Eddie Huang is many things: author, chef, restaurateur, filmmaker, media personality. The list goes on, and Huang wouldn’t have it any other way. Born in Virginia to Taiwanese-Chinese parents, Huang opened his first restaurant, Baohaus, a cult-favorite Taiwanese bun shop, on New York City’s Lower East Side in 2009, later moving the shop to the East Village, where it remained until its pandemic-era closure in October 2020. Between then and now, Huang published two books, wrote and directed his first movie, and got married and
started a family. Nowadays, he’s got plenty more on his plate: a Substack, a podcast (which he co-hosts with his wife, Natashia Perrotti), and an executive-chef gig at the Flower Shop, a bar on the LES. He’s got a third novel, titled Come Undone, due out on June 16. He’s currently (superstitiously) rooting on his beloved New York Knicks in the finals. Oh, and just reopened Baohaus this past March, which is where he and I met up in late May. Huang didn’t expect to
bring the restaurant back, but when he received a call—over the speakerphone in his car—from his trademark attorney asking him if he wanted to renew the Baohaus name, he dejectedly said that he didn’t. His wife, overhearing the call and sensing the pain in his voice, urged him to reconsider. “I didn’t believe her,” he tells me. “I was very down on myself. All the Hollywood stuff started to crater. The [Los Angeles] fires, the consolidation. I would never lie, I had to cook because
I needed to make ends meet.” When he started cooking at the Flower Shop, he still wasn’t fulfilled. “It was a job, but I got the itch again. ‘I never fully realized Baohaus, so I’m going to go for it,’” he thought. And now, he adds, “I’m really happy.” Over some nice dishes in the Baohaus back garden, Huang tells me about becoming a better writer, how fatherhood and Black culture have shaped his style, and why, as a Knicks superfan, he hasn’t attended a
Knicks game in over a year. GQ: There’s plenty anyone can read on the internet, but in your own words, tell me a bit about your background. Eddie Huang: I was brought up in a way where there was a right way to do things, a fast way to do things, and a wrong way to do things. And my mom is very into [being] fast and efficient. My dad was very into the “right” way. I tend to really go with my dad, and,
obviously, being Taiwanese-Chinese in America, the way we thought was right was very alien and foreign to Americans, and the way Americans thought was right was very alien and foreign to me. There’s a genuine sadness in my spirit that comes from being an outsider. Even when I’m invited in, I tend to look at things from an outside perspective. I very rarely trust anything enough to feel like I belong. I’ve always related to that Groucho Marx joke, “I would never want to be
part of a club that would have me as a member.” I think the thing that defines me is that I would never believe that a club would have me as a member. I feel like the big embarrassment would come if one day I actually believe that I belong. That drives everything I do. In the movie Heat—I don’t think it’s a great film—but there’s a line where Robert De Niro said, “I never get into anything I can’t get out of in under
90 seconds.” When I met my wife, literally within the first two or three dates, that movie came up and that line came up, and we were both like, “Yeah.” We were both emotionally unavailable. My relationship with my wife [and my son] is probably the one place I feel I belong. I’m really happy in that family and it’s kind of all I need. And everything else it’s like, “I respect you.” Film world, respect you, love you, would love to be a part
of it, but would never believe it. Same with food, same with writing, same with everything. And I think people are always like, “Why are you always bouncing around?” It comes from this sense of just like, I cannot believe that anybody would fuck with me. Still. People fuck with you for all different reasons. You can provide an opportunity. You can provide a job. People are very opportunistic animals. I spent so much of my early life on the outside looking in that I’m
just like: One, I would never believe if I was actually accepted, and two, I kind of like it on the outside. There are perks to it. I really enjoy being left alone. The times when I’m left alone to my ideas and writing, those are some of the happiest moments of my life. You have a new novel coming out next month, which is your third book. Can you tell me a bit about it? It is a novel about two “red flags,” two
emotionally unavailable people who meet each other and decide for some ungodly reason that you’re the person I’m going to try vulnerability and intimacy with. And on its face, it’s like, “This is terrible.” You would think that someone who’s really good at intimacy and vulnerability would pair well with someone who isn’t, like an odd couple-ish. But to be two of the same—two people with the same problem that are for some reason are attracted to each other and then overcome that obstacle together,
I think it’s a beautiful story. Is it autobiographical? Yeah, it’s very autobiographical. So many stories are about when somebody teaches you something. The archetype is Pygmalion, right? Like, My Fair Lady. This story is, “No, they’re equals. They’re equally fucked-up, they’re equally capable, and they’re going to do this together.” And it’s the love that these two have for each other that gets them to face their problems. Did you do anything different in the process of writing this one versus any of your
other writing? What does it take to write a book? Yeah, [this one is] very much autofiction. I cracked and I did well really, really early in my life. I wrote Fresh Off the Boat around the age of 28—it was turned in around 28—and came out a few months before I turned 30. I got by on talent for a while, and just being a different voice. No one from Asian-America had spoken before. [It was like,] “Wait, you’re Asian American and you’re into
and inspired by Black culture?” Black culture was the thing that inspired me and gave me confidence to speak, literally. And so much of that book was about this very interesting American phenomenon where you can be Taiwanese-Chinese, but you can relate to another culture and philosophy and that culture can actually raise you and teach you the things that you need to learn to become who you are. I was an alien, so that book went crazy, but I don’t think I fully understood
the craft of writing and how much effort it required to be a great writer. Once I put the book out, I started to read even more, and then obviously you receive criticism of the novel. I was like, “Oh my God, I have so many things to improve on.” From 2013 to about 2021, I was really focused on becoming a better writer. Around 2021, when I met my wife, I realized it’s not about becoming a better writer. There are skills to learn
and you do those things, but it’s about living better and being a better person. My wife definitely held up a mirror to me and forced me to look at the person I was, the ways that I didn’t match up with what I said, the inconsistencies, the hypocrisy, things I would get away with. I’ve just grown up a lot in this relationship and that has in turn affected me as a writer, and made me better as a writer. Has being a father
changed your philosophy? How you handle relationships? It’s definitely made me more patient. It’s also helped me love myself, man. My son is the first person where I’m just like, “You’re like genetically programmed to love me. You love me, you need me, and that’s a beautiful thing and I will not take advantage of this.” Because I think the thing that ruins intimacy for all of us is that when there is someone that truly loves you and needs you, if you don’t take
care of that and if you hurt them, that not only hurts them and it hurts you, but it hurts their ability to ever love again, and yours as well. My son has really taught me to take people’s trust in you really, really seriously. That’s a special thing to take care of. Has fatherhood had an impact on your style? Absolutely. I definitely wear a lot more clothes with fabric that’s utilitarian, stain-proof. I wear a lot of Teatora. I wear a lot of
“shants” because I don’t know if I’m going to need pants or I’ll need shorts, but shants work with the weather changing. A lot of T-shirts and basketball shorts but then try to look fly, maybe with a watch. Now I get why dads are into watches, because it’s like, “Yo, I need to wear this just plain white shirt. I’m going to wear basketball shorts.” But it is nice to have a watch and be like, “I got this thing.” Was there a seminal
moment in which you remember you first became interested in clothing and fashion? When I was young, I loved Charles Barkley. I loved Allen Iverson and Georgetown. I loved Shaquille O’Neal. I just wanted their basketball jerseys. For me, fashion absolutely began with wanting to dress like my favorite athletes. Whatever they were wearing, I wanted to wear. What role does style play in your life? Anytime someone wears an article of clothing intentionally, they’re wanting to communicate something. They’re wanting someone to see it
and be seen. And it’s the same thing with writing. I would like to communicate this to the people I love and care about, and I would like it to be felt. I would like it to be heard. I would like it to be seen. So, to me, style has always been the most simple and straightforward. Like, “Does anybody see me? I hope you see me.” I tend to not enjoy listening to [new] music in the restaurant here at times. I work
with a lot of younger people and they’re very much like those dudes in High Fidelity that come in like, “Check out my playlist. Check out this new album.” I’m like, “Alright, I love this for you guys.” But I no longer care if people know what I listen to. I just listen to it myself. But I still am down to have a conversation about clothing. I’m still down to wear my clothing and be seen and be like, “What are you wearing?” I
think fashion is cool. Of course, fashion can be performative, but with style, someone’s either rocking something or they’re not. I could tell you I listen to something obscure, and maybe I don’t, but I can lie and you have no way of knowing whether I actually fuck with that music or don’t fuck with that music. But with clothing, you’re wearing it or it’s wearing you. Style is right there in front of you. What are some brands you’re rocking at the moment? I
do like being a stan of a brand. I like that dynamic when you’re a young kid. In the mid ’90s it was like, “All right, you’re the Polo homie. You’re the Tommy Hilfiger homie. I’m the Nautica homie. Be the Pelle Pelle guy.” Even as a 44-year-old, I like to be a fan of a brand and almost wear it like an ironic uniform, overly loyal to it. The last eight years has been Stone Island. Stone Island is the brand that I purchase
and I wear in community with other homies. It’s fun to follow a brand in concert with the homies. The brand that I quietly wear every day because I love it is Teatora. Teatora is just my absolute favorite. And then if I’m dressing up and going somewhere, [like] contemporary menswear, I really like Studio Nicholson. Auralee, they do a really good job. I’m a big Margaret Howell fan; Margaret Howell bridges that chasm between work wear but contemporary menswear and it’s not trying to
be workwear. It’s just fire. I do some Evan Kinori. I like vintage Comme [des Garçons]. For blanks, I like Shaka Wear. Dude, so weird—I just had this conversation with another subject earlier about Shaka Wear. I bought a rapper’s merch tee recently. It was printed on a Shaka Wear blank, and it’s one of my favorite tees. It’s got a long wizard sleeve, a mock neck, and a great relaxed fit. That’s so funny. Shaka Wear’s the best. I still rock a lot of
old Willy Chavarria, too. Early Willy Chavarria, big fan. What’s your most recent pickup clothing-wise? Recently I went to C’H’C’M’. I bought a few Auralee things. I almost always get the Teatora drop. And then Dustin [Lewis] from Stone Island gave me the Stone Island Knicks hat, which is fire. There are only 10 of them, right? You were talking before about growing up, being influenced by Black culture. Knicks culture is obviously Black. It’s New York. New York culture is very much immigrant culture,
but I would say predominantly Black. First, what does it mean to dress like a New Yorker? You could ask me direct, I don’t get offended. I definitely understand my relationship to Black culture. It makes sense to me, and it’s real and it’s honest, but also if they put me on “W*gger Mount Rushmore,” I’d understand. It wouldn’t bother me. I would laugh. I would see it as an honor. Me, Chet Hanks, and The Fat Jewish. Well, Timothée Chalamet catches flack for this.
People call what he wears appropriation, but he’s a New Yorker. You’re a New Yorker. I’m curious to hear your thoughts on this. I like this conversation. I’m going to tell you what I like. If someone wants to view it as taking from Black culture, I get it. I wouldn’t say you’re incorrect. As a child, when you’re into things, you’re just inspired, and you’re like, “I want to be Allen Iverson.” I’ve greatly benefited from Black culture spiritually, aesthetically, everything. I would never
doubt it. Like I said, if I’m on literal Mount Rushmore as one of the people who has benefited from our Black culture the most, I would not argue with it. I really, really just am thankful to Black culture. And I do hope that there is a future where we can look at all of the cultures that contribute to what New York City culture is. One of my favorite movies growing up was The Last Dragon, because it meant more to me to
see Black people interacting with Asian culture. And the fact that somebody non-Asian thought our shit was cool meant the world to me. That movie’s fucking dope. It’s the best. That movie’s incredible. And I think that everyone contributes to New York City culture, but I would say Black culture has contributed probably the most. When I was in LA, I would carry a handbag sometimes. I had a car. I was less into shoes, because you’re in your car all the time, and you’re
at a dinner and your feet are under the table. In New York, style is so much more kinetic and interesting because it has to fit your actual lifestyle. You’ve got to have a bag. You’ve got to take the train. It’s utilitarian and it’s an extension of you. In LA, you can fully dress and pretend like you have a lifestyle that you do not have. In New York, bro, you’re going to have to commute through three boroughs with this cosplay shit on,
it’s going to wear thin very, very quickly. You’re going to give up very fast. Aside from your own spots, can you give me three recommendations for places to eat in New York? Eel Bar. Smithereens. Borgo. Usually, I do these [favorite-restaurant] lists and they’re all Chinese-ethnic food, stuff like that. Being back in the kitchen full-time and embracing modern chef-driven food more than I ever have in my career, those are the three restaurants that interest me. How many pieces of Knicks merch do
you think you own? Oh, I have the entire starting five right now minus Josh Hart, plus Mitchell Robinson, because I was hoping they’d start Mitchell Robinson the entire season. I’ve got Sprewell, I’ve got Ewing, I’ve got Frazier, I’ve got Starks. I have my own name. I’ve got multiple varsity jackets. I have many T-shirts, many T-shirts caught at the arena. I’ve got towels. I’ve got blankets. So, unclear how many? Yeah. Crazy number of Knicks merch. Genuinely, how are you feeling about the
Knicks in the Finals? I’ll tell you, I feel fantastic, but that is all I will say. Because I was at the Garden behind the hoop game one of the Eastern Conference Finals last year, when the Pacers beat us in double OT after we had the huge lead, I have not gone to a Knicks game since intentionally because I felt like I was part of that loss. I said, “I’m not coming back to the Garden until we win.” I’ve watched every game
at home. I watched some games with a weighted vest on. I do pushups. I do crazy shit. I’m not going to comment on what I think, because it’s working and the Knicks are winning, and I need to see this. I need to see them follow through. I just want to see this.
Eddie Huang, Baohaus, Knicks, New York Knicks, weighted vest, Come Undone, Natashia Perrotti, Flower Shop, Lower East Side, East Village