Ad Age is marking Asian American and Native Hawaiian/Pacific Islander Heritage Month 2023 with our Honoring Creative Excellence package. (Read the introduction here.)

This week, our guest editor is Bing Chen, chairman and co-founder of Gold House, a “collective of pioneering founders, creative voices and leaders dedicated to accelerating the Asian diaspora’s societal impact and enhancing the community’s cultural legacy,” per the organization’s mission statement.

Here, Chen writes about the creation of Gold House—and the thinking behind its branding.

What unifies us? Is it needs—like Maslow’s? Is it beliefs—like faith? Shapes—like (an) Apple? Words—like Google (Search, Maps, Drive, etc.)? A lifestyle—like Virgin?

Before Gold House was Gold House, we spent six months meeting with 500 of the top Asian Pacific leaders, from business to creativity to social impact, asking them: What does our community need most?

Everyone listed the same four priorities in descending order: We weren’t unified; we hated how we were portrayed in media (if at all); we craved economic parity; and we needed more orchestrated political power.

We realized that the fundamental reason our diaspora wasn’t excelling in ways we wanted was not just because of perceptual biases or systemic exclusion. No, there was an unpopular truth: The first people to pooh-pooh Asians were other Asians. Our research quickly unveiled why: We are dozens of ethnicities; have hundreds of dialects; we lack a common historic struggle, common faith and common political ground. Moreover, society is structured such that many of us have to fight for crumbs instead of baking our own pies.

We decided, in month seven, that our foundation would reverse centuries' worth of fracture to instead foster mutual support.

Every movement needs an identity. Analogous groups called themselves every derivation of Asian American ______. But that ignores the Native Hawaiian and Pacific Islander community. And many are proud of their ancestors’ nationalities abroad, furthered by the growing Third Culture population (i.e., they are not “just American”). With hundreds of dialects, there could be no unifying shape or word. And with split political beliefs, there was no consistent ideology or lifestyle.

In kidhood, my mother told me, “As often as you can, there is one goal in life: to give as much as you can.” And the path to giving, in her eyes, was achieved through “education and gold—or what you know and how you make it worth something.”

I remember laughing: I was only 10, so what else would I do but go to school? And gold was tacky.

But as we looked further, gold is one of the only symbols that is both specific to the Asian diaspora and universally valued. Rooted in ancient art and various religious symbols, gold has appeared across East, South, Southeast and West Asia, such as in embroidery in Korea, Buddhist artifacts in Nepal and manuscripts in Thailand. Political leaders across history used gold to signify their right to rule. For instance, Indian monarchs were often illustrated with gold nimbuses around their heads, paralleling the sun. Similar practices incorporated gold into royal apparel in Indonesia and China.

While most of us may not have actual, physical gold, it is something we all know—and something that has worth everywhere.

Gold, as our identity, quickly caught on beyond us. Today, there are books such as Eva Chen’s “I Am Golden,” Netflix’s Asian social channel @netflixgolden, and even groups like The Gold Team, which helps underprivileged Asian girls play basketball.

Gold, alone, isn’t trademarkable (trust me, we’ve tried), so we needed an appendage that came quickly: The earliest form of mutual support we know is found in the home. This would be a singular place—by us, for us, so that we could build for all.

Since then, that house has fought hate, reshaped media to reframe beliefs, and retooled Silicon Valley to break the bamboo ceiling.

The world we were handed wasn’t the home we wanted, so we built our own house. That’s why it’s gold.