EILEEN SHO JI

Singer-Songwriter and Producer

Inspirational lifestyles surround us. As a creative, immersing yourself in the feed churns up equal parts excitement and inspiration, self-loathing and disappointment. We see final products, but the paths to reach them are long and winding ones, often through valleys of uncertainty and pain.

Eileen Sho Ji is a multi-faceted creative, born to a Taiwanese mother and an American father. Having grown up surrounded by artistic influences, she early on decided to pursue a creative career. That pursuit brought with it constant reevaluation of her desires and her goals, so while Eileen’s objectives have changed, her internal compass is more finely tuned than ever before.

For many of us, developing a career wasn’t why we got going in the first place. When getting paid for your passion doesn’t materialize, coming out the other side with a renewed excitement for creating on your own terms is the reward.

Eugene Kan

What was your childhood like growing up?

Eileen Sho Ji

I had a very atypical Asian American experience in a lot of ways. My mom came from Taiwan after she met my White dad on an airplane. Maybe a year later, he visited her in Taiwan and was like, “Let’s get married.” Up until then, she’d never stepped foot in America, but she flew over and started her life here. She’s very sporadic and spontaneous.

I was really fortunate in a lot of ways because I grew up having a lot of creative outlets and she was always sending me to arts programs, taking me to museums, the opera, and just filling my life with art. She’s an artist. My dad’s a writer. My older brother’s a designer. So I grew up surrounded by creativity and my parents always encouraged me. When I started making music, they were super proud of me and wanted me to really pursue it. They even said, “If you don’t want to go to UC Berkeley, you don’t have to. That’s your decision to make.” Ultimately, I’m happy I did it, because I’ve built a skill other than music in a completely different avenue. All this is to say that I had a nontraditional upbringing with nontraditional parents.

Where I grew up, there weren’t a lot of Asian people, which I think is a bit of the opposite experience for some Asian Americans. When I got to UC Berkeley, it was a culture shock for me because there are tons of Asians and White people at Berkeley. Where I grew up in Hayward, California, I was one of the only Asian people at my school, which was predominantly Black and Latinx.

I was used to not being around people that look like me, so I didn’t really know how to communicate with Asian people because, culturally, I didn’t grow up around them. I’m still navigating that now. In addition, there’s the cultural clash of having a White father and an Asian mother, with cultural differences that manifest within myself, what I value, and how I see different sides of who I am.

Was it difficult not having a straightforward clear definition of who you are and what your position is in the world?

In this really beautiful and magical way, I feel super blessed to be from the Bay Area. It’s so diverse and I didn’t really have a community that was structured around my ethnicity. I didn’t have a lot of extended family either, with my mom’s side of the family in Taiwan and my dad’s side of the family all across the United States.

I lived in a typical nuclear family and, where I went to school, I didn’t know that many people that looked like me or, had the same cultural background as me that I could relate to on that front. It really forced me to be able to relate on other fronts.

I think that wound up being amazing because it drove me into art. I found something that I was into that had nothing to do with my background or my upbringing with my family. I found art and I immediately started connecting with people in that way.

So in a way, not having a built-in community through my culture allowed me to build community in something completely new.

In recent years, how has your understanding of your Asian identity changed?

I’m starting to tap into the Bay Area’s Asian community more than I was before and there’s this kind of automatic understanding where we had a lot of the same experiences so you don’t have to even explain certain things, cause it’s like, “Oh, I know. My mom did the same.”

I didn’t have that growing up. There was a part of my identity that I didn’t talk about. For example, like when I went to Taiwan to visit my grandma, I couldn’t talk to anybody about the experiences of having an overbearing Asian grandma who tries to control everything.

It’s fun to now be a little bit older and hanging out with more Asian people or creating with more Asian artists. It’s fun to get to tap into the ways that we all had this very similar upbringing and tap into the ways that it was really different too, based on what kind of Asian you are or where in the Bay you grew up. I think it’s really beautiful how different every Asian American or Asian experience is in North America.

How has finding this community affected your creative path?

I started making art because I was searching for a community and searching for a way to connect with people.

Right after graduating, I had to grapple with these questions, “Do I want to do this music and creator thing full-time? Do I actually even care about music or am I just doing this because I want friends? Am I lonely and offering my craft as a service so I have an excuse to work with and hang out with people?”

I think that’s why I would collaborate with so many people and go hard on social media, even though I didn’t like the music I was making. I had to stop. I’ve taken a

IT’S REALLY BEAUTIFUL HOW DIFFERENT EVERY ASIAN AMERICAN OR ASIAN EXPERIENCE IS.

long break because I really want to make sure I want to do this. And now that I’ve separated myself from that pressure of trying to create as a means of connecting, I’m realizing I really do love this.

That pressure of trying to build community through art was taking the joy out of it. Now when I’m creating, I do it because I want to. Sometimes it’s open and collaborative, but a lot of the time it’s a very private, intimate, personal thing.

Do you feel the need to adjust your positioning for different audiences?

I’ve always struggled with feeling like I’m not really present when I interact with people. I’m paying very close attention to what they’re saying and how they’re responding, and then I’m basing my identity off of this specific interaction to try and appeal to whoever I’m interacting with. And in some ways that made me a great performer and collaborator. I just worked on other people’s music because I knew how to shape and fit into the mold for this other person making their music.

of what needs to change so that you can find calmness and comfort. What would you tell a younger version of yourself to address the uncertainty you felt when you were younger?

What works for others does not necessarily work for you. What works for you is so specific to you.

I wish I had removed the pressure from myself in order to find out what was going to work for me. It took 23 years of intense anxiety, sadness, depression, pain and confusion. And I will still go through these things. But something has recently shifted.

I’ve had the realization that it’s going to be hard and it’s okay that I’m not super productive or going to have this crazy creative output. I’m going to make mistakes, say stupid things, and disappoint people. All my pain has come from thinking I wasn’t supposed to feel pain or disappointment in myself. Now I’m being kind to myself and telling myself it’s okay, because I’m here and I’m going to keep on trying to see what works for me.

What did you think it’d be like to be a career artist and what has been the reality?

There’s a part of me that still wants it in some ways, but then I have to keep telling myself, “When you wanted that, you were really unhappy.”

I wanted to be a full-time artist and I was in these spaces where I could have done that. I felt like I accomplished so much in the last couple of years pursuing modeling and music and all these creative projects, but I felt horrible throughout all of it because I had such deep anxiety and just a complete utter lack of confidence in myself. I’d be up all night having anxiety attacks and I’d be so afraid about how I was gonna present myself to people and then present myself on the internet.

What does your creative pursuit feel like now?

For so many years there was something in me that told me I had to be pursuing this ideal life of a creative that you see on TikTok. All these people in New York that are popping off and everybody’s hot and everybody’s super fashionable, somehow affording all the clothes that they’re wearing. They present this idea of what it looks like to be a full-time artist. And then you’re seeing people that are actually grinding. It’s not that glamorous; there is a ton of work that goes into it. It’s super respectable.

In the past, I’ve felt like I’ve always had to perform, whether it’s musically or socially, being someone who’s bubbly and who people feel is worth being around. That’s something I’m working on. Around fellow Asian creatives or Asian people in the Bay Area, I feel like I don’t have to perform as hard. This sense of community is new to me.

I felt really self-conscious in college of my socioeconomic status, of being Asian, of being a woman, of pursuing art while going to school with people from immensely wealthy families. I felt weird about being an artist in this whole world of capital while also not feeling good as an artist in my artistic community because I wasn’t dropping any new music. I was constantly conflicted over feeling like I wasn’t presenting in the right way to anyone, but it was coming from the fact that I was doing things I didn’t really want to be doing. I wanted to be somebody who locked myself in my room and played piano for hours, but I was too focused on what the next thing I was going to drop was. Now I’m giving myself space to explore myself, both what that looks like in a musical sense and outside of music.

It seems like you have a new understanding

Would you say that Asian culture has had any impact on your work?

I guess there’s one negative thing that I definitely picked up on culturally, and it’s something my mom does as well.

I grew up with two parents that were constantly wanting time for their own art. Now, after retiring, they are getting back into creating. Still, my mom keeps herself super busy with all these projects where she’s helping other people with their art. And it’s funny because I’ve done the same thing for so long.

I’m like, “Okay, there are negative traits culturally that need to be addressed and need to be worked through.” But then I think there’s a beauty that comes from it too. You might be seen as subservient when you bend over backwards to impress or accommodate people, but in a lot of ways, I think I’ve been able to build really beautiful relationships because of having that level of attentiveness to other people’s needs. And I feel very fortunate that I’m naturally inclined to do that. I learn a lot of things that inspire what I do creatively because I am asking so many questions when I meet new people.

I wanted to be somebody who could wake up and just create all day and be able to support myself in that way. But that pressure of having to monetize what you love just completely alters your relationship with it. We’re sold this idea of aspirational creative worlds and identities, but I know that the creative world looks different for everybody. It’s easy to be susceptible to believing that you’re supposed to be something that is not what you actually feel good being.

Right now, I don’t have things completely figured out, but I’m moving in a direction that feels better. I feel like there’s just so many ways to make your craft into something you pursue full time, and it’s exciting to give yourself the grace and the space, to remove pressure and figure out what works for you.

I’m in this place where I’m like, “I literally don’t care.” I love what I’m making and there’s no time limit and there’s no rush.

Daniel Wu

Actor, Director, and Producer

To many, immigrating to America conjures up a time of doors opening and opportunities blossoming — a chance to leave the challenges of ancestral homes behind and to step foot into the land of the free. America, in the imaginations of hopeful immigrants, is the place where dreams become reality through discipline, hard work, and a bit of luck. For Daniel Wu, it was moving counter to this narrative that opened doors.

A chance scouting at a bar in Hong Kong kicked off a multidecade career as a movie star in Asia. Success is built off of untold effort, sacrifice, and desire, but also a great deal of timing. In 2016, Daniel returned to his homeland to continue building, adding to his credits notable roles across television and film including Into the Badlands, Westworld, Reminiscence, and American Born Chinese.

New social responsibilities and concerns came alongside more acting opportunities. The rise in Asian hate crimes in 2020 prompted Daniel to start speaking up for his beliefs, resulting in his increased involvement in championing Asian American opportunities. A future where Asian American roles in entertainment are no longer talking points is a multigenerational undertaking. Count Daniel Wu in for the journey.

Eugene Kan

Looking back on your youth, do you think it was in your cards to become an actor?

Daniel Wu

Growing up in San Francisco, I didn’t see anyone on TV who represented me or my story, so I never considered becoming an actor. I was, however, always interested in film and took film courses in college as part of my architecture degree.

I was in Hong Kong for a trip when I got spotted in a bar and asked to be in a TV commercial for Hang Seng Bank. The director of my first movie saw me in that commercial and cast me in his movie. At first, I turned down the offer, thinking that I would ruin his project. This was the director’s dream, his story, and he wanted to tell a beautiful story on screen. As an actor, I was a part of the team that was there to help him tell that story.

Over time, he convinced me that I could do it. And so I gave it a try, promising to do my best and work hard to be good at it. I attribute this mentality to both my martial arts background and my upbringing as an Asian American, where I was told to work twice as hard as everyone else.

Hong Kong empowered me to believe that I could be an actor. If it wasn’t for my 20 years in Hong Kong, I don’t think I would’ve even come back to the United States. But having developed my craft and talent over there, I had something to bring back and work on here.

Starting out without a professional acting background, what was your creative process like?

I had two to three months to prepare for the movie, and I used what I knew, which was the creative process I learned in architecture school. I didn’t know anything about acting, but I looked at this character like it was a building. The foundation of the building is like this person’s backstory. And if that foundation is fucked up, then the whole building’s going to be fucked up. Then you have the structure of the building, like whether it’s wood or steel or bamboo — that’s the internal strength of the character. Next is the skin of the building, which is what the person is trying to present to the rest of the world.

So I used that process and I just used what I knew, because I look at filmmaking and I look at architecture and I look at any kind of creative field — it’s really the same thing. The medium and form of expression are different, but if you can get to the core of what it is you’re actually trying to do, then you can apply it to anything. Unlike being a fine artist, architecture and filmmaking as commercial art forms require knowledge of production, teamwork, and creating commercially viable products. You have to rely on a group of people getting together to help you realize your vision. I am really thankful for my architecture education setting me up to be a better actor.

Looking back, were there any specific moves you made that really paid off or any missteps that might have negatively impacted your success?

You have to get used to falling down and getting back up, getting knocked down and getting back up. You gotta have a strong character and a strong desire to succeed in order to keep going, regardless of whether you’re in Asia or Hollywood.

People think it was a fairytale story for me, where I was discovered on vacation and chosen to become a movie star and that was it. No! My first day on set I looked around and made the decision that this was what I wanted to be doing. What I loved about architecture school was the creative environment where there’s this energy and buzz and I wanted to be in a field where I could feel that all the time. I walked onto that movie set and I recognized that environment immediately. From that moment on, I committed to the craft of acting.

I was observant, I read books about acting, I talked to a lot of senior actors about their processes, but there’s no such thing as perfection. I’ve seen people burn themselves out by trying to stick to a perfect ideal. You have to find moments to relent and places to stick to your guns. I kept trying for perfection and not being able to achieve it, and I realized that you have to be adaptable.

Having successfully worked in both contexts, could you compare your experiences working as an Asian in Asia versus in North America? What made you choose to speak out for more opportunities for Asian Americans?

I don’t really look at myself as an outspoken leader. I just speak my mind. It’s important to do so, but it was a huge transition. Coming back in 2016 was like culture shock to me. When I was doing Into the Badlands, all the Asian American media was making a big deal about what I was doing, “You’re one of the few Asian American males leading a TV show in America right now.” Yeah, but it’s not any different from what I’ve been doing for the past 20 years leading movies in Hong Kong. They kept trying to put me up on a pedestal and making me carry the flag for Asian American males. I didn’t want to do that. I’m just an actor.

But as I spent more time thinking about it, it became really apparent during the Asian hate crimes in 2020 that if we don’t speak up for our own people and collectively get together, nothing will happen. Asian America is very diverse in terms of language and culture. We aren’t a monolith. So it was difficult to see us as one culture that could get together and do something, but once we started being treated as a monolith, it became clear that everybody needs to get together and stand up. that way at all. There’s still some part of white Hollywood that wants to see the Long Duk Dong character and they think it’s funny, so we have to make a conscious effort to make a change. That comes from working and collaborating with people on the same page.

There was a case in New York where an old Chinese lady was lit on fire and slapped in the face. I reached out to the community center that was offering a reward for information to catch the guys that did it and I increased that reward because I was appalled by what was happening. This is way beyond calling someone a “chink”. They caught the guys before the reward was enacted because they were caught for something else, but ultimately nothing happened and it was depressing to see that.

One case of this was when I worked with director Lisa Joy on Reminiscence. She had an agenda herself. She said to me something like, “I’m tired of seeing emasculated Asian males on screen and I want to see him be sexy. We’re not seeing that on American screens.” I spent years doing that in Asia and then people don’t see you that way here. They see Asian males as nerdy or funny or weird but never the hero or the sexy guy. So for me, I make sure that I can see the character as a character that I can be proud of and is pushing the bar and changing things a little.

It wasn’t until Vicha Ratanapakdee was killed in San Francisco and then three elderly Asian people got pushed down in Oakland Chinatown that I was like, “What the fuck?” I was really pissed and I posted about the attacks. Daniel Day Kim called me right away. He’s like, “I’m pissed too. Let’s do something about this.” We put up a reward to catch that guy. Nothing came of it, but that’s what started the whole movement of people standing up and saying we’ve had enough of this shit. None of the mainstream media was talking about it, so we wanted to get them talking about it. It wasn’t by plan. I was just mad and I have a platform of like a million people on my Instagram, so I talked about it until somebody noticed.

It was scary at first because I don’t really know a lot about race relations and activism and people were calling me an activist. I’m not an activist, I’m just trying to stick up for my people. There are other people that have been in this space for many years such as Asian Americans for Advancing Justice and all these other groups that have been fighting this fight. I’m just going to use my platform to highlight all the work they’ve been doing and spread the word.

How do you make sure you’re telling the stories and crafting the characters you want to see while navigating what Hollywood wants?

I’m tired of seeing the same stereotypical characters on screen over and over again. I’m lucky that I’m in a position where I can turn down stuff because I’m not waiting for the next check, but it’s messed up that I have to think in

Whether you liked it or not, Crazy Rich Asians was profitable and a turning point in that it opened doors for more opportunities. Hollywood is about making products that sell, not just win awards. If we can prove that there is a market for our stories, they will let us make them. But we need to be careful with how we use those opportunities, not just accepting the status quo, but pushing boundaries.

What do you think would accelerate that?

We’re starting to see change in the three fields that America values the most: entertainment, politics, and sports. People like Congressman Andy Kim and Representative Judy Chu are making headway as are athletes like Shohei Ohtani. We need to support our community in all those fields, not just in Hollywood.

The main message is that we all have to support each other, no matter what our background is. Not just Chinese Americans supporting Chinese Americans or Korean Americans supporting Korean Americans. We have to act in a way where we support each other because we can’t do it separately.

How has your perspective on what it means to be Asian American changed throughout your life?

Being in Asia, where I wasn’t a minority, was very empowering. You’re not thinking about a bamboo ceiling or things like that. You’re doing stuff based on what you want to do. I wasn’t trying to fit into Hollywood like what all my Asian American peers had to deal with for so many years.

ONCE WE STARTED BEING TREATED AS A MONOLITH, IT BECAME CLEAR THAT EVERYBODY NEEDS TO GET TOGETHER AND STAND UP.

In Asia, I just got to work on myself. And everyone I worked with in Hong Kong encouraged me and instilled that belief in me that I could be an actor. That was instrumental in who I am now because, coming back to America, I realized the value of my experiences and that empowers me to work here. There are uphill battles here. If I hadn’t gone to Asia and been given opportunities there, I’d probably be cynical as hell and thick-skinned and angry.

What did you think being an actor would be like and what has been the reality of it?

I think everyone has this misconception that it’s this glamorous thing to do. I was also ignorant in thinking that it’s all about the art form. There’a a lot of hustle and business involved too — it’s a balance of both. I think that being an architect helped me with this because I understood the balance between art and commerce and how to make them work together. You have to understand that your product has to sell and I think I didn’t understand that so much at first. Going in, I was like, “I just get to make cool shit,” before realizing it’s not that easy. You have to make stuff that’s cool, pushes the limits, but also sells.

In 10 years, how will you know your work on and off screen in empowering Asian entertainers has been successful?

Success to me is when Asian American kids are inspired to be actors, performers, singers. It’s already happening now. Kids that looked like me in my generation never said stuff like they want to be an actor or singer or anything like that. I’d like to see more of us in everything and it’s not even a thing you have to talk about anymore. I want to get to the point where I don’t have to count Asian representation anymore. It’s just there. Not just with films like The Farewell and Minari, but also mainstream productions where Asian American stars appear alongside Black, White, and Latinx people, reflecting what our society is today.

I see that the younger generation is kicking down the door and saying, “If you’re not going to give me space, I’m going to make my own space and I’m going to have my own followers.” There is nothing to be afraid of anymore. Just go do it.