The Enduring Popularity of Boba — and What This Sweet Treat Means to Asian Americans

This article is part of Mochi’s fall 2024 issue on Resilience, redefined as “finding agency in adversity and fighting for radical change.” We highlight the strength of individuals and communities and their courage in dismantling systems of injustice. Our hope is that you will feel the strength pulsing through these stories and that you also are inspired to pair resilience with actions that lead to real, necessary, and revolutionary change.

Mango green tea, regular ice, 30% sugar, with — most importantly — boba. More than just my classic order, during the past few months, it became almost a mantra. Throughout a grueling spring semester, I drew motivation from an unexpected source: the boba I bought myself after work every Friday. Often, this became the highlight of my week. Some days a friend accompanied me; other times, I frequented Tea-Do or Boba King alone. Either way, the effects were clear. After the first sip, my tension dissipated. A rush of happiness — sometimes the first I’d felt in days — permeated my body, the tangy flavor of mango dancing on my tongue. Even the simple act of carrying my drink across campus, sipping intermittently — trying to savor each pearl’s subtle sweetness — was a transformative one. Every face I passed belonged no longer to an impassive stranger, but a potential friend, linked to me by the cup in my hand.

I am immensely grateful for the privilege to be able to treat myself in this way, as the price of even the cheapest boba is an unjustifiable expense for many. Still, in recent years, its prevalence in America has only seemed to increase.

A brief history of boba, also known as bubble tea, reveals its origins in Taiwan. While its roots trace back to the development of shou yao during WWII, the drink assumed its current form in the late 1980s, when two different tea houses — Chun Shui Tang and Hanlin Tea Room — claim to have concurrently invented it by adding black tapioca balls to milk tea (the dispute over the “true” innovator still remains to be unsettled). Since then, boba has spread worldwide to areas with significant Asian populations. The options, too, expanded, from the classic milk tea to fruit tea and brown sugar boba, often featuring a range of customizable options and choices. Although this sweet treat only recently entered the American mainstream, it has enjoyed consistent popularity among Asians and Asian Americans for decades — with good reason.

While not exactly scientific, my firsthand experience (and that of many of my friends) points to boba as a reliable source of stress relief and social connection. The high sugar content (although not always the healthiest) can immediately boost one’s mood, while my mother theorizes that munching on firm, chewy pearls releases the body’s built-up tension. When consumed alone, these benefits may fade soon after the last sip — yet boba can also facilitate bonding within a community, providing longer-lasting perks. In many East Asian American spaces, the question “What’s your go-to boba order?” has become a classic line, breaking down barriers and inviting connection (or a friendly debate over the ideal percentage of sugar). Furthermore, drinking boba is often a social event, enjoyed with friends or a date. The Fung Brothers’ viral 2013 music video “Bobalife” depicts young, stylish Asians sipping boba on the go or catching up at a sit-down tea house after work, a practice that has continued in the decade since the song’s release. For many Asian Americans, boba is more than just a drink. It is an essential way to combat loneliness in an increasingly isolating world, drawing us closer to others like ourselves.

Of course, to claim that boba alone can transcend cultural boundaries would be reductive, since not every Asian American grew up with or enjoys the drink. As Mochi staff writer Kristin Lee points out, boba is primarily an East Asian phenomenon, one that fails to unite the vast diversity that exists within Asian America. Having traveled from Iowa to the East Coast for college, she was unfamiliar with boba, sharing that it “made [her] feel like an outsider.” Being Asian or Asian American does not guarantee some sort of genetic affinity for boba; to suggest such a thing would veer into racist stereotyping that Asians have fought so long against.

Still, for many (though not all), boba’s influence on the ability to forge new friendships and strengthen existing ones remains potent. Sarah Jinee Park, Mochi’s Our Voices editor, recalls DMing her Asian American coworkers “at least once a month” to order a massive delivery of boba, a delicious way of bonding “in an otherwise super white space.” Likewise, Melody Ip, Mochi’s copy chief, describes her cousins’ love of boba as “one thing that we all have in common.” She mentions that “connecting with [her] much younger cousins can be tough” — but whenever her family gathers in town for a holiday or special occasion, they plan a night out at a boba spot, something for which she is always grateful.

Boba has come a long way from its first tea houses in Taiwan, as its many fans around the world demonstrate. In the U.S. today, boba is often associated not only with Asians and Asian Americans but with Gen Z in general — to the point where many colleges offer events with free boba to lure their students. A quick scroll through #boba on TikTok reveals hundreds of thousands of videos, from “Your friend owes you boba” to jokes about boba dependence. While some are posted by Asian users, many are not. Of course, it warms my heart to see people of all backgrounds enjoying and appreciating boba — especially when this means support for Asian-owned businesses. Sometimes, however, this newfound attention overlooks boba’s origins as a Taiwanese drink, an erasure that especially stings given these same people’s history of ridiculing “weird” Asian snacks. Several of these creators eschew Asian shops in favor of other brands.

As corporations witness boba’s skyrocketing popularity among America’s youth, many have attempted to capitalize on it. Both Starbucks and Dunkin Donuts, for example, have added “popping pearls” or “bubbles” to their menus in a likely bid to reel in customers who may have drifted away in favor of boba shops — or, in the words of David Fung, “Since my first tea house, forgot about the coffee.” (Starbucks, at the very least, acknowledges boba’s origins in decades-old “East Asian beverages”; Dunkin’ seems to pretend as if it invented the concept.) While I cannot speak for everyone in my generation, I personally have little desire to try a corporate imitation when I can easily taste the real deal at CoCo or Tiger Sugar, two popular chains. This development also speaks to the importance of highlighting Asian-owned boba shops that serve Asian flavors, such as Lazy Sundaes in New York City — businesses that acknowledge and honor boba’s rich heritage.

For all their truthful lyrics, the Fung Brothers’ prediction — that “this life won’t be cool 10 years from now” — has fallen flat. If anything, over the past decade, boba’s popularity has exponentially increased. Although TikTokers and coffee chains may view the drink as just another trend, boba is so much more than that. It is a testament to the resilience of Asians and Asian Americans, a source of community and a sweet fount of strength. As I gear up for the fall semester, I can’t wait to sip mango green tea boba on a Friday afternoon.

Cover Image: Telly Mina / Pexels