South Asian representation in Hollywood is no longer invisible on screen. Yay. Progress. Finally!
In fact, the last decade has seen a measurable shift. According to the USC Annenberg Inclusion Initiative, representation of Asian characters in top-grossing films has increased from roughly 3.4% in the early 2000s to around 15.9% in recent years. But that broader progress doesn’t necessarily translate evenly across all Asian identities, including South Asian (Pakistani, Indian, Bangladeshi, Sri Lankan, Nepali) representation specifically
Still, undoubtedly, that’s growth. But here’s where it gets a little murkier – is this actually expansion … or just concentration catching up with the numbers? Because while representation has increased, it still doesn’t fully reflect the U.S. population – and more importantly, it hasn’t quite spread across the country in the way you might expect.
Once you start looking at where these stories are set, the pattern becomes hard to ignore. The obvious explanation is, well … obvious.
According to the U.S. Census Bureau, South Asian Americans are heavily concentrated in a handful of states – particularly California, New York, New Jersey, and Texas (mainly urban hubs like Houston and Dallas). And unsurprisingly, those are the exact same places where South Asian stories are most frequently set.
So when you map out South Asian-led or South Asian-centric narratives, a pattern emerges almost immediately: They overwhelmingly exist in major metropolitan spaces.
Take the 2017 flick, The Big Sick. Set in Chicago – one of America’s largest and most diverse cities – the film grounds Kumail Nanjiani’s Pakistani-American identity within a multicultural ecosystem that feels lived-in, not explained. The cultural tension, the interracial relationship, even the humor – it all lands because Chicago can hold it. And that makes everything feel natural and believable. Similarly, Mindy Kaling’s Netflix smash-hit series Never Have I Ever places its Indian-American protagonist in Sherman Oaks, California – a suburb of Los Angeles where cultural hybridity is basically the norm. Devi’s identity isn’t constantly being challenged by her environment. It’s shaped by it, sure, but it’s not fighting for space within it.
These stories aren’t asking, “Can a South Asian character exist here?” They’re starting from the assumption that, of course, they can. And that assumption… is doing a lot of heavy lifting. But the real story isn’t just where these narratives exist – it’s where they don’t.
Honestly, once you clock it, the gaps are hard to unsee. It’s rare – almost to the point of being noticeable – to see South Asian-led stories set in: The Midwest, Rural America, States like Arkansas, Wyoming, or West Virginia. And it’s not because South Asians don’t live there. They absolutely do – often in fields like medicine, academia, and engineering, quietly embedded in minority communities and stories that don’t usually make it onto the screen.
Because those stories rarely make it into mainstream cultural conversation, Hollywood rarely imagines them there. That distinction matters. So when South Asian identities are consistently framed within urban, coastal spaces, they start to feel geographically fixed. Almost like they belong to a specific version of America – the diverse, metropolitan one – rather than the country as a whole. And everything outside of that? It fades into invisibility.
This is where an example, such as Mira Nair’s 1991 film Mississippi Masala, becomes crucial. Set in rural Mississippi, it looks, at first glance, like it breaks the pattern. Directed by Mira Nair, the film follows an Indian-Ugandan family running a motel in the Deep South. But the placement isn’t casual. It’s the whole point because the story leans into racial tension, displacement, and cultural isolation. The South Asian presence in Mississippi isn’t just there in the background – it’s questioned, pushed against, and interrogated. The setting doesn’t hold the identity comfortably. It challenges it.
That distinction matters. Because when South Asian stories move beyond metropolitan hubs, they rarely exist only there. They come with an explanation. With a reason that needs to be justified to the audience. It’s never just: this is where they live.
I get it, you’re probably thinking I have too much time on my hands, and you could argue this is all a bit niche. Overthinking it. Film nerd territory. But from a cinephile perspective, it actually reveals something pretty interesting (to me, at least!) – just how much location shapes identity on screen, especially when it comes to South Asian stories.
Take The Namesake. Director Mira Nair doesn’t just use New York as a backdrop – she turns it into a metaphor. It’s a space where cultures collide, stretch, and evolve. The city allows Gogol’s dual identity to exist in tension. Now compare that to Yesterday. Here, the South Asian protagonist exists in a small English town – but his identity feels almost incidental. It’s there, but it’s softened. Not interrogated, not explored in depth.
And that contrast is doing more work than it seems. Because when South Asian identity is central to the story, the setting often shifts to somewhere diverse enough to hold it – somewhere that makes that exploration feel believable. But when it isn’t? The geography suddenly doesn’t matter. It can be anywhere.
It’s not just about who’s on screen – it’s about where they’re allowed to fully exist. So it circles back to the bigger question: Is Hollywood reflecting reality – or reinforcing it?
To be fair, film production is heavily concentrated in cities like Los Angeles, New York, and Atlanta (a rapidly growing hub). Tax incentives, infrastructure, casting pools – all of that plays a role in where stories get made, and by extension, where they’re set.
But the underlying industry assumption that’s rarely said outright is that diverse stories are more “believable” – or more marketable – when they exist in already diverse environments. And until Hollywood expands that map, representation – no matter how much it improves statistically – it will still feel spatially limited. It will continue to reflect a version of America that feels curated, rather than complete.
And for a country defined by movement, migration, and reinvention … that’s a map still waiting to be filled in.
