Light Breeze
North Carolina, United States
As a caucasian-asian child raised in the US from the 60s, I remember my first time in a tiki room. It was the only and last tiki bar with an asian tiki-themed restaurant in my town.
I felt so organically connected to the decor and design of the tiki bar. It was thrilling to be surrounded by an environment that made me feel connected to my culture. I didn't like dimly lit public spaces, but I could stay in that place forever. I felt as if the western proprietors were admirers of our culture and wanted to pay homage to us and invite others to wine, dine, and share in the experience that would take them far away to a lush world, without boarding a plane, on any given day.
It was fascinating to me because it was a place where triple pleasure was happening as food, drink, music, and dance were the ultimate pleasures one could enjoy all at once.
As I became an adult, I decided that a lot of tiki bars were no longer an homage to Pacific or Eastern culture, but a gross objectification and an excuse to escape the mundanity of life, without boarding a plane.
There was a trend in the late 90s and early 2000s when you couldn't escape the tiki bar obsession, and it felt like satirical fodder.
I viewed the tiki bar obsession as a case of cultural misappropriation, but it was a great party theme and venue. This escapism was always welcomed as everyone loves a foreign, faraway, island setting, and soaking themselves in the numbing sweet rum concoctions in a dimly lit space to help the escape easier. So, I saw the dumb names of the dumb mixed rum drinks, under thatched grass, surrounded by plastic bamboo and plastic pineapple drinking vessels and plastic coconuts. The plastic hula bobble head dancing girl, in dark bars in the middle of a city oasis, not representing tiki, was an insult, not seen with the same amazement or connection that I experienced as a child. I no longer appreciated the tiki bars; I avoided them. They were everywhere, sloppy, inauthentic, cheap, and soulless. A smelly, sticky, barfly attraction, or a puke-soaked, college town or tourist venue, trashing the real tiki bar legacy. They were kitchy watering holes, based on a real space that was once a mystical and magical place that captured your breath and eased your worries as soon as you entered, like you had just stepped off of a long ocean flight. Those delightful spaces were history.
However, and thankfully, my view of the tiki bar has changed recently. In my retirement over the past year, I've been watching video tours and remodels of tiki bars from people who are incredibly passionate about tiki and decor. My generalization no longer applies, and Ive discovered the tiki bar world that may have been going on for a while, but I'm just noticing. Watching artists, furniture makers, designers, carpenters and collectors, who have a dedication to the tiki rooms and spaces with their time and money, and sharing their passion, has convinced me that it isn't satirical for everyone, but a respect and true homage to something that has become a thing that they love to share, and I am so grateful to catch some of it. There is no gate-keeping in this hobby, and it's surprising to see people connecting within the tiki world, which I thought was a lost pleasure. Every time I discover another tiki enthusiast, I'm amazed by the number of talented people passionate about tiki, and I can't get enough!
Tiki rooms are beautiful and feel like organic talismans that I must have, as they echo my spirit. I feel magic, mysticism, and ancient humanity that a tiki room stirs in me again, and I'm so glad some people love tiki.
So, I'm thinking of turning my sun room into, guess what?
Thanks for sharing your art.