sea of white people, who claimed to have an Asian friend.
Then tragedy struck on November 27th, 2019, when Gao collapsed and died of sudden cardiac death while running on the Chinese variety show Chase Me, known for its physically demanding challenges and questionable safety standards. Chinese entertainment or the entertainment industries in Asia, in general, are known for unrelentingly pushing talent, and subjecting them to harsh working conditions. It was 2 am when Gao collapsed, and it was reported that he had been working 17-hrs straight beforehand.
But what’s also tragic about the situation is how Gao was seen just as an entertainment commodity. If he wasn’t a marketing tool for the Western capitalists to break into Asia, he was a tool for Asian media to uphold an unrealistic, unilateral standard of beauty and masculinity. He deserved better.
The problem with trying to define Asian male beauty — or beauty, in general — is there is no way in doing it without objectifying someone like Gao, while dehumanising those who don’t fit the definition.
Take Chinese state media for example, vehemently criticising certain male celebrities for being too delicate and feminine, equating them to sissies, “who will erode the integrity of the country”. This type of extreme, reductive thinking, wherever you are in the world, often coincides with homophobes and misogynists. And as expected, Chinese state media bans anything resembling LGBTIQ+ content. Under the Xi regime, the ideal male image is a proud PLA soldier — muscular, shouty, square cut and blindly loyal.
Over in the US, a similar homophobic sentiment emerged when Marvel announced that they would be casting an openly gay Asian actor in for a role in The Eternals. Many in the Asian-American community were upset. Instead of celebrating the inclusion of LGBTIQ+ actors, who historically have been punished for coming out, fragile men with fragile egos chose to make these comments over Facebook: “Why not a straight one? Is that how Hollywood/Western see us, Asian males? As gay?” and “Hollywood doesn’t like Asian males unless they are losers or gay”. It was if the run-off of Asian male self-loathing and insecurity was trying to poison queer people.
Conflating the emasculation of Asian men with the fight for LGBTIQ equality is the type of false equivalency used by insidious politicians, who aim to divide disenfranchised communities and pit them against each other. But what was also distressing was how, even in Asian communities, there is such an exclusionary, narrow definition of Asian male representation. He has to be straight and easy for Western consumption.
When it comes to the Asian male identity, there is still a long road ahead toward dismantling masculine clichés and recognising different forms of male representation. Gao will be remembered for breaking down the first barrier. In this new decade, it’s about breaking down the next.