“Are We All Fakes?”: The Myth of Perfect Families

I used to think my family was untouchably cool. And not just regular cool—the kind of effortlessly hip you see in ‘90s sitcoms, where everyone’s cracking jokes over breakfast waffles dripping with maple syrup (organic, obviously). As a kid, I told myself we were different from other families. Special. Somehow more interesting because we owned a cozy café that smelled like espresso beans and buttered croissants. I mean, not every family gets to have philosophical debates with regular customers named things like “Poetry Pete” or “Knits-Her-Own-Sweaters Karen,” right?

In my head, we were one big, multicultural, coffee-slinging success story. My parents, young and ambitious immigrants from Hong Kong, had “made it” in Vancouver. We weren’t just serving lattes; we were serving vibes. People came to our café for the food and the family. We were happy, hardworking, harmonious—an enviable trifecta that other families could only dream of.

Except, we weren’t. Not really.

The Myth of the Picture-Perfect Family

Every family spins its own mythology. Whether it’s a standard immigrant success story, a “we’re quirky but lovable” trope, or the “we’ve got dinner-table debates and trust funds” vibe, these myths are the edited highlight reels of our lives. My family’s myth? That our café wasn’t just our livelihood but also some kind of glue that kept us bonded and thriving, week after week, latte after latte.

The reality? Sometimes, my parents argued over where the line ends between our family life and the business. My dad wanted to renovate, throw in a fresh coat of turquoise paint; my mom liked everything exactly the way it was. But they’d always air these debates after hours, behind the espresso machine, as though the world—or more specifically, a starry-eyed little girl in her school uniform (me)—should never know about cracks in the foundation.

The narrative held strong for years. It wasn’t until my teenage angst phase hit that I started questioning things.

Asking the Awkward Questions

It all began with a rainy Friday night in Kitsilano, when I came home late from high school with a lot of Big Questions about life. I had just watched “The Breakfast Club” with my friends, so of course I thought I was on to profound, universal truths about identity and social facades. I asked my mom one pointed question: “Are you happy?”

She froze mid-kitchen-counter-wipe like a wax statue, a paper towel clenched in her hand. “What do you mean?” she asked, leaning into this old immigrant-mom reflex of answering a question with a question. I’ll never forget the look she gave me—half puzzled, half horrified, like I’d asked her to hand over the family recipe for dumplings to the FBI.

“No, but really,” I insisted. “Do you love the café, like, for real? And Dad? Are you happy with him, or just happy in that way where you’re used to each other, like an old couch?”

My mom finally muttered something about how I should focus on my homework, which, to her credit, was exactly the level of deflection I’d expected. But the seed of doubt was planted.

For the next few years, the family myth started to unravel. I noticed the little things: how my dad kept his books in neat rows, but my mom let receipts pile up like post-it notes on drive-thru windows. How my parents rarely showed affection unless it was jokingly (“Yeah, she still hasn’t divorced me!” he’d say to regulars). How stress gnawed at them when the café had slow months or customers complained about oat milk substitute (sorry, Steve—the world didn’t revolve around your bespoke latte).

The love was there—I think it always has been—but where was that perfect sitcom harmony? How long had we been mythologizing it in the first place?

The Danger of “Fairy-Tale Families”

As it turns out, most families build myths not because they’re fake but because myths help us cope. They’re the cinematic version of our lives, full of clever editing and a peppy score. For immigrant families in particular, these narratives function like armor. Having left behind the familiar—friends, careers, languages—our parents create new stories in their new homes. Tales of resilience and success, joy and unity. It’s not malicious; it’s survival instinct with a little PR spin.

Let’s face it, though: these myths come with baggage. They teach us we have to be perfect, especially in front of outsiders. They can make imperfections—or even just the inherent work that goes into relationships—feel taboo. And like the walls of our café, they needed a new coat of paint long before anyone was willing to admit it.

What Families Actually Look Like

What I’ve learned is that no family is as polished as it seems, not even the ones who never serve their kids pasta sauce from a jar (liars). My family is loving, messy, occasionally type-A, and perpetually lost when it comes to finding the Tupperware lids. And once I let go of needing everything to be some epic origin story worthy of Broadway adaptation, I was left with something better: authenticity.

If you’re reading this and thinking, “Okay, but my family has its own weird myth, too,” chances are you may need to unwrap it. What’s behind that story you’ve been telling yourself since you were old enough to spell “legacy”? Maybe it’s realizing your parents didn’t always have the resources (emotional, financial, or otherwise) to give you the flawless childhood you’d imagined. Maybe it’s clashing with the people you love most in the world over things like culture, gender roles, or what hobbies actually count as “productive.” Whatever it is, it’s worth asking: How much truth is in that family narrative—and do you get to revise it for yourself? (Spoiler: You absolutely do.)

Myth Debunking: Tips and Takeaways

So, how do you begin taking the family fairy tale off its pedestal without sending everyone spiraling into a Shakespearean drama? Here’s what worked for me. It might help you, too:

  • Ask kindly, but probe deeply. When you ask the Big Questions (“How are you, really?”), be ready for answers that surprise or unsettle you—and lean in with compassion, not judgment.

  • Accept both the love and the flaws. Holding two truths at once—that your family tried their best and fell short sometimes—can be tricky. But it’s the only way to honor their humanity and your own.

  • Create space for new stories. Your family’s original myth doesn’t have to be the end of the story. What plot twists are you adding? How will you retell it to the next generation?

The Spoiler Alert We’re All Forgetting

Here’s the thing: nobody really lives in a sitcom family, no matter how many people tag their throwback photos with #SquadGoals. Behind every Instagram-perfect dinner table, there’s a grandma rolling her eyes, an uncle spilling tea (literally and metaphorically), or a set of parents hiding their stress about the mortgage. And that’s okay. The beauty of families isn’t in their perfection but in the fact that we still keep showing up—messy, flawed, hopeful, and consistent.

Turns out, the real latte art worth admiring isn’t in the foam hearts at the coffee shop but in the way people manage to love each other when life is chaotic.