![]() ![]() For those of us who never see ourselves onscreen, Rose and Paige Tico were a revelation. I didn’t realize how much it meant to have an Asian-American heroine – two in one film! – until we had one. ![]() That reaction was even stronger when my boyfriend gifted me both Rose and Paige. Someone posted a photo of the Rose Tico action figure on Twitter and I couldn’t explain why I was sobbing in front of my computer. I never fit in my blue collar suburb and learned early that crying only gives bullies more ammunition. I’ve already mentioned how I don’t cry in front of people. I look at Mulan now and she’s clearly beautiful. Why had Disney made its only Asian princess ugly? I wanted to love the film, but I hated Mulan’s round face. I hated Mulan’s character design when I was younger. In school, bullies used to tell me that my face looked like it got run over by a semi when we shone bright lights on everyone’s faces and traced their shadows in class, mine was the flattest. The only toy I had that looked like me came directly from Asia. ![]() One of my favorite toys, she was a gift from a family friend or relative who lived in Asia. She even came with a British passport (Hong Kong was still under British rule at the time). Naming issues aside, she was beautiful, an elaborate Cabbage Patch Kids cousin direct from Hong Kong with an embroidered red satin jacket and pants. I had exactly one doll that looked like me: a Rice Paddy Baby. (Culturally, the groups are quite different.) Where I grew up, I was the only Asian in my elementary school until my brother started class. Where I was born, I am the majority – the country is 80% ethnically Chinese – and we draw distinctions between Chinese people from mainland China, Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Singapore. I moved to Michigan when I was five, going from Singapore, a densely-packed city-state with a melting pot of Chinese, British, Thai, Indian, Japanese, and Malaysian influences, to a Midwestern suburb where we joked that people who moved 40 minutes away were escapees. Rose might not have been the hero I thought I wanted, but she’s the hero we need. ![]() I wanted someone who conformed to my Hollywood-dominated ideals of beauty and strength, someone glamorous, someone who looked the part of a movie star. I have a confession to make: When I first saw promo stills of Rose Tico, I was disappointed. But my hero was Luke, the ordinary teenager who saved the galaxy. My friends decided I was Princess Leia, the character I most resembled (I’ve always understood the concept of a self-rescuing princess). When I graduated from high school, I’d read every Star Wars novel in publication save two. When I thought prom was going to be the same day as the opening of Episode I (the first new Star Wars film in 16 years, and the first I’d be able to see in the theater), I planned to skip prom and head to the movies instead. Back in the days of Compuserve, I played Star Wars trivia in chat rooms and cursed the slow dial-up connection when I was the first one to type my answer – only to have it show up well after another response. Star Wars has been a part of my life as long as I can remember. In fact, it’s been absolute policy since I was in second grade and teased on the playground that I don’t cry in front of people. My boyfriend bought me two action figures for Christmas. This post was guest-edited for The Bias by Michi Trota. ![]()
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