If you’ve spent any time scrolling through TikTok, you’ve probably stumbled across the highly curated, glittering world of Southern California’s Asian scene — the infamous ABGs (Asian Baby Girls), college TikTokers, and lifestyle influencers. The bright makeup, the “cool” persona, the perfectly posed group shots. Ahh also don’t forget Boba drinks as identity markers, baggy denim paired with Essentials hoodies, dragon tattoos symbolizing rebellion, and an unspoken rule to either play Valorant or know someone who does—it’s a scene painted with broad, often reductive strokes. But here’s the thing: beneath all the likes and follows, this “SoCal Asian” aesthetic is built on a set of stereotypes that are more harmful than they seem. It’s a carefully constructed image that doesn’t just misrepresent our community but also holds us back from truly embracing our diverse identities.
As someone who grew up in a community where TikTok’s version of “Asian excellence” was everywhere, I can’t help but feel vulnerable when I think about how this narrative has shaped my own experiences. When you’re constantly bombarded with an image of what it means to be Asian, it starts to feel like you have no choice but to fit into this narrow box. But the pressure to conform is toxic. And honestly, it’s hard not to let it influence big decisions — like where you choose to go to college.
I’m talking about my decision to apply to UCI (University of California, Irvine), a school that often pops up on the radar of SoCal Asians. When I think back to the reasons I applied, a part of it was because UCI was branded as the “Asian” school. And why? Because of its sizable Asian population, its Asian student organizations, and yes, the social media presence of ABGs that I’d seen plastered all over TikTok. The allure of being in a place where I wouldn’t be “the only Asian” felt like a way to finally fit in. But looking back, it also felt like a way to align myself with this shallow vision of what it means to be Asian in the United States.
This push for conformity in the SoCal Asian community, amplified on platforms like TikTok, creates a distorted image that makes us believe we have to act, look, and think a certain way. And while it might seem harmless at first, this culture of curated, overly glossy identities often turns into a dangerous game of comparison and shame. The “ABG” stereotype — the girl who is effortlessly stylish, “badass,” and perpetually Instagram-ready — can make anyone who doesn’t conform to this look feel like they don’t belong. And it’s not just about the ABG stereotype. It’s about how the SoCal Asian “aesthetic” translates into a value system that is toxic.
For a long time, I didn’t realize how deeply ingrained this pressure was. TikTok’s algorithm feeds us these exaggerated, polished images, and suddenly, every part of our life feels like it should be performative. But the reality is that not everyone can or wants to participate in this version of “Asian greatness.” There’s more to our community than just being a product of privilege or, worse, a product of immigrant struggle. The truth is, SoCal Asians often don’t have to try as hard as others because they’re not navigating the complexities of being a first-generation immigrant. They’ve never had to fight to be seen in spaces where their existence wasn’t understood. For many, the privilege comes from not having to carry the weight of the immigrant experience on their shoulders.
In the NBC News article “Asian Americans on TikTok and the SoCal Asian Superiority Complex,” this is laid out clearly — the cultural distinctions between first-generation Asian Americans and their second or third-generation counterparts can be stark. Southern California’s Asian population, often more assimilated, can sometimes hold an unspoken sense of superiority over their immigrant counterparts. That sense of privilege allows them to skate by in spaces that others have to work twice as hard to enter. Yet, TikTok’s portrayal of SoCal Asians, with its polished, almost uniform standards, reinforces the stereotype that this is the way all Asian people should be.
But it’s time we talk about how pushing conformity like this does nothing but limit us. It makes us believe that our worth is tied to an image — one that we can never truly measure up to. It tells us that our Asian identity must be “chic,” “cool,” and “effortless,” instead of embracing the multifaceted, real struggles of what it means to be Asian in America.
What’s even more damaging is how this feeds into a cycle of low self-esteem for anyone who doesn’t fit that mold. How many times have I caught myself comparing my quiet, studious demeanor or my more traditional upbringing to the loud, outgoing personalities that dominate SoCal TikTok? How many times did I feel like I wasn’t “Asian enough” to fit in?
It’s time to acknowledge that the image of the SoCal Asian on TikTok is not the full picture. It’s a snapshot of a specific group within a much larger, incredibly diverse community. It’s important to understand that not all Asian experiences are the same. Not all of us have the luxury of growing up in a community where being “Asian” is considered cool, trendy, or privileged. And more importantly, we don’t need to conform to a standard to be valuable members of our own communities.
The solution isn’t to abandon SoCal TikTok altogether but to challenge the narratives it perpetuates. As a community, we need to celebrate the diversity within Asian identities. There’s no one right way to be Asian. Whether you’re into Keshi or country music, whether you’re rocking baggy denim or thrifted finds, your identity is valid and worthy of recognition.
It’s also essential to acknowledge privilege and dismantle the hierarchies within our community. SoCal Asians need to understand how their upbringing—often free from the harsh realities of immigrant life—gives them advantages that others don’t have. With this understanding comes the responsibility to use that privilege to uplift others rather than enforce conformity.
Choosing colleges or making life decisions based on TikTok trends? That’s something we need to rethink. Because the reality is, those trends don’t capture our full experiences. Our value isn’t found in a curated image or an algorithm that perpetuates stereotypes. It’s found in the spaces where we can show up authentically, without pretending to be someone we’re not.
Looking back, I realize how much of my life has been shaped by the desire to fit into these pre-packaged molds. I’ve applied to colleges for the wrong reasons, curated my playlists to align with trends, and even questioned my identity when I didn’t measure up to the SoCal standard. But I’m learning to let go of that.
We’re a community of storytellers, dreamers, and trailblazers. Let’s stop narrowing the narrative and start embracing the full spectrum of what it means to be Asian. Because at the end of the day, we’re so much more than boba and Valorant.
So, here’s to dismantling the toxicity of SoCal TikTok’s image of the Asian community, and embracing a more inclusive, authentic narrative that reflects the true diversity within our cultures.
It’s time for us to redefine what it means to be Asian — not based on TikTok standards, but on our terms.
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