It started with a bowl of phở.

Not just any bowl—my bowl. Homemade, messily garnished, slurped on camera in my Saigon apartment while I ranted (half-jokingly, fully caffeinated) about how most Westerners couldn’t tell the difference between phở and ramen if it smacked them in the face. I posted it at 2 a.m. on TikTok, paired with a trending sound and a smirk.

By sunrise, the video had racked up 300,000 views. By lunch, #PhoGate was trending on Vietnamese Twitter. And by dinner, I was unemployed.

My PR agency—who shall remain nameless but rhymes with “blandstorm”—sent me a polite-but-firm email citing “brand misalignment.” Apparently, clients didn’t appreciate a junior account manager going semi-rogue and sparking a pan-Asian noodle war. Never mind that I managed their food accounts. Or that half my following agreed with me.

Cancel Culture, But Make It Pan-Asian

In Vietnam, being too outspoken (especially as a woman, and especially in English) still ruffles feathers. The older generation sees social media as either a résumé booster or a liability—never a career. My aunt wept when I told her I’d been let go. My mother asked if I could “just delete the app and get a quiet job.”

But here’s the twist: someone else loved the chaos.

A Thai media startup DM’d me three days later: “We’re building a team of regional voices. You in?”

Suddenly, I was rehired—this time in Bangkok, with better pay, actual creative freedom, and a content brief that basically boiled down to: “Just be spicy.”

Bangkok: Where Influencers Don’t Whisper

In Bangkok, being bold is currency. The influencer scene here is vibrant, weird, and endlessly forgiving. You can go viral for stirring a coconut latte with your stiletto and still land a beauty deal by Monday. Cancel culture exists—but it’s more like a sabbatical with benefits. You’re rarely cancelled for long if you know how to pivot and keep the drama tongue-in-cheek.

I’ve since posted food rants, dating skits, a mildly chaotic breakdown about learning Thai tone marks—and my followers keep growing. A local noodle chain even offered me a brand collab. (Yes, really. Noodles. Full circle.)

What This Taught Me (Besides Phở Politics)

I learned that the internet is brutal—but oddly generous. That one country’s “career mistake” might be another’s creative origin story. And that sometimes, losing the “safe” job is the only way you get to do the thing you actually give a damn about.

These days, I make TikToks from a coworking café in Silom, sipping lemongrass soda and editing videos with chopstick commentary. People still send hate sometimes, but more often they ask for phở recipes or tell me I helped them speak louder.

I was cancelled. I was unemployed. Then I was hired again—louder, better dressed, and with a renewed sense of who I actually wanted to be.

So no, I won’t stop posting. I’ll just keep seasoning it better.

By Lê Minh Anh

– content creator, accidental lightning rod, occasional brand risk