I Got Rid Of My “Perfect Boyfriend” Checklist — & Found The Perfect Love For Me

Refinery29 is proud to partner with Audible, Inc., the leading creator and provider of premium audio storytelling, to celebrate AAPI voices, stories, and authors — including Lily Chu who pens romantic comedies with strong Asian characters (her latest, Drop Dead, is exclusively available to stream on Audible). Here, in this personal essay, as told to Summer Lin, R29 Beauty Director Sara Tan shares how rom-coms shaped her love life and what it took for her to finally see herself as the main character. 

I always hoped my life would play out like a romantic comedy. As the youngest of four kids, I followed in my two older sisters’ footsteps, which meant devouring an endless trove of teen rom-coms. I dreamed about finding a guy similar to the love interests in those movies, like the popular jock who fell in love with the “dork;” or the new kid with the punk-rock, bad-boy image; or the obnoxious older step-brother who, surprise, is really kind and mature. I love following storylines like the one in Drop Dead, where the love interests go from college classmates to competitors to unexpected partners to ultimately, lovers. It's similar to the relationship arc from my absolute favorite film (from pen pals to sworn enemies to friends, and finally, lovers), because I love the premise of finding out your soulmate was just around the corner this entire time. 

But I never really saw myself represented on the big screen. Growing up Filipino-Chinese in Aliso Viejo, a mostly white community in Orange County, I struggled to feel like I fit in — and so much of it was tied to how I looked. So, I got highlights to make my hair look more blonde and I dressed like the girls on all the SoCal-centric teen shows. But even though they went to all of the same hang-out spots that I did, none of the characters on those shows ever looked like me. Race was a topic we quietly skirted around; my friends never spoke about any Asian holidays or ate any Asian food, unless it was at my house. 

My insecurities only deepened when I started school at UC Santa Barbara — a classic California beach college where most of the students were very blonde and very sporty (the unofficial uniform: sandals year-round and bikinis peeking out from underneath shirts and shorts). I tried to mimic that same aesthetic, but it wasn’t really me. I wound up feeling even more inadequate. 

And those feelings crept into my relationships — or rather, my approach to relationships. More often than not, I found myself fawning over men who were emotionally unavailable. I’d see a cute guy in class or in the dining hall, develop a crush, and romanticize them. I tended to date guys who fulfilled a “checklist” made up of leading-man prerequisites based on the rom-coms I watched growing up: tall, handsome, and smart — superficial qualities that didn’t necessarily make them a good partner. I wasn’t looking for a guy who would accept me as I was, and because I wasn’t fully confident in myself, I had no idea what I truly deserved. 

It wasn’t until I moved to Los Angeles after college that I finally began to embrace — and celebrate — my identity. Living in such a diverse city for the first time and being surrounded by people from all walks of life, I slowly became more proud of my Asian heritage and more comfortable in my own skin. I made friends with people who were actively involved in Asian community groups and I started to as well.

I met Matt, my now-husband, at a party, and a few months later, we started spending more time together. Unlike previous relationships and crushes, I wasn’t so concerned with “checklists,” and I stopped overthinking about the future. When I was around him, I felt comfortable and was just…myself. I allowed myself to be fully present, and once I did that, everything fell into place. 

Because my older sisters married Asian men, I always assumed that I’d do the same. It took me by surprise to end up with someone outside of my race, but Matt not only respects our cultural differences, he fully embraces my Asian identity. From the beginning, he’s always asked questions and tried to better understand my culture, like the fact that in my family, acts of service and cooking food are our love language. Sometimes I even forget that we’re an interracial couple — I think of us and our two children as just our family, one single unit. 

My hope is that my daughter will have a different experience than I did, which is why I spend a lot of time talking to her about her Asian background and making sure she loves both sides of her identity. It’s also part of the reason I do the work that I do in editorial — I want to make sure that Asian girls everywhere love their natural features, that they never have to feel inadequate.

Looking back, I always thought I needed to be more of a “perfect” partner in order to “deserve” the type of guy I dreamed about in those rom-coms. But ultimately, the “checklist” wasn’t about them at all — it was about me, and the work I needed to do on my own self-esteem and confidence. I realized the man who checks all of the “boxes” is the one who has love and respect for you, no matter how different you might look from all of your peers.  

I didn’t end up finding a stereotypical leading man, but I did find something better — love for myself and someone who loves me for exactly who I am.