Commentary

I have always been fascinated—not by the idols who “made it,” but by the thousands of girls who didn’t, and who were quietly taught that this was their fault. In Japan, the idol dream was sold to girls as something gentle and hopeful. No rebellion required. No broken rules. Just effort, smiles, and patience. Be cute, be grateful, be improving. Someone will notice. Someone will choose you. It was ambition without sharp edges, desire without teeth. And that, of course, is why it was allowed. What strikes me most, looking...

I’m going to say something mildly controversial, which is Auntie’s brand anyway: modern dating in India isn’t collapsing—it’s maturing. Quietly. Unevenly. Sometimes awkwardly. But very clearly. What fascinates me most is not the apps, the jargon, or the endless think-pieces about Gen Z “killing romance.” It’s the emotional recalibration happening under the surface. Indian women, in particular, seem tired of carrying the emotional backpack for everyone else. The listening. The forgiving. The waiting. The “let’s see where this goes” that mysteriously goes nowhere. I see far less desperation now, and...

I love a singing people. Truly. And every time I visit friends in the Philippines, I am reminded—within about fifteen minutes—why I never schedule early mornings after dinner. Someone will point to a corner, someone else will already be plugging in cables, and before you know it, the microphone has been passed to me with the gentle but firm insistence that defines Filipino hospitality. Videoke waits for no one. Filipinos have beautiful voices. This is not a stereotype, this is an empirical fact established over decades of auntie fieldwork. Warm...

I watched Last Call the way I watch most things that make Japan collectively squirm: with one eyebrow raised, one hand on my tea, and a very familiar sense of déjà vu. Because everyone is acting shocked — shocked! — that a reality show about hostesses would be ruthless, judgmental, transactional and obsessed with looks, when in fact it is simply holding up a very clean mirror to a society that has been quietly running on these rules for decades. Let’s get one thing straight. Last Call did not invent...

I have lost count of how many times I’ve heard this story in different accents, different cafés, different WhatsApp voice notes whispered late at night. The geography changes—Jakarta to Kuala Lumpur, Surabaya to Johor, Batam to wherever the ferry is cheapest—but the logic stays depressingly familiar. Go quietly. Stay briefly. Earn fast. Come back clean. Lie politely. What fascinates me isn’t that Indonesian women travel to Malaysia to sell sex. That part is boringly predictable in a region built on labour arbitrage and moral hypocrisy. What fascinates me is how...