My coming out as a kink enthusiast began with an Instagram post: a video of me, tied shibari style, struggling with my constraints. It was a raw, unfiltered and gently pornographic expression of my BDSM lifestyle.
The reaction was mixed — I got admiration, shock and even suggestions on how to monetise the video. It might have seemed like a reckless unveiling to my peers and family, especially as an Ivy League-trained Chinese American journalist who spent her 20s fighting for a career in a notoriously competitive industry. “Why would a woman with so much privilege risk her reputation for this?” some of them wondered.
It’s because I was tired. I’d spent my 20s curating and maintaining a facade of the type of “perfection” that kept me in a constant state of anxiety. I was determined to start my 30s with a new type of confidence. If I can’t have fun now, then when?
That video changed my life. It was my “fuck you” to the unspoken rules imposed on Asian American women — to conform and remain palatable, especially to the white gaze. Coming out as a kinkster was also my rebellion against the “model minority” myth that I remain a quiet, harmless and conventional Chinese girl. Tired of keeping my head down, I wanted to exercise my expression of ethnicity, queerness and kink unapologetically.
Riding the high of self-celebration, I launched a media consulting agency for the adult industry and shared more free BDSM content online. I didn’t intend to become an adult performer; I just wanted to celebrate the body I’d worked so hard for with the world because, for the first time in my life, I felt genuinely beautiful, powerful and sexy. And with that newfound perspective, I began organising kink events centring the Asian American and Pacific Islander community.
In the past, I found most kink and play parties through word-of-mouth advertising, friend referrals and Instagram. Many promoters championed these events as diverse havens for progressive sexual exploration among people of all sexualities, ethnicities and genders. To my disappointment, however, my experiences in supposedly “diverse” kink spaces were often isolating and demoralising. I was frequently one of the few Asian people in the space.
I experienced interactions that ranged from disrespectful and racist under-the-breath remarks to being handled as an exotic novelty by non-Asian attendees. They’d often reduce me to antiquated stereotypes (if one more white person asks if I’ve watched “Kill Bill,” I will scream) or a vehicle in which to fulfil their fantasies. And when they learned that I lean submissive in most of my BDSM dynamics, it got even worse.
It didn’t matter if these were private house parties or large-scale kink parties; the vibe was always the same. My acceptance as an Asian woman was conditional — either I be the walking fetish for white people, or I erase my Asianness and assimilate.
And so I decided that if there wasn’t a space for Asian kinksters to feel at home, then I’d create my own: a space where we can be our genuine kinky, deviant and fabulous selves. Together, we’d explore our sexuality without the constraint of stereotypes or the oppressive gaze from outside the community. My ultimate aim was to build intentional spaces where our racial and sexual identities are openly celebrated and respected. It’s about reclaiming our sexuality by tearing down the submissive stereotype forcibly imposed on Asian women.
The first event I threw, in the fall of last year, was called “Fever” — a cheeky nod to the racial fetish “yellow fever,” which refers to non-Asian people who fetishise Asians. The subversiveness was empowering to me, and I was inspired by the way other marginalised groups reclaimed words that were traditionally associated with racism, homophobia and sexism.
Also, when I think of the word “fever,” I imagine a rising body heat that permeates every inch of me, filling my mind with delirious hazes and dreams that can be mesmerisingly otherworldly — and that’s what I wanted this event to embody. I’d feature Asian performers, partner with AAPI-owned businesses, and play music from all over the diaspora. I’d create an experience so undeniably ours that it’d keep racists far away. And of course, I’d invite as many AAPI kinksters as I could.
And it came to fruition. We had a live shibari demonstration and a burlesque performance, too. Afterward, I got Instagram messages filled with joy and gratitude that moved me to keep going, even though it was challenging. To facilitate these events, I tapped into my savings to make sure my performers were paid and I could run ads on social media.
My real friends and community members are continually instrumental to the cause, volunteering their time and resources to support my endeavour. I’ll eventually (hopefully) make some profit from throwing these parties, but for now I’m fuelled by the rush of knowing that I made some Asian kinksters in New York City feel welcome in a normally exclusionary community.
In the future, I envision rooms packed to the brim with Asian kinksters of all ethnicities, backgrounds, nationalities, sexualities and, of course, kinks. I want Asian Americans mingling with Asian expats and lifestyle kinksters mingling with professional doms and dominatrixes — everyone being able to fully share their interests without some creep coming up and saying “my ex-girlfriend was Asian too” or “I just love Asians.” In my new world, those people can kindly fuck off.
Of course, it might take a while to gather my people. After all, it’s still taboo for many of us to explore our sexuality and intimate identities. But I’m committed to helping change that. If I could find sexual liberation and happiness by embracing my kinks, then I know that there are others like me out there, waiting to be both tied up and freed all at once.