You open TikTok.

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This is the first video on your “For You” page.

@pinkprincess123377 THIS IS SATIRE PLEASE DO NOT TAKE US SERIOUS but we are too kawaii #kpop #anime #kawaii #viral ♬ original sound - pinkprincess123377

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#Kawaii, #Waifu, #Boba:
Who Is Performing #Asian?

The Split Feeling

You want to laugh because it’s funny.

You also want to look away because it’s a stereotype.

What’s being performed here isn’t just “cuteness,” but what Leslie Bow, author of “Racist Love” and a professor of English and Asian American Studies at the University of Wisconsin, Madison, calls racist cuteness — the enjoyment of racial difference through tenderness. “Cuteness allows viewers to enjoy inequality without guilt. It turns racial difference into a source of pleasure, not conflict.”

In Japanese culture, kawaii (可愛い) means “cute.” On TikTok, those qualities become exaggerated into a recognizable type: big eyes, high voices, submissive gestures. Bow writes that this is how racialized cuteness works. “To be racialized through cuteness is to be both adored and diminished — to experience pleasure and offense in the same frame.”

The audience finds comfort in this tension. “People go online for enjoyment, not to think about politics or discomfort,” says Bow. “Asianness becomes visible primarily when it’s consumable — when it fits within a framework of pleasure.”

Returning to the video, a question remains:
Do viewers recognize that this racial performance is filled with stereotypes?

As shown in the chart below, the top 200 most-liked comments fall into several categories:

Only 13.5% of comments identified the video as stereotypical or problematic. These users wrote things like:

@User_1 The image of us Japanese girls is so bad lol I can't go abroad.
@User_2 The stereotypes about Japanese people are so terrible it’s painful.
@User_3 I hate the way ‘kawaii’ is recognized as this weird, cuz we use this commonly 😭😭.
@User_4 NOT K-pop. (The creator added the #kpop tag below the video.)

The vast majority, however, either praised the video or treated it as harmless humor— showing how easily racialized mimicry can be misread as entertainment.

For Asian viewers, watching these videos can be an uncomfortable experience:

Mika

“The video makes me really uncomfortable and makes me cringe. This type of trend has never really appealed to me, especially as someone who is half Japanese. These trends often portray Asian cultures as weird and the point is to be cringe. The stereotyping makes me cringe every time — I’m never angered by it but just more disappointed in how Japanese culture is always presented.”

Joy

“It was very cringe - y, but the girls in the video were not serious, and the video was made to satirize people who really do act like that. I think that ‘anime - style behavior’ and certain makeup looks are okay, but some looks definitely cross the line into ‘Asian - fishing’ or yellowface, and accents are almost always offensive to me if they’re done in a mocking manner.”

Shuangshi

“You know when your parents use ‘cool’ or ‘hip’ words or subjects? Or a teacher tries to add memes into class? That distinct flavor of cringe — second-hand embarrassment? Feeling sort of like that.”

Together, these reactions reveal the emotional gray zone - “the paradox of racial love.”

It’s the uneasy pleasure of seeing your own culture reflected — and distorted — at the same time. Most viewers, however, don’t share that discomfort. This phenomenon extends even further under the next tag: #Waifu.

From #Kawaii to #Waifu

When Innocence Turns Into Desire.

“People think of cuteness as innocent and eroticism as an adult,” explains Bow, “but they’re on a continuum of feeling. Both involve attraction, vulnerability, and power.”

The word “waifu” — borrowed from the Japanese pronunciation of “wife” — originated in anime fandoms, where fans affectionately referred to their favorite female characters as imaginary partners.

On TikTok, though, waifu no longer refers to fantasy characters but to real people who imitate them — turning kawaii gestures into something flirtatious, even erotic.

From the popular waifu videos, I selected ten well - liked videos. Eight of the ten creators are non - Asian, yet the performances rely on exaggerated “Asian - coded” behaviors. Nearly all of the videos feature either infantilization or sexualization, revealing how the “cute” body becomes a global shorthand for submissive desire.

The phenomenon of white creators performing “Asian - coded” behavior to gain attention is not a niche occurrence. Two of the three Asian interviewees—both women—expressed similar feelings toward these trends:

"These trends are definitely not new,” says Mika Collins, who has been using TikTok since 2019. “The trend of apologizing like a Japanese person or bringing Japanese culture is always on my feed lately. What’s common in these trends is using common phrases or actions in media and anime that aren’t actually considered adorable or funny in Japan.” Mika sees this trend’s roots coming from misreading anime. “It makes me sad how normal things in Asian cultures get portrayed as weird, and western audiences make that concept their view on Asia.” But Mika does see some upside to social media. “TikTok has helped a lot of people understand why these stereotypes are bad and take a peek into real representations of Asian cultures."

"Something that I have noticed recently about the representation of Asian women on TikTok is that if they are actively in a relationship with a white person,” says Joy Ye, a linguistics student, who has long been following Asian content on TikTok, “they are always labeled “self - hating Asians,” usually by people outside of the community.” Joy delivered a spot - on summary of Asian stereotypes on TikTok. “Some stereotypes I’ve seen include: Asian people are good at math, international Asian students are all rich and stuck up, Asians are always going to raves and getting boba, East Asians are all attractive, South Asians are stinky, East Asians are always rich.” Finally, she pointed out the two stereotypes she found most unbearable. “I don’t think anyone’s accent while speaking a foreign language should be mocked, and Asian - fishing is offensive because it essentializes Asian features and usually fetishizes Asian girls."

As Bow reminds us, kawaii has never been purely innocent. “Cuteness lends racist caricatures a ‘cute’ shape explicitly designed to inspire feelings of affection,” Bow writes. The waifu figure extends kawaii’s logic: what once softened hierarchy through childlike charm now sexualizes it.

“A lot of these trends repeat a longstanding desire in Western culture to discover mystical ‘Asian beauty secrets,’” says Erica Kanesaka, professor of Asian American Studies at Emory University whose work was inspired by Bow’s “Racist Love.” “These trends can reinforce the positioning of Asian women as ornamental objects.”

On TikTok, this dynamic plays out in real time: “cute” Asian bodies circulate as happy objects — rewarded through likes and loops.

This leads to the next question:
What kinds of Asian identities become visible when the algorithm favors what feels soft, safe, and consumable?

Matcha and Boba vs. Math and Dog-Meat

Two Sides of Algorithmic Asianness

On TikTok, “Asian” identity splits in two directions.

One side is matcha - green, soft, and sellable — aestheticized through filters, boba cups, and Labubu dolls.

The other side is math - gray, coded by stereotypes of strict parents, small eyes, and “dog - meat” jokes.

Both circulate through the same algorithmic loops — one beautified, the other vilified.

TikTok’s “kawaii capitalism” converts cultural symbols into algorithmic assets. But the same algorithm also amplifies another kind of Asianness — one shaped by ridicule and repetition.

In my examination of 30 viral videos, keywords like “strict Asian mom,” “good at math,” and “started COVID” appear frequently. Even when created by Asians themselves, these clips perform self - mockery that the algorithm finds profitable.

But some argue that what appears to be self-mockery serves a different purpose. “Many Asian American feminist and queer communities embrace kawaii aesthetics in digital spaces,” says Kanesaka. “This is a way of reclaiming cuteness and using it to imagine new modes of political resistance.”

“Algorithms are not just a mirror,” said Claudiu Gabriel Ionescu, lecturer and Psychiatrist at Carol Davila University of Medicine and Pharmacy in Bucharest. “They reflect, but they also modify. Think of it like reading the news—it can change your view of the world. Algorithms can slowly influence how users interpret themselves.”

“People like to be seen,” explains Ionescu “When the algorithm amplifies a certain type of performance — say, one that fits a popular stereotype — the user gets likes, comments, visibility. That external validation produces pleasure. Even if the representation is shallow or stereotypical, it feels rewarding because it’s socially reinforced. It’s like classical conditioning — the brain associates that performance with approval.”

Is this trend reversible in the future? "I’m both hopeful and cautious," Ionescu says. "I hope that through research and awareness programs, young people will learn to understand these mechanisms. Awareness is key. When users realize how their emotions and attention are being shaped, they can use social media more consciously."

Bow flashed a confident smile considering the same question. "I’m actually quite hopeful," she says. " I think this generation of creators is extremely savvy. They understand irony, and they use humor to push back.“

“I recently saw a K - pop group responding to people who complimented their English,” says Bow. “Each member responded, 'I’m Australian,' 'I’m Canadian,' 'I’m from New Jersey.' It’s funny, but it also exposes assumptions about who counts as Asian or foreign.

"These creators know they’re addressing an audience that’s ready to be challenged." On this point, she was unwavering."So yes, counter-narratives can reshape the image of Asianness, especially when they come from within the community."

“Asian” becomes a style, a vibe, a loopable aesthetic — rewarded when it’s cute, punished when it’s critical. In this way, algorithmic Asianness isn’t simply how we are seen. It’s how the machine teaches us to see ourselves.

Produced by candidates for the MS degree in the Media Innovation & Data Communication program at the Northeastern University School of Journalism. © 2025