I don’t know why, but I’ve always found myself drawn to white men more often than not.
Maybe it’s the fact that the British boys make a damn good English Breakfast, or that the American guys are fun as heck to hang out with. I mean, beer pong is literally a competitive sport for some of them. And as for the French men… I don’t think anything beats that accent.
It’s not that I think Asian men are unattractive. Some of them genuinely are—Sen Mitsuji, David Henney, or even Joji from 88rising. But the truth is I almost never get hit on by Asian guys.
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I’ve tried to analyse my situation from every angle, trying to figure out why I can’t seem to attract a man of my own race. Maybe it’s because I have too many opinions or the fact that I roll my eyes too much. Or maybe I talk about my sexual experiences too candidly.
My ex-boyfriend was Singaporean (Chinese Filipino), but he had a baritone voice and spoke in a British accent. And before that, I dated a Taiwanese guy, who had what would constitute a beard, but I think it was maybe like seven strands of hair on his chin.
What they both had in common was that they had both gone overseas for a long period of time. Maybe that’s what I’m attracted to—not whiteness, but worldliness.
Of course, there are the local girls that like older white men because of the things they can provide—weekend villa stays in Bali and expensive handbags. Not to mention, older men tend to make better lovers because they have had more experience.
Some friends that date exclusively white men tell me that they are more financially stable, especially those that are on expat packages in Singapore.
They’re also someone you can show off to your friends about: look, I’ve got an older white man to pay attention to me. Yes, it’s flattering. He looks like Richard Gere, and he could have anyone he wanted, but he chose you.
Although I don’t think most girls think about it like that. I think I can say safely on behalf of the many other women that date white guys that race is only a small part of it.
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In the words of American actress and stand-up comedienne Ali Wong, really, nothing makes you feel more picturesque than when you’re with a white dude. It’s an age-old concept—of colonisation, of Asian women being in higher social standing when they get with a white man.
Look at Madame Butterfly, or Miss Saigon, or even Memoirs of a Geisha.
They all end the same. Asian women, abandoned by their white lovers, kill themselves. Asian women, fetishised. Asian women, the ever-loving, ever-faithful lover to their European or American counterparts.
Or maybe it’s unresolved “daddy issues”. My mother put Pretty Woman on repeat when I was a child—maybe I’ve internalised this aspect of Hollywood films.
That a woman, in my case, an Asian woman, needs an older, wealthier, white man to save her from herself.
All of this makes it so, so, so easy to find a white guy to date.
I was born in China, where I spent the first seven years of my life. Then my family uprooted itself and moved to Singapore. And though I’ve lived here for more than half my life now, I would not call Singapore home.
Maybe that’s what binds me to men from a different culture; we’re both in unfamiliar territory. There’s a sense of camaraderie, of understanding, and of empathy.
I would love to date someone that would understand the cultural nuances of my Chinese culture; someone who doesn’t think it’s ridiculous that we give our friends red packets for getting married, or having children. Someone who will enjoy a good plate of chicken’s feet with me.
But I find it more important that this person must be able to understand my obsession with obscure French art house films. He should enjoy listening to old English punk bands. He should be able to catch the offbeat references I make to literature; J.G. Ballard, Nabokov, Neil Gaiman.
He could be anyone, really. I just want someone who understands me. And my someone just happens to be a guy that grew up in the West.
This article was first published on 8 October 2018 and last updated on 14 March 2024.
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