When We Eat Our Own
<p>Constance Wu was all over the media this past week on a redemption tour of sorts as she promotes her new book, a memoir in essays called <a href="https://bookshop.org/a/23988/9781982188542" rel="noopener ugc nofollow" target="_blank"><em>Making a Scene</em></a>. Like many Asian Americans, I’ve had ambivalent, sometimes even negative, feelings about her. I heard the rumors — that she was high-strung, a perfectionist. That she was strangely reclusive and regularly declined to hang out with her co-stars in order to memorize her lines. That the other actors from <em>Fresh Off the Boat</em> and <em>Crazy Rich Asians</em> didn’t like her. That she was a <em>diva</em>.</p>
<p>How anyone in my social circle could actually be privy to this information is still a mystery, but someone put out the word, it got around and had a consistent theme to it. Constance Wu was not the Asian American movie star we wanted her to be.</p>
<p><a href="https://zora.medium.com/when-we-eat-our-own-4ecd09ca63d3"><strong>Website</strong></a></p>