‘Be my girlfriend’: Eccentric Taiwanese Dating Culture
‘The weirdest thing happened to me last week,’ an English friend Lauren complained to me at a café in utter perplexity, as if she was insulted by a talking horse in a clown costume. She sipped her latte and continued, ‘I met this Taiwanese guy Mike on the Internet two weeks ago, and we had some very nice conversations. But last Tuesday night, out of the blue, he sent me this message.’ I took her phone, and the text read, ‘Hey Lauren… I think I like you, do you want to be my girlfriend?’ It was the last message of their conversation, received five days ago.
‘What the hell was that!’ Lauren cried. ‘Have you two met in person yet?’ I asked. Lauren rolled her eyes as she knocked the table with her mug and said, ‘No, not yet, but after that awkward silence I left him, how could we possibly meet?’ I gave Lauren a smile and looked into her eyes. She had absolutely no clue about what had been going on in their short-lived flirtatious texting experience.
‘I just don’t understand. Before that text, everything was going so well. I could see myself dating Mike in a week if he had asked me out. But then he rushed it like this, making me feel pressured; let alone it was cringy and creepy,’ said Lauren, still confused, ‘I mean, clearly we were fond of each other’s company, and I did have some feelings for him, too. But the thing is, he never asked me out. And “proposing” like that after just knowing each other on the Internet for less than two weeks? That’s absurd.’
Apparently, Mike screwed up with just one harmless but honest text. However, in his defence, he wasn’t doing anything inappropriate, either. Mike might even have had the whole board of his think tank (which were probably just his drunk mates) coming up with the right timing to send that very message to express his feelings to Lauren. And what Lauren might not know is that behind that short message lies one of the most inexplicable aspect of Taiwanese dating culture.
In fact, Mike was practising the act of ‘confession.’ For the record, Mike was not a sinner per se, and Lauren was definitely not a priest. So why is it called confession? And why didn’t Mike just ask Lauren out on a date? To answer these million-dollar questions that literally no one has been asking, I shall introduce some peculiar aspects of Taiwanese dating culture with scenarios taken from real cases.
1. Confession culture
Generally speaking, in the English language ‘to confess’ represents the act where a person honestly admits one’s guilt or something embarrassing to the addressee, often found in religious and legal contexts. However, in Taiwan the word for ‘confession’ or ‘to confess’ is 告白 (gao bai), meaning ‘to express one’s true feelings that were once hidden.’ And for the millennials here, 告白 is mainly used for the act of revealing one’s affection to a prospective romantic partner.
Regardless of geography, it’s believed that in every naturally developed romantic relationship there’s a stage where the two people express their mutual affection for each other. But this seemingly ought-to-be-done-naturally process is glorified as a sacred ritual in nearly every single teenage romance among Taiwanese millennials.
For example, in the failed online dating experience of Lauren and Mike, Mike tried to tell Lauren his feelings for her through a text message. Yet to Mike’s surprise, due to cultural differences and misunderstandings, the confession was not well received. In fact, Lauren was kind of scared and she might never talk to Mike again. Ouch.
To be brutally honest, what Mike had done was a shitty move. Instead of texting, he should pluck up his courage and talk to her in person. However, thanks to the cultural difference, this would never work out anyway. He would not understand what had been happening inside Lauren’s mind, and vice versa. So what about non-cross-cultural dating situations? What if both participants are millennials born and raised in Taiwan with the same mindset and values as poor Mike’s, would the conversation be absolutely different?
The answer, despite being sad and cruel, is a resounding no, for there is a fatal flaw in confession culture. Take a guy who likes a girl and is ready to confess: the guy needs to bet on all of his luck and risk their friendship to see if she has the same feelings for him and would even likely send the same signals back. If the answer is positive, then he being the winner takes it all; if the girl rejects him, chances are the guy would probably as well lose her as a friend and would die in misery.
The act of confession is based on foolish bravery and the pointless assumption of ‘I think this is going to work’. Instead of encouraging openly expressing one’s feelings to a prospective romantic partner, the act of forcing others to make a choice and promise each other a relationship may further cause frustrations if one of the two is not on the same page as the other. In brief, there’s a big chance that confessing is actually a suicide mission.
Origins of confession culture
Interestingly, this very special phenomenon of confessing in the pursuit of a romantic relationship was never seen here in Taiwan until the late 1980s, and the culture itself was actually imported from Japan.
The Japanese equivalent for the term ‘to confess’ is 告白 (こくはく), which first appeared in Japanese literature in the late 19th century, defined as the action of revealing and explaining one’s true feelings to others in a formal, sincere and solemn way. In the 1980s as various new forms of popular culture flourished, such as light novels (covering teenage romance, sci-fi, history, etc, often printed as lightweight, pocket-sized booklets) and romantic TV dramas, the term ‘to confess’ gradually lost its general meaning and adapted to its modern definition with romantic implications.
Before confession officially became a major cultural influence in Japan, it often appeared in the form of a tense romantic scene in novels and dramas: the protagonist (mostly male) would stand before another person and say, ‘I like you, would you like to be my girlfriend?’ That’s right, cheesy and some may argue, not romantic at all. Besides, unlike the tragic example of Mike, on the telly it was often a great success for the protagonist. Unrealistic as it was, the confession scene was in fact a device utilised to intensify the climax in the story.
However, the millennials in Japan seemed to like what they saw and followed suit in real life. Later, confession culture started to build a firm and concrete foundation in Japan. Then in just a few years, as Japanese TV dramas became popular in Taiwan, confession culture also found a new host. Taiwanese television companies started to produce dramas that imitated the Japanese TV programs. Thereafter, confession culture stayed, thrived and mutated into a diversity of forms.
Unlike the more authentic confession scenes in TV dramas, Mike did not confess to Lauren in person in his failed attempt; instead, he chose to send a text. In fact, there have been lots of funny and interesting confessing methods here in Taiwan such as confessing through love letters or public announcements. Nonetheless, my favourite is definitely a hilarious story provided by a mate, which actually proved that confessing in person never promises you any success:
‘There was this guy who secretly fancied a girl from another class in high school whom he had never talked to, not even through texting. The girl did not know who he was at all, but every single friend of the guy knew he had a crush on her. One day, they hatched a plan for confession. “Make it grand and memorable,” said the guy to his war cabinet. Three days later, the girl was walking down the corridor of a building, suddenly disturbed by some noises downstairs. She realised that the noises were actually some strangers screaming her name. After a few seconds, the knight in shining armour went solo from the crowd and starting singing through a portable PA system. After the free performance that no one asked for, he looked at the girl and said, “Sarah Chen, I like you, would you be my girlfriend?” Everyone around was rooting for the silly guy. Shocked for a moment, she calmly looked down to the guy and simply uttered, “No.” She shook her head hard to make sure that he saw it, and just walked away. The guy stood still. His mind went blank for a some good moments, and he started to weep.’ Personal opinion on this story? Regardless of the efforts made by the guy, she was also just a girl standing in front of a boy, asking him to piss off.
After interviewing 30 Taiwanese pre-millennials (born before 1970) and 30 millennials (born between 1981 and 1996), both male and female, I got some interesting results. Let’s start with the pre-millennial participants:
1. 60% of the pre-millennial participants never heard of confession culture.
2. 40% of the pre-millennial participants have heard of confession culture only because their kids, millennial friends or colleagues mentioned it.
3. 70% of the pre-millennial participants do not understand the logic and meaning of confession culture at all, and are confused by its popularity in Taiwan.
Now let’s take a look at the millennial participants:
- All millennial participants (100%) have heard of confession culture and are familiar with how the act should be done.
2. 70% of the millennial participants claimed that their first memory of confession culture was linked to the Taiwanese TV dramas and later to discussions about relationships on the Internet.
3. 30% of the millennial participants recall that they only knew about confession culture from discussions among the classmates in primary or junior high school.
4. 60% of the millennial participants have been confessed to by someone before.
5. 50% of the millennial participants have been confessed to by more than one person before.
6. 40% of the millennial participants have never been confessed to by anyone before, but would like to be.
7. Over 60% of the millennial participants who have been confessed to have rejected others’ confessions in the past.
8. 90% of the millennial participants confessed to someone before.
9. 80% of the millennial participants confessed to more than one person before.
10. Over 90% of the millennial participants who have confessed to someone before were rejected by others in the past.
11. 90% of the millennial participants have no idea where confession culture comes from.
12. 30% of the millennial participants think that confession culture should be respected and that people should hold on to it.
13. 60% of the millennial participants agree that confession culture is stupid and doesn’t make any sense at all.
You may ask, if the outcome of confessing is extremely unpredictable, why would the Taiwanese end up practicing such a bizarre ritual in the first place? Sadly, the reason behind the popularity of confession culture in Taiwan remains unclear. Even though the statistics show that Taiwanese people are actually aware just how weird confession culture is, it’s likely that it will still stick for a while. However, the results from the interviews also show that people are changing and willing to accept new dating cultures, which shall be unfolded later.
But before we move on, please allow me to give you a light history class.
History behind the Taiwanese values towards love, romance, relationship and marriage
Taiwanese people (exclusive of the indigenous peoples composing about 5% of the Taiwanese population) have inherited multiple cultures over the past four centuries, but traditional Chinese culture still greatly affects the way Taiwanese live.
In that traditional culture, people don’t get to choose whom they shall love or marry. The sole purpose of marriage is to have offspring. In ancient China, people only practiced and believed in arranged marriages. And the concept of romantic love between the married couple was actually learnt and developed after they started to live as a family. People in Taiwan practiced arranged marriages for centuries, and even after the Japanese colonised the island in the late 19th century, the practice remained popular.
In 1911, when the Republic of China seized power campaigns were begun to eliminate old traditions like foot binding, opium, and arranged marriages. Arranged marriages gradually came to an end in China, but since Taiwan was ruled by the Japanese, the custom of arranged marriage stayed. In the beginning of the 20th century, some Taiwan-based Japanese newspapers started to introduce the concept of liberal romantic love to the Taiwanese, but it did not make a great impact.
After the mid 20th century, the KMT government took over Taiwan from the Japanese. Under the martial law announced in 1949, the human rights promised by the Constitution were completely deprived from the people. That meant there was no freedom of speech or freedom of the press. The Taiwanese were ordered to abandon cultural traits that were considered wrong or inappropriate, including the custom of arranged marriage. At last, the centuries-old marital culture was officially gone in Taiwan.
During the Taiwanese White Terror period (1947–1991), students were strictly told to focus only on their studies. Unauthorised extracurricular activities were forbidden; offenders might face severe consequences, from scolding to physical punishment by their parents and teachers, so naturally students never had a chance to develop real romantic relationships before entering adulthood.
During the interviews for my research, a female participant from the pre-millennial group recalled something quite special about what it was like for a student to fall in love back in the White Terror period:
‘When I was in high school, there was a charming boy in the next class. All my friends and I secretly admired him. He always had a radiant smile on his face; he’d play his guitar after class, and all his admirers would gather around him and ask him to sing. However, none of his admirers ever made a move, for they were afraid of being punished if someone found out about their budding love. One day, I passed by the boy’s usual corner for his after hour performances and saw him sitting there alone, crying. I doubted for a moment, but still walked up to him. “Why are you here alone? Where is everyone?” I asked. He heard my voice and was startled. “I’m just sitting here.” He said, wiping his face with his school uniform. “Why are you crying?” I continued. I could tell he was frightened. “No worries, you can trust me. Tell me what happened,’ I said, and I gave him a smile. “The school military training instructors found out that I’m playing here and they smashed my guitar, threatening to tell my parents if I don’t tell them who the people are that come here after…” He couldn’t even finish his sentence and burst into tears. Suddenly, I felt angry and sad, and I sat down next to him. “Don’t be afraid. You’re not alone. And I like your music, very much.” He looked at me, giving me the usual radiant smile. “Thank you,” he said. From that day on, we became best friends. We started to go out on weekends. He would take me to the riverside to look at the stars and sing whilst pretending to play his guitar to me. That was the first time I felt what love might be like; but I never told him my feelings, it was forbidden. Until a month later, I went to school one day only to find that he didn’t come to school, and the next day, and the day after that, and a week later. Not a word. Not a call. I started to get worried that I decided to ask around. From a friend of his I finally found out the truth: he died two weeks before, having been hit by a car on his way to have his smashed guitar repaired. I went to school the next day anyway, but I never felt love again.’
Beginning in the 1960s and 1970s students in Taiwan began to have the chance to study abroad. There they had the access to publications that could not be found in Taiwan during the White Terror period, including literary works, books about Western liberal ideology, politics and more. After their return to Taiwan, apart from the democratic movements that gave rise to the freedom we have today, many started to form underground discussion groups and book clubs talking about Western cultures and values. The idea of free love, relationship and marriage started to make an influence among the Taiwanese.
1987 saw the ending of the martial law era in Taiwan, and more and more once prohibited topics were suddenly free to be discussed publicly. And it was also in the 1980s when Japanese confession culture began, thereafter turning a new leaf for Taiwanese dating culture.
Now that we’re all caught up, let’s resume our journey into bizarre Taiwanese dating culture:
2. The Taiwanese don’t go on dates
Taiwanese people don’t actually go on dates. As a matter of fact, most Taiwanese either don’t understand the definition of dating or do not accept the Western concept of dating. So what do the Taiwanese do if dating is not an option? It’s actually pretty simple, for most Taiwanese millennials, they start to date after the act of confession.
First, the concept of dating is different here. In the West, the development of a classic romantic relationship normally consists of a few phases: meeting, hanging out, going out and officially entering the committed relationship. The term ‘dating’ might fit in the stage where two people start to go out with the mutual understanding that they both like each other. At this stage they might have romantic suppers together, go ice skating and fall over together, and probably spend a lovely afternoon at the beach together. The point is, they start to date with the intention to know each other better whilst knowing that they are both interested in one another.
In my opinion, there is no equivalent for the term ‘dating’ in the Chinese language. The closest word is 約會 ( yue hui), defined as an invited, arranged gathering of people, and its first appearance can be traced back to Chinese literary classics from the 14th century.
In modern Taiwan, especially after the 1990s, with more and more Western films, dramas and books, people started to learn new cultural concepts. However, unlike Japanese confession culture, Western dating culture hasn’t thrived here, not yet. However ridiculous it may sound, to most Taiwanese the concept of dating is unimaginable, for it allows people to try and learn in many ways to see if they are suitable for each other before ‘officially entering a relationship.’ To explain the concept of dating to my fellow Taiwanese friends, I often bring up the test-drive metaphor:
‘Dating is like test-driving a car you like. Why? When you meet someone that you fancy, it’s like you see a nice car in the street. But a car isn’t just about its looks or sound, things like handling, practicality and your link to the car are all equally crucial. And to know all these things you need to take it on a test-drive. That’s when you start dating-to know more about the person, and to see if you two are connected.’
Nevertheless, for most young Taiwanese people, instead of intimacy and passion, the assurance of mutual commitment dominates the foundation of a relationship. To explain this, I shall use the famous Triangular Theory of Love introduced by Dr Robert J. Sternberg from Cornell University:
In Western culture there are phases of relationship development, from two people meeting, both being interested in each other, to the decision to start a relationship together. In traditional Taiwanese culture, before confession there’s pure liking or just being friends; there might be some fantasising of one person for the other, but the sexual desires normally stay in one’s heart. Later, at the moment of confession, all of a sudden there’s commitment. On a graph it moves in the exact opposite direction to that of the Western dating concept. The Taiwanese are asked to be committed even before they really know if they are suitable for each other. Since the belief of ‘You should be committed if you want to be with someone’ stays strong, the concept of dating does not work for most Taiwanese. A mate Kevin made a joke about Western dating and Taiwanese romantic relationships. He said it’s ‘Let’s see if this will work’ versus ‘Let’s try to make this work.’
The results of my interviews suggest that 50% of the millennial participants, with 90% of them being women, cannot accept the idea of dating — they consider a person who doesn’t show commitment to be not worthy at all. The other half of the millennial participants are all willing to try dating in the future, yet don’t know how.
Interestingly, according to my interviews with pre-millennials, mainly in their fifties with plenty of life experience, over 90% of the participants actually approve of the concept of dating. ‘It might sound unacceptable at first, but after knowing how dating really works and its advantages-to know if you are right for each other before it’s too late-I started to like it,’ said a 55-year-old female participant.
The statistics, of course, do not represent the whole Taiwanese population, but I am still relieved that a large portion of society, even including the upper part of the population pyramid, may actually accept the concept of dating and are willing to try something new.
3. Physical contact may be considered the binding promise of a relationship
Traditionally, most Taiwanese do not accept having sex-sometimes even kissing, or holding hands-before officially entering a committed relationship. Some people would probably consider it the beginning of a relationship once the physical intimacy occurred-to some, a symbol of commitment. One may ascribe this overly prudent mindset to the mind control and deprivation of freedom back in the martial law era; in fact, it is the legacy of the ancient Chinese tradition of honouring female chastity.
Promoted by philosophers Cheng Yi (程頤) and Zhu Xi (朱熹) during the Song dynasty (960–1279), chastity was considered the highest virtue for women. A wife was expected to be forever loyal to her husband, even after his death. Remarrying was nearly impossible, especially for widows. It was considered disgraceful to the family of the husband who married a widow. A social trend encouraged widows to join the ‘cult of chastity’, in which widows who remained loyal to their late husbands would be honoured. Shrines and monuments for female chastity were even built to honour widows that achieved martyrdom. Such a moral system continued to exist till the end of the Qing dynasty, and its influence can be found in traditional Taiwanese value towards physical intimacy.
Even in modern Taiwan, two people (mostly heterosexual) having flirtatious physical contact is regarded as taboo, let alone having sexual intercourse before entering an exclusive, committed relationship. This also explains why Taiwanese with traditional Taiwanese values would not easily accept the Western concept of dating-it encourages people to explore and try out, mentally and physically.
From the interviews with the millennial group, over 80% of female participants think it is ‘inappropriate’ to have sex with someone before entering a committed relationship, but kissing, holding hands and other general physical contact is fine once the couple confirm that they both like each other. Over 60% of the female participants think it is ‘wrong’ to have sex or to kiss before entering a committed relationship, but holding hands is fine once they confirm that they both like each other. Only less then 20% of the female participants think it is fine to have physical intimacy before starting the so-called relationship. Surprisingly, even though nearly all of the millennial female participants are against the concept of dating, some of them turn out to support the idea of engaging with other physically before entering a committed relationship. As for the pre-millennial group, 70% of the participants are against having sex before entering a committed relationship, and 30% of them support the idea.
I have heard many cases of fellow student couples that never had sex until the third month or even half a year after they decided to be with each other. And what’s worse, some people even complained that not until after being in a relationship for a while did they realise how different the sexual appetite of their romantic partners was (in plain words, some found their partners bad in bed or not keen to have sex at all).
It would be daft to say that the idea of having sex is overrated in Taiwanese culture, for sex IS important to any healthy romantic relationship. To refer to the Triangular Theory of Love again, whatever stage the two people are at intimacy, passion and commitment should stay balanced during the development of the romantic bond; otherwise their connection with each other will not be mature enough to undergo the ultimate metamorphosis-to become love.
Perceptions of a romantic relationship: Western culture v. Taiwanese culture
How would you define a romantic relationship? Two people who go out and have sex together? Two people who care about each other? Two people who love each other? It’s called a committed relationship for a reason: people involved should commit to one another. The foundation of a relationship should be mutual understanding and liking, rather than starting with an empty promise. Regardless of cultures, one should only start a relationship with the aim, hope, belief and confidence that it will lead somewhere; otherwise they are just wasting each other’s time.
In the West, thanks to dating culture, having sex with someone during dating would be more common than hearing someone say ‘I love you,’ for these three little words carry strong emotional significance-they mean something. And compared to that, sex is just sex. It can be just physical or truly loving, depending on the proportions of carnal desire and intimacy between the two people. But in Taiwan, you can easily hear someone utter those magic words, yet somehow for many people sex turns out to be a unicorn in a forest, a piece of weaponry, or a reward of some extremely exhausting marathon. In modern Taiwan, the importance of physical pleasure, emotional bonds and commitment are rated differently, and even misplaced.
Starting a relationship should not be regarded as a ticket to have sex with someone, but a chance to spend more time with someone you love and care about. And maybe one day a person with whom can create something greater and even share the pleasure of having a family.
Conclusions
If I had to point out one factor that has led to such an eccentric dating culture in Taiwan, it would definitely be the lack of education about love and relationships in school. But with the help of people who care about the mental development of future generations, there’s still a chance that the situation may change. We’ll just have to do our best to see if it turns out well.
As a Taiwanese millennial, I have had confessed to girls that I liked many years ago, and I have had traditional Taiwanese romantic relationships that started with promises; but I have also tried dating and was even lucky enough to have had a relationship following this Western concept. The thing is, I actually don’t think one culture is superior or better than the other, for they are cultures. Like languages and food, there are things that you can only compare but cannot make verdicts about.
I’ve always believed in a line from the romantic comedy No Strings Attached, ‘We don’t pick whom we fall in love with.’ I’m convinced that no matter how different dating cultures may be, whether we consider starting a relationship with someone or not, we should just let love do its work.
References:
Sternberg, Robert J. ‘A triangular theory of love’. Psychological Review Vol 93(2), Apr, 1986. pp. 119–135. American Psychological Association, 1986.
Originally published on Taida Student Journal on 13 April, 2020.
