Thailand Weaponizes Wanderlust: Can Culture Sell a Nation’s Identity?
The quest for national identity, distilled and commodified, is no longer a sideshow; it’s becoming a central arena of geopolitical competition. It’s a story playing out globally, but right now, the spotlight is on Thailand. Paetongtarn Shinawatra, Thailand’s suspended Prime Minister and Culture Minister, is spearheading a push for “soft power,” leveraging Thai cuisine, Muay Thai, jewelry, wellness, and filmmaking to project influence. As Bangkok Post reports, the second annual SPLASH — Soft Power Forum 2025, has become ground zero for Thailand’s plan. But what we’re really seeing isn’t just cultural promotion; it’s the weaponization of wanderlust.
But what does “soft power” even mean in the 21st century, beyond the buzzword? Joseph Nye, who coined the term, defined it as the ability to attract and co-opt, rather than coerce. This is about cultural appeal, values, and legitimate foreign policy, but the increasing focus on tangible outcomes raises serious questions. Is this genuinely about cultural exchange, or a calculated effort to bolster economic growth and geopolitical standing? And more importantly, what happens when the lines between genuine affection and strategic leverage blur beyond recognition?
“Creative culture is a soft power that is used all over the world. People are no longer interested in buying just products or services,”
Shinawatra’s comments reflect a growing understanding that consumers are buying experiences, not just goods. Thailand is attempting to brand itself through these experiences. But there is a real tension, as that requires balancing authenticity with marketability. This brings up the issue of the “local” becoming another manufactured product for the “international community.” The very act of curating culture for export inherently alters it, creating a feedback loop where the performance of Thai-ness begins to eclipse its essence.
Consider the historical context. Thailand, unlike many of its neighbors, was never formally colonized. This gives the nation a unique cultural confidence but also creates pressure to assert its identity on the global stage. Its economic development has been historically tied to tourism, another area of culture commodification. Think of the rise of “hill tribe tourism” in the 20th century, a well-intentioned but often exploitative practice that inadvertently turned marginalized communities into living exhibits. In this sense, soft power is not new; it’s simply an explicit strategy, a formalization of processes already deeply embedded in Thailand’s economic and social fabric.
This push for soft power speaks to a deeper anxiety: how to remain relevant in a world dominated by technological and economic giants. Thailand, like many countries, sees its cultural distinctiveness as a potential advantage, a differentiator in a homogenized global landscape. The 30% cash rebate for film productions speaks volumes about the government’s approach — incentivizing outsiders to further the nation’s “brand”. But this also reveals a vulnerability: outsourcing the narrative of Thai identity to external storytellers, potentially ceding control of its own image.
Thailand is not alone. South Korea’s Hallyu wave and Japan’s Cool Japan initiative are prime examples of deliberate efforts to export culture. These cases, however, reveal the challenges: cultural appropriation concerns, the risk of diluting authentic traditions, and the possibility of becoming a cultural caricature. Remember the backlash against some early Hallyu dramas, criticized for perpetuating unrealistic beauty standards and reinforcing hierarchical social norms? “Being adaptable is a timeless solution,” Shinawatra notes. But adaptable to what, and at what cost? Are some parts of national identity necessarily lost in translation? More crucially, who decides what gets translated, and what gets left behind?
Ultimately, Thailand’s soft power ambitions are a microcosm of a global trend: nations scrambling to define themselves in a fluid, interconnected world. The country’s success won’t depend solely on platforms like “Thai Cuisina,” but on its ability to navigate the inherent tensions between cultural preservation and commercial ambition, between authentic expression and strategic messaging. What we’re really witnessing is a new kind of nation building, powered not by tanks, but by tom yum. The question is whether that tom yum will taste like authentic Thai spice, or a carefully calibrated blend designed to appeal to international palates, ultimately losing some of its original flavor in the process.
