Cottagecore and Compromise in Asian Relationships
Commodifying the Asian American experience is nothing new, but it’s time to find greater nuance in how we see ourselves beyond passivity.
Written by Raymond Lam
Illustrated by Nevika Chatterjee
Cottagecore’s rise to prominence in 2020 was spontaneous and unexpected, to say the least, perhaps because its initial popularity is quite difficult to pin down. For the most part, cottagecore crops up online as an 1860s aesthetic rehash of now-defunct Tumblr moodboards of years past. Just about anything vaguely in the spirit of cottage gardens, homesteading (nevermind the colonialist leanings), and ruralist fantasies of escaping modern life works. Simply put, the goal is to be as quaint as possible.
Perhaps it is so poorly apt, then, that the disruptive Japanese American rock artist Mitski has become a figurehead of the cottagecore movement. The indie darling has gone from an unknown you-should-totally-listen-to-this-band Brooklynite to the artist of choice for NPR interns, indie contemporaries, cartoon vampires, and her legions of new cottagecore fans, propelled primarily by TikTok-driven hit “Strawberry Blond” seven years after its initial release.
Still, her popularity didn’t occur overnight: a composition major’s ear paired with poetic but not-too-pompous writing about being done with life’s whims has let Mitski deal with all manner of alt fans, indie purists, and lonely teens alike. Particularly of note are the Asian underpinnings of much of her discography, often highlighting incompatibility between culturally-disparate lovers. “Your Best American Girl” sees Mitski reconciling with an American love interest’s upbringing (“Your mother wouldn’t approve of how my mother raised me / But I do, I think I do”), while “Strawberry Blond”’s unrequited crush hides more subtle sentiments (“So I follow the white lines / Follow the white lines”).
Artists aiming for an air of mystery often leave much of their work unexplained and up to the imagination, so it’s shortsighted to pretend that Genius annotations are the end-all-be-all to what a song means. The strange part is the amorphous forms that rather solemn songs like “Strawberry Blond” have taken, relaying it into rather unrelated cottagecore aesthetics: Are they singing about Asian undesirability? Unrequited love towards a “strawberry blond?” Alluding towards an oh-so-fashionable strawberry dress? Or perhaps about a strawberry cow?
Critics are quick to point out the irony of rather homogenous spaces (including so-called ‘gay TikTok’) turning a song about wishing away ethnic identity to escapist fantasies of flowers, flowy dresses, and settling into the countryside (and strawberry cows). The natural response from some Mitski fans was to gatekeep the song, making sure its ‘correct’ interpretation would remain in the pop culture canon. It’s not often that Asian American artists show up in music, let alone those who focus on cultural conflict they experience as minorities. Perhaps the defensiveness in defending Mitski comes from her music on the fragility of Asian identity, which itself is ever in need of justification to both ourselves (Did your parents teach you how to speak tiếng Việt?) and Western society. Cultural currency in younger generations rests on our devoutness to our original traditions and languages, but what happens when we don’t meet abstract standards of Asianness or Americanness is largely left unspoken.
But defending the integrity of artists’ identity may very well be a moot point: Keeping these artists tied to Asianness isn’t quite the proper approach either, as it still ultimately casts them in the typical commodifiable, anonymous passivity they’ve been in for ages. It’s especially telling when a big show is made of ‘groundbreaking’ deviations from the general expectations of being quiet, passive, and foreign to American culture and music. In a 2019 interview with Billboard, Mitski reiterates a frustration towards political perceptions of her music in opposition with her artistry: “I’m going to keep being a musician for as long as people let me, so by the time I put out seven or eight albums, maybe people will realize I’m not putting out music because I’m Asian.”
As recently as 1968, activist Yuji Ichiokia coined the label Asian American. University students’ political organizations used the term in an attempt to unite linguistically and ethnically diverse groups normally viewed as an obedient mass in American society that can’t distinguish one diaspora from another — much less as individuals. The Asian American identity serves as a messy compromise, smoothing over individual cultural quirks and traditions in favor of community-wide phenomena and perceptions. The ability to discuss Asian American experiences in totality has become a social necessity, both in opposing hate and thwarting assumptions made on our behalf.
However, simple interpretations and bite-sized hot takes of a single artist’s music don’t represent the scope of their experiences, nevermind the diverse experiences of people of color. Anyone can relate to wanting and being wanted, but it’s worth letting Asian artists express a more multidimensional self beyond their identities.
In a 2018 interview with NPR ahead of Be The Cowboy’s release, Mitski embraces her multitudes, a departure from the more passive nature of her past work: “When I say cowboy, I'm talking about the Marlboro myth of a cowboy — the very strong, white male identity. And so as an Asian woman, I sometimes feel I need to tap into that to achieve things that maybe I don't believe I can achieve.”
Perhaps taking Asian stories simply as they are is best.