Growing up, I had always wanted to be Violet from "The Incredibles."

Violet was the sole animated character to whom I related—a surprising fact considering that we are all but polar opposites. Violet is sullen and moody; I have always been cheerful and endlessly talkative. Violet (in the beginning of the movie, at least) is shy and pessimistic; I am an incurable optimist.

But to one thing I did relate—her dark hair, long locks that resembled my own.

On that basis alone, I believed that Violet was Asian. And I adored her for it.

Ridiculous as the idea seems in retrospect, my childhood adoration of Violet illustrates a finer point: precious few Asians exist in media. Even fewer exist in films for young audiences.

Moreover, for the childhood days of make-believe—when pretense mirrors desire, and desire mirrors whatever is on TV—the lack of representation is particularly influential. During these formative years, to think that that a hero does not, or perhaps cannot, look like me was to lose a very corner of my world.

And so, as I grew up in a predominately white town, I clung onto the only trait that reminded me of myself: dark hair.

Indeed, it seems only human to crave recognition, to find validation that we, too, can become a story’s protagonist. That we exist outside of stereotyped roles: doctor. Scientist. Random non-English speaking Chinese guy.

The interim solution, it seems, is to showcase specific stories. For instance, the children’s movie “Mulan” comes to mind. One might argue that it meets all of the attributes I previously lamented: it features an Asian protagonist, realistically portrayed. It appeals to children.

But in reality, the movie’s titular character became a sort of token Asian. What may have started as a path for increasing diversity became a stereotype in itself. It was as if someone said, “okay, we’ve checked the ‘Asian’ box, so now we can go on doing what we were doing before.”

This solution is no more than a band-aid.

What Hollywood needs is not more of Mulan—not more roles explicitly written for Asians. (After all, even then, Asian actors are still overlooked: Scarlett Johansson, Emma Stone, and Matt Damon have all made recent headlines for being cast as “Asians.") Just as Lupita Nyong'o alone cannot fix the Oscars' lack of representation, change must happen through a reform more profound than "make a movie about minorities once in a while."

Rather, we need more of Violet, Violet as my six-year-old self imagined her.

We need families who don’t necessarily look like one another—where it’s perfectly acceptable to be an Asian child with parents of another race. We need characters who are not necessarily written for Asians; who are, in fact, the antitheses of Asian stereotypes.

In fact, let me submit the following litmus test: play a mental version of #StarringJohnCho and #StarringConstanceWu with yourself (for those unfamiliar, replace the protagonist of a movie with either Cho or Wu). And if you ever think, “no, I can’t see an Asian playing that role,” ask yourself if, perhaps, a stereotype is limiting your perception of who we can become.

Because to my six-year-old self, I say, yes, let Violet be Asian. Let Asians—let every minority group—together redefine what it means to be incredible.