In the podcast episode “Filipino Tiki Bar,” writer and host Paola Mardo shares a rich history of the tiki bar and uncovers its roots in Pacific island and specifically Filipino culture. She talks about immigrant men from the Philippines who realized their American dream being waiters, busboys, bartenders, or owners of their own tropical themed tiki bars. Throughout history, the accuracy of the portrayal of Pacific island culture in tiki bars has been called into question―the line between appropriation and appreciation has never been clear. In the paper “Donn, Vic, and tiki bar authenticity,” by Glenn Carroll and Dennis Ray Wheaton, the authors call into question any Pacific roots tiki has at all, covering the history, for the most part, through white business owners and barcomers. Which history is correct? Does Mardo fail to tell the whole story of modern imperialism in Los Angeles, or are Carroll and Wheaton missing an important aspect of native influence? 

The tension between these two sources is defined by their differing definition of the rise of tiki bars and the inspiration behind these pockets of paradise in a big city. Carroll and Wheaton begin by saying that“[a]fter increasingly affluent Americans began vacationing via ship around 1915 to Hawaiian and South Seas destinations, Hawaiian music and ukuleles became something of a mainland fad…In response, several South Seas-themed nightclubs opened” (page 161). This introduction centers the popularity of tiki bars around the nuclear white family, entertainment, and capitalism, rather than centering it around the work/influence of people of color, like Mardo does in her podcast. She oppositely credits tiki bars’ success to the work of, in particular, immigrant men from the Philippines, whose jobs working behind these bars, waiting on customers and mixing cocktails, helped shape tiki identity in America. 

 “The Seven Seas offered mainly Chinese (Cantonese) food on a menu labeled “Polynesian.” Its promotional materials promised “sophisticated dining” of “world-renowned cuisine” set in an “exotic Tahitian atmosphere ‘midst tropical thunder, lightning and the famous ‘Rain on the Roof.’” produced by sprinklers on a corrugated metal roof. Other contemporary local places with similar themes included Jade Café on Hollywood Boulevard, The Tropics at Sunset and Vine, La Conga, and Whistling’s Hawaiian (Williams 2006b)” (page 161). Highlights the inaccurate representation of a mish-mash of Pacific cultures, taking inspiration from places like China to Hawaii, then grouping them all under the same ‘Polynesian’ umbrella.

“In the early days of Don the Beachcomber, Victor Bergeron, the son of a French-Canadian grocery store owner and waiter in San Francisco, visited both it and the Seven Seas (1973). Bergeron promptly thereafter remade his own Oakland restaurant – a hunting lodge-themed place called Hinky Dink’s at 6500 San Pablo Avenue – into something he called Trader Vic’s®, another South Seas island-themed restaurant. Apparently, Bergeron developed his restaurant ideas and establishment without ever actually visiting the islands of the South Seas, although he had recently traveled to the Caribbean. Bergeron enlivened the atmosphere with his creative stories about a swashbuckling life, which carried a hint of veracity because he sported a wooden peg leg. (See Figure 1 for a photo of Bergeron.) Trader Vic’s® became very popular after its makeover. Bergeron subsequently pumped up the Polynesian theme: he added tiki carvings, island and seafaring artifacts and more South Sea island details to the décor. Don the Beachcomber and others followed suit” (page 161-162). Credits start “other followed suit” of tiki to a white man, how could recreate pacific island culture if he’d never actually visited the islands? Questions authenticity or any root in actual pacific tradition

“The iconic mai tai was a cocktail made with 19-year-old J. Wray Nephew Jamaican rum and was invented in Oakland by Bergeron and his bartender. The name came from a couple of Bergeron’s friends who sampled the newly concocted drink after returning from Tahiti and commented “it’s mai tai,” purportedly a Tahitian saying meaning “out of this world” (Bergeron 1973). The mai tai went on to become the cornerstone drink of Trader Vic’s® and numerous other South Sea island themed bars” (page 163). Even cornerstones of the island persona were created by white americans who have now put their mark on the tiki bar definition. The contrast of these two sources begs questions of perspective: perhaps this Carroll and Wheaton are not looking deep enough to discover filipino influence or mardo failed to include the lasting effects of modern colonialism. 

Carroll and Wheaton state that tiki became a “...fascinating and resilient American cultural object throughout much of the last century” (page 179). This article even names it an American cultural object, completely disregarding any native island roots. Where does native pacific end and ‘american’ culture begin? How does american culture mimic native cultures it has been influenced by? Is America truly a melting pot, or are some cultures not given enough credit/attention/recognition?

“But proponents like Humuhumu (2016, 2017) and others have mounted respectful rebuttals. Like many enthusiasts, she notes that few take seriously anyone’s tiki claims of nominal authenticity. She also argues cogently that consumers are capable of subtle and complex interpretations of tiki representations (see also Lukas [2016]). Indeed, Humuhumu (2016, 2017) credits the tiki bar for raising awareness of Polynesian culture and its abuses by the West. She uses her own experience to justify this claim: … Despite a deep passion for Hawaiian culture and history when I was younger, I did not truly understand how my perception of Oceanic culture had been twisted until I delved into tiki. It was only by diving into the fake that I truly came to appreciate the real. In addition to countering the critiques, her remarks illustrate the ironic complexity that characterizes many advocates' relationship to tiki” (page 178).

“Moreover, we imagine that for some of these Americana-driven patrons, the appeal of the tiki bar reflects an enactment of a collective laugh of sorts – an appreciation and celebration of the fanciful quirkiness of America in the 1950s and 1960s. The tiki bar attracts individuals who see it as a great ironic parody of the way life once was” (page 178). This depicts patrons of the tiki bar as laughing at what ‘american life’ used to be, even though it was never their reality--it was either something they saw on tv or something they traveled to for only a short while, eventually returning to their everyday lives. These descriptions characterize tiki as funny for being a thing of the past, archaic or primitive, subtebly eluding to primal and animalistic “jungle savage” stereotypes.

“Our conjecture is that while there may be some patrons who visit tiki bars in search of a real Polynesian experience or food, we doubt that there are many. Diners today go to, say, Thai restaurants to eat Thai food, but they do not go to tiki bars to eat Polynesian food or imbibe Polynesian drinks. We venture that almost everyone who frequents one knows that the tiki bar has no or very little nominal authenticity, as noted by many enthusiasts and analysts” (page 177). How can actual polynesian culture even begin to be celebrated if a majority of tiki bar goers are convinced there are no authentic elements of it and do not seek to appreciate them either way? This undermines Mardos argument that tiki bars were run by people of color and therefore still gave them a space to share their culture. 

In truth, the origins of tiki are likely a good mix of both authentic Pacific culture and a version of it through white eyes. A mix of many Pacific cultures comes together in a simplified way that is far more easily understood and digested by white consumers. Carroll and Wheaton’s paper highlights this phenomenon of whitewashing native cultures that come to the United States, revealing lasting effects of imperialism that Mardo’s podcast put aside to highlight the accomplishments of men like Ray Buhen, who made a name for themselves and their culture in their own establishments. The history of tiki is much richer than just a single paper or podcast episode, and becomes more accurate the more both sides of the story are considered. Comparing the discontinuity between each source reveals rifts in the narrative that can be closed by the examination of the two sides as a whole. Allowing all relevant voices to be heard is the best way to uncover important truths. 

Works Cited

Carroll, Glenn R., and Dennis Ray Wheaton. “Donn, Vic and Tiki Bar Authenticity.” Consumption, Markets and Culture, vol. 22, no. 2, Routledge, 2019, pp. 157–82, doi:10.1080/10253866.2018.1457528.

Mardo, Paola. “Filipino Tiki Bar.” Long Distance, Offshore Podcast, 21 May 2019, https://www.longdistanceradio.com/6-filipino-tiki-bar