Belinda, Unchecked
The Casual Orientalism of a Beloved The White Lotus Character
⚠️⚠️⚠️WHITE LOTUS SEASON 3 FINALE SPOILERS⚠️⚠️⚠️
Author’s Note: This piece is written in the spirit of nuance, not negation. Misogynoir is real, and so is cultural appropriation. My goal is to explore what happens when American frameworks of justice are exported without context — especially in places where Western privilege remains deeply entrenched, even when held by those who are marginalized in the U.S. I also recognize that characters like Pornchai are written without depth, which only sharpens the ethical questions we’re meant to ignore.
When I first watched Season 1 of The White Lotus in 2022, I thought we were finally rounding the bend on decades of on-the-nose, overstated media about discrimination. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. I say this as someone who studies and teaches about identity-based discrimination — and who understands firsthand the social and personal harm of bigotry. So when I heard Mike White’s show was a dark comedy critique of privilege and excess, I expected something nuanced, layered, complex. And for the most part, I wasn’t disappointed.
What I wasn’t expecting was that Belinda — the most beloved character of Season 1 — would repeatedly mangle the Gayatri Mantra in her professional role as a spa manager, helping Tanya, a wealthy white client manage her anxiety. No, it doesn’t make any sense. (I wrote more about it here.)
“As if Gayatri Mantra is a New Age energetic warm compress.
How painful it was to watch Belinda, who didn’t openly identify or present as Hindu using and mangling a sacred Hindu mantra to appease Tanya, also not a Hindu, in situations that had no reverence or connection to the Divine, in situations that were all about ego and New Age platitudes.
I watched it knowing that it would be so difficult to talk about why it was wrong. That a show that problematizes privilege and discussions of privilege doesn’t appear to problematize the neocolonial theft and distortion of indigenous knowledge as long as it’s a person of color doing it. And that if I said that out loud, I could easily be accused of being anti-Black.”
Naturally, the broader media took no notice of what Belinda did. Hinduism and other Eastern traditions — and their adherents — have long been used as aesthetic backdrops or spiritual props in Western storytelling. The White Lotus is an American critique of American excess. So it’s understandable — even if it is frustrating — that the mainstream press ignored how deeply obscene it was to use something beloved to over a billion “Eastern people” as a trinket.
Because here’s the thing: Americans — regardless of race or ethnicity — carry American privilege in the world. In a show like The White Lotus, the ability to nod to anti-racism from the American social landscape — while situated in a country with an entirely different cultural and historical context — is itself a form of American privilege that Mike White and his critics don’t seem to fully grasp.
So when Belinda returned in Season 3, now in Thailand — a country that is over 90% Buddhist — I waited for her American and Western privilege to reappear. And it did. Belinda remains lovable, no doubt. She is sweet and charismatic. But she is also a charming Orientalist — someone who doesn’t mean harm, but is unaware of how much power she holds.
Even as a Black American single mother, she has significantly more power than her part-time Thai lover, Pornchai — even before she and her son, Zion, blackmail Smug Greg for five million dollars.
Some viewers noted that what Belinda did to Pornchai mirrored what Tanya did to Belinda. But then came the backlash: suggesting Belinda did anything wrong was labeled misogynoir — prejudice against Black women. The fact that such a term is wielded this way, to deflect critique of American privilege abroad, is itself a sign of privilege. (Misogynoir is real — but when it’s used to silence cross-cultural analysis, it starts to function as a shield for American dominance.)
Did Belinda technically owe Pornchai anything? No. Is she allowed to change her mind? Of course. Her feelings did seem to shift after he brought up starting a business together. The cinematography even changes: where Pornchai was once filmed in slow motion, radiant and sensual, he’s now shot as naive, overeager, puppy-eyed. His dream seems childlike. Belinda’s enchantment fades.
Of course, this is not just Belinda — Mike White is using Thailand and Buddhism as a prop, much like Piper Ratliff. But there are plenty of critiques of this already out there. It’s laid out very clearly in Piper’s storyline, and in several critiques of Mike White. Because there is a permission structure in contemporary progressive media spaces to critique white American Orientalism. That same permission is not granted when the Orientalist is a Black woman.
Belinda is, of course, also a limited character — rendered lovable but not especially complex. But unlike Piper or Tanya, whose flaws are written to be critiqued, Belinda’s actions are left untouched. Her character is protected by the very discourse that claims to expose power.
Even though Pornchai holds far less systemic power than Belinda, critics remain conspicuously silent. American racial frameworks shield her from critique, as if marginalization within the U.S. automatically nullifies power dynamics elsewhere. The show offers Pornchai no interiority — he exists as a beautiful, compliant prop in Belinda’s narrative of self-actualization. The power imbalance is not subtle. It’s structural, cultural, and deliberately ignored.
We see this dynamic play out repeatedly: the expectation that American frameworks of oppression should be universally legible and respected, even in places with vastly different histories, economies, and power structures — often impacted by American industry, media, and imperialism.
Victoria Ratliff captures the paradox perfectly in her response to Piper’s humbling realization after staying at the Buddhist monastery.
No one in the history of the world has lived better than we have — even the old kings and queens. The least we can do is enjoy it. If we don’t…it’s an offense to all the billions of people who can only dream they can live like we do.
Belinda — and Zion — are no exception to that.
In the end, The White Lotus captures — perhaps too perfectly — the export of American narcissism, dressed up as self-awareness. Mike White’s Orientalism is terrible — but at least it’s critiqued. Piper’s gaze and delusion are mocked. Tanya’s entitlement is written into the script. But Belinda’s use and dismissal of Pornchai — like her earlier mangling of Hindu practice — go unchecked, shielded by a racial framework that excuses an abuse of power when it wears the right identity. When she discards him, we’re told, “Well, he’s a grown man.” But he’s not just a man — he’s a Thai man with far less privilege than an American woman. When domination uses the language of justice, we’re not far from “America First” — just with better optics.
If that’s not the future equity is supposed to build, we need to get uncomfortable and start asking difficult questions now.
