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My Journey in Film: Transforming Asian-American Stereotypes & Beyond

This piece is the one of the runners-up of the Double Exposure 2025-2026 High School Essay Contest.


In the 1970s, the American government abolished the policies that preferred European immigrants over individuals of any other race into the country. Thus came an influx of Asian Americans into the country–––and with that demographic change came a similar innovation in America’s industries. Philip Ahn was a Korean American attempting to break into the film industry in the ‘70s. He was met with misdirection and disillusionment, however, as he was only allowed to portray a Korean person five times out of the 180+ roles he played. The cross-ethnic casting and lack of opportunity he was given to portray an authentic version of himself was unfortunately the social norm then. 


Exactly half a century later, as I stepped foot into the country over 6,000 miles away from my home in Seoul, South Korea, I felt the same sense of deracination that Philip Ahn felt. Even as I saw many more faces just like mine in my school, on the streets, and around town, it was almost like the ghost of all those directionless, confused, and equally disillusioned immigrants before me followed and haunted my confidence. 


I always knew I was a creative. My earliest memories as a toddler involved me making elaborate storylines with my toy figurines–––a battle between a hero and a villain, or a damsel in distress. I saw myself reflected in these stories, never once doubting whether I belonged in a creative space or not. Immigrating to the United States changed that for me. For the first time in my life, the pressures of being the “model minority” plagued my thoughts and made me question my future career. Every Asian-American immigrant here held the belief that the pathway to social mobility was pursuing a stable career–––something in engineering, medicine, or law. I needed to prove to my parents and my peers that their efforts in immigrating wouldn’t be wasted on somebody who “liked storytelling”–––that all of their commitment would be ultimately worth it. 


Surely enough, a study by USA Today shows that while Asian Americans make up roughly 6% of the U.S. population, they comprise about 40% of STEM majors and only 2.7% of Arts and Humanities majors nationally. (AAC) How could I feel that same sense of belonging or confidence as a storyteller when both history and current statistical breakdowns were stacked against me? 


My perspective on a future career was transformed when I applied and was accepted into a conservatory-style arts high school. I was admitted into the Film and Television division, and for the first time since my toddler years, felt that same creative drive surge through me once again. As a sophomore, I was chosen as one of four people in my grade to work on my school’s news broadcast channel. Being one of the youngest members, I was working amongst upperclassmen that held an infinite amount of insight and knowledge I could learn from. This experience was one of the most confidence-inducing, yet humbling experiences of my life. The decision of the conservatory director to give me this chance validated my passion for filmmaking; for the first time, I saw people around me value my contributions to a set. I worked the camera and in the EIC role at first, learning the technicalities of the livestream and website platforms. For once, I was working around a diverse team and seeing people just like me represented in a space that I had never imagined Asian Americans previously. This set off a switch in me as I started thinking about storytelling through film in both a perspective of interest as well as a career I could potentially pursue. Surely, if my peers saw me as a legitimate filmmaker whose skills were valued in a team environment, I could practice this on a larger scale with a career.


Just as I started feeling more confident in my role within my school and conservatory as a filmmaker, I was thrust into another setting that challenged my skillset and security. I was recruited to work on an all-senior set for one of their final projects. The 15-minute short film consisted of the most advanced shots, editing, and technically challenging production I had worked on to date. As my team came up with creative ways to shoot clips on top of an ice rink, I saw the manner in which the DP skated while holding the camera inches away from the ground–––capturing a first-person action shot that made the viewers feel like they were on the ice themselves. I was in utter awe of these seniors’ ability to synthesize stories and execute them with such emotional precision. The storyline explored a couple–––the hockey player and his girlfriend–––and his journey in navigating both his passions and personal relationships. I saw myself in this story, only instead of a relationship, I was struggling to imagine both my passion in filmmaking coexisting with an impending feeling of imposter syndrome. If I were to represent my entire community in the film industry as a “trailblazer” or a “waymaker” for Asian Americans, I needed to feel personally qualified to do so, to be an adequate role model worthy of that title. As it turns out, the role I wished to play in breaking stereotypes as an Asian American pursuing film was simultaneously met with an immense responsibility to do so with dignity. I wondered if this factor had also led to other filmmakers just like myself being dissuaded from making this a career altogether. 


This feeling of burden to represent my community with dignity and pride wasn’t uncommon either. Upon further research, I found that “Asian Americans were historically linked to a ‘lack of belonging…’” and that “this systemic lack of accessibility meant that even talented artists had no confidence or commercial incentive to guide their careers toward the mainstream” (TAAF).


My experience working on that short film along with my senior friends showed me many things: that I was both legitimate as a filmmaker and had so much more to learn. But unlike my mindset as a mere toddler or a directionless, newly-immigrated middle schooler, I now recognized both truths in conjunction with each other. I can be both qualified and valued, yet forever-learning how to better my craft. The mere persistence I now hold in pursuing film as a career is a testament to my courage and drive to uplift my community. I don’t need to be perfect, only improving. While challenges like this remain, the last decade has seen an unprecedented wave of Asian American leads and creators entering the mainstream. In 2025, all six women of color who directed top-grossing films of the year were of Asian descent. This marks a historic high for my community to be in the director’s chair for major studio releases (UCLA Hollywood Diversity Report).


I recognize now that my immigrant background is not a weight to be carried into my professional journey and beyond. It is a lens in which I can offer the world a greater perspective and unique clarity about my lived experiences and the stories I wish to tell. For too long, the rhetoric of the Asian-American filmmaker has been framed by a “model minority” ideal–––a choice between pursuing a more traditional and stable career or the crushing pressure to represent an entire community. As I look into my future in film, I refuse to let my heritage be an obstacle to overcome or a standard of perfection I must meet. Instead, it is my biggest creative asset. From the struggles of my predecessors like Philip Ahn to the progress of filmmakers in 2025, my history serves as the foundation of my storytelling, proving my identity is the very thing that makes my contributions indispensable.



Works Cited 


"Asian American Cinema." Eric Brightwell. Last modified May 2, 2009. 


"Asian Americans in Early Hollywood." Robert Buscher. Accessed October 24, 2024. https://www.rbuscher.com/writing/asians-early-hollywood. 


Center for Scholars & Storytellers. "Research & Reports." Harvard Business Review / CSS. Accessed October 24, 2024. https://www.scholarsandstorytellers.com/. 


Center for the Art of Asiatic Media (CAAM). "History Timeline." Accessed October 24, 2024. https://caamedia.org/history-timeline/. 


Hollywoodland News. Home page. Accessed October 24, 2024. 


Hunt, Darnell, and Ana-Christina Ramón. UCLA Hollywood Diversity Report 2025: Theatrical Film. Los Angeles: UCLA Social Sciences, 2025. 


McKinsey & Company. "Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion." Accessed October 24, 2024. https://www.mckinsey.com/featured-insights/diversity-and-inclusion. 


Smith, Aliza, et al. "The Asian American Foundation (TAAF) Research Report." Dominican Scholar. Accessed October 24, 2024. https://scholar.dominican.edu/.

The Asian American Foundation (TAAF). "About Us." Accessed October 24, 2024. https://www.taaf.org/.



Aiden Ahn is currently in his junior year and enrolled at the Orange County School of the Arts as a film and television major. He's an Asian American filmmaker who is committed to telling stories about the Asian American experience, utilizing storytelling that has cultural significance and providing representation of Asian American identity through film.

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