Confident and Asian: Mutually Exclusive? 

This article is part of Mochi’s spring 2025 issue on Traditions, where we examine how cultural practices shape, challenge, and evolve within our lives today.

On the first day of my college Japanese class, my professor taught us that if a Japanese-speaking person compliments our language skills and says, “Wow, your Japanese is really good,” the correct response is to say, “No, no, that’s not true” — even if we’ve been speaking Japanese for years. 

In many East Asian cultures, we’re taught it’s better to be modest than prideful. Whenever I share good news with my parents over FaceTime, my dad celebrates but always follows it with “Ibaranai de ne,” reminding me not to boast to others.

Most Asian cultures are collectivistic, meaning we think of our sense of self in relation to others and our environment; we operate to maintain harmony and keep the peace in whatever social context we are in. In this way, self-esteem boosts are not typical. In fact, scholars have found that the opposite is true, in that East Asians are usually encouraged to downplay our accomplishments, and calling any positive attention to ourselves is seen as problematic. Instead, being humble and modest is the goal.

This trait has always been second nature for me, as I saw it as a form of respect for others. Out of respect for you, I need to downplay myself. Whenever I got an A+ on a test in elementary school, I’d always cover up the grade with my pencil case because I didn’t want anyone else to see it. Parent-teacher conferences in elementary school always included comments like, “Risa is very respectful.” I liked that about myself. I thought that I was serving a greater purpose to those around me. I thought I was helping people feel better about themselves. 

So when two people in one week — an instructor for a spin class I was taking for the first time and a senior executive at my job, whom I’ve been working with for three years — said to me, “You should be more sure of yourself,” I had a mini identity crisis.

How were they seeing me? It’s one thing that someone who has seen me grow in my job is telling me I need to be more self-assured. But how am I portraying myself if strangers I talk to for no more than two minutes are saying the same thing? I started to look at my friends, who didn’t hesitate to share their opinions, and my coworkers, who didn’t feel the need to backtrack on their ideas when someone questioned them. They were sure of themselves. What did they think of me?

I replayed every interaction I ever had: when a coworker messaged me, “Risa, take the compliment”; when my friend said, “Choose what you want to do, it’s your birthday”; how parent-teacher conferences also included “but she’s not very confident.”

Even with these cultural expectations, my mom says I care a bit too much about what others think about me. But I didn’t think being assertive and having a strong opinion about anything was right either. I didn’t want to be questioned, so I would want other people to make decisions for me. I care what others think about me because I don’t want to be a burden to them. I thought I was being respectful. Out of respect for you, I can’t make myself seem as if I’m better than you in any regard. Out of respect for you, I have to make myself small so you can be big. 

But then, who was going to respect me? 

I realized that there was a chance people didn’t see me as someone respectful, a pleasant addition to any conversation, and who always made sure everyone was happy.  

There could be a chance that I was bowing down so deeply that people couldn’t even see me at all.

In an environment where individualistic culture — one that emphasizes individuality and being distinct from others — is valued, Asian Americans are at a disadvantage. This is easily exemplified in corporate America, where instead of the humble approach of “Work hard, stay quiet, and maybe someone will notice your hard work,” it is the louder approach of “Make sure your voice is heard so you are noticed” that’s rewarded. 

This behavior of modesty — not speaking up until a senior member has spoken, not disagreeing with anyone, and deflecting compliments — can make AAPI workers seen as good workers but not good leaders. In fact, Asian American white-collar professionals are the least likely group to be promoted to management positions. Asian American women, who face the additional challenge of being seen as subservient and submissive, make up less than 1% of promotions from senior vice president to the C-suite. Asian women face both the bamboo and glass ceiling. No matter how hard we reach, we won’t be able to touch either if our heads stay bowed. And the workplace is just one example. Where else are we being looked over?

With that said, do we need to abandon the mannerisms and values of Asian culture ingrained in us for the Western ideals of confidence and individualism? I found myself revisiting my “Am I Asian or am I American” crisis that I thought I had seen the last of when I moved from Northern New Jersey to a suburb in Utah during high school. Here I was, in my early twenties, wondering if I needed to redraw the circles in the Venn diagram again. 

But when I was making mapo tofu with my friend while discussing the latest developments of The Golden Bachelorette, I realized that it wasn’t a matter of whether one or the other was “right.” Being Asian American isn’t only the middle circle of the Venn diagram. It includes all of it, especially the contradictions. It includes never wanting to cause a scene but drawing the attention of every other customer in the restaurant as you fight your aunt for the bill. It includes reusing plastic bags but making sure to splurge on gifts for relatives. It includes your grandparents telling you you’ve gained weight but telling you to eat more at the same time. If there’s room to fit all of that, I know that we can still consider how we impact those around us but also be confident and not put ourselves down. 

What might this look like? 

For starters, I’ll stop deflecting compliments and give myself more credit. Instead of attributing a good outcome to anything else but myself, I’ll simply say, “Thank you.” I’ll start to understand that having an opinion isn’t a bad thing — they’re opinions. I’ll stop feeling sorry for taking up space and try to stop worrying so much about what others think of me. 

And this doesn’t mean that I’ll stop considering those around me. I’ll still compliment others and lift them up, not just as a tactic to draw attention away from myself. I’ll go into social harmony mode to help friends resolve conflict or to try and help move a Zoom meeting that’s gone 30 minutes over into actionable next steps. In fact, global leadership strategist Jane Hyun, who coined the term “bamboo ceiling,” argues that there are ways we can “leverage our cultural experiences as leadership assets.”

I’ll also recognize that sometimes, despite my efforts to be seen, biases are entrenched, and to some, I will always be a bit invisible. In my first year as a working professional, I was helping someone with an on-camera interview. Having drafted the talking points, my boss told me prior to the interview, “Don’t be afraid to speak up when we’re in there. Don’t be deferential to me. You know this best.” 

So when I saw the interviewee struggling with a question, despite being the youngest and the only woman of color in a room full of white men, I felt empowered and spoke up with a suggested answer. While everyone else in the room agreed, the interviewee continued to try their own answer, and I sat in disbelief after they continued to ask me to repeat my suggestion and continued to ignore it. After the fifth repetition, my boss said, “I think you should just say what Risa said.” 

Biases will always exist. But in these moments, it is important to have allies who are not only aware of these biases but are also willing to speak up when they see them occur. So, I’ll continue to show gratitude to those who recognize and help to combat these biases.

Navigating the Venn diagram can be a difficult challenge, but it is part of the Asian American experience. And we all know that we Asian Americans love a difficult challenge!