“Wait, she looks like me!”
It’s that sudden spark of recognition, the kind that makes you sit up a little straighter, eyes glued to the screen. Most people know the feeling: catching a glimpse of someone in a story who shares your features, your background, your existence. It’s a small moment, but it lingers. For me, growing up as a Filipina American, those moments didn’t come often, but that rarity made them unforgettable.
Now more than ever, those moments aren’t so rare. Asian American representation has steadily moved from the sidelines to center stage with music from artists such as Olivia Rodrigo, BTS and BLACKPINK blasting through our headphones, to blockbuster and streaming hits like “Crazy Rich Asians”, “Joy Ride” and “Always Be My Maybe.”
A big part of this shift comes from storytellers reshaping what and who we see on screen. Creators like New York Times Best-Selling Author Jenny Han have brought Asian American characters into the spotlight, not as side roles, but as leads with full, messy, joyful lives. From Cousins Beach to the suburbs of Portland, Oregon and all the way to the Korean Independent School of Seoul in South Korea, her projects have reached a new generation of viewers at exactly the right time.
What makes Han’s impact stand out is how natural her storytelling feels. Her characters don’t exist solely to represent their culture, which is something many past projects have reduced them to through typecasting. Instead, her characters are allowed to simply be complex, emotional, imperfect and real. They fall in love, argue with their families, make mistakes and figure out who they are.
In “The Summer I Turned Pretty,” audiences follow Belly as she navigates the gray area between childhood and adulthood — experiencing first love, heartbreak, shifting friendships and the quiet pressure of growing up and being seen differently by the people around her. The story captures those in-between moments: summer traditions that begin to change, relationships that no longer feel simple and the realization that growing up means leaving parts of yourself behind.
In “XO, Kitty,” viewers dive into Kitty’s own journey as she moves across the world to attend the Korean Independent School of Seoul, hoping to reconnect with her late mother’s past while chasing her own ideas of love. Instead, she’s met with culture shock, identity confusion and the challenge of fitting into a place that is both deeply familiar and completely new. Through language barriers, social dynamics and unexpected relationships, Kitty begins to question what it really means to belong and finds her “family” away from her sisters and her dad.
The stories of Belly and Kitty resonate because they reflect real, specific experiences, such as navigating family expectations, cultural identity and personal growth. This especially relates to a lot of people in the United States who grew up between different cultures, where “home” isn’t always just one place.
Her earlier work, especially the “To All the Boys” series, also helped pave the way for this moment. Seeing Lana Condor as Lara Jean wasn’t just refreshing, but it was groundbreaking for many young viewers who had never seen themselves as the romantic lead. At a time when Asian American characters were often sidelined or defined by stereotypes, Lara Jean existed at the center of her own story: she was soft, awkward, emotional and deeply relatable.
And now, with her return to that role in the recently released season 3 of “XO, Kitty,” Han’s storytelling universe feels connected in a way that rewards longtime fans while welcoming new ones. It’s more than just a cameo — it’s the continuation of a legacy.
Jenny Han’s work proves that representation doesn’t have to be loud to be meaningful, but can be found in quiet, everyday moments. From the awkward conversations between Kitty’s matchmaking attempts, first loves — our forever heartthrob Conrad Fisher — to the self-discovery of Lara Jean chasing her dream to go to NYU. By placing Asian American characters at the center of these universal experiences, she challenges the idea that their stories are niche or secondary. Instead, she shows that they are just as worthy of attention, empathy and celebration as anyone else.
For viewers like me, that shift means everything. It means no longer having to search so hard for a reflection of ourselves. It means growing up in a world where seeing someone who looks like you, lives like you or feels like you isn’t rare but normal. For the next generations to come, it means those moments of recognition won’t be surprises — they will be expectations for not just the Asian American community but for all.
Because of creators like Han, the question is no longer “Will I see myself in this story?” but rather “How will my story be told next?”