into a webcam — attracted tens of millions of followers, revealing a previously unexploited yearning for cultural icons who, in some way, reflected the lives of Asian American youth. Choi, who was born into an upper-class family in Seoul in 1970, is another credible mirror. His parents immigrated to the U.S. when he was 2 and bounced around Southern California for a decade, opening restaurants and other failed businesses before landing in the jewelry trade. Thanks to his mother’s discerning eye, the social apparatus of the Korean church, and the influence that elite Koreans often retain in the diaspora, the Chois earned a fortune.

By the time Choi reached middle school, the family had made it, moving into an enormous house in Orange County that had once been ownedby the Hall of Fame pitcher Nolan Ryan. The community was affluent and predominantly white; Choi suffered the sorts of casual (and sometimes overt) racism that befalls many minority kids who grow up in such places. He was teased, ostracized, and developed a violent temper that would follow him throughout his youth. By his teens, Choi had gravitated to Garden Grove, a nearby enclave of Vietnamese and Korean immigrants. He hung around the periphery of gang life, developing a variety of addictions: to alcohol, drugs, gambling. He lost a solid couple of years in the Bicycle Club and Commerce casinos in South Los Angeles. Choi glosses over that period in L.A. Son, but not because he feels embarrassed by it. Instead, one gets the sense that he almost