Yuh-Line Niou, who will soon take office as the first Asian-American to represent lower Manhattan in the New York State Assembly, began her working life the summer after her sophomore year in high school, eighteen years ago, as a temporary nurse’s aide. Niou’s mother, a nurse, had told her to “make herself useful.” The edict stuck and other jobs followed: as a hostess at a Japanese LaserDisc karaoke bar, car mechanic (“technically, I was the oil-and-lube girl”), legislative intern, and lobbyist. The other day, Niou stood on Bayard Street, outside what was once Winnie’s, a beloved watering hole in Chinatown that was shuttered last year, where she’d spent a stretch in 2010 mixing cocktails.

“Everybody who was anyone in Chinatown used to come here,” Niou said, taking a step back to look at the building’s façade. “They came after the galas and I worked the bar.” Niou recalled Winnie’s signature drink, the Hawaiian Punch, which some people would refer to as “the roofie.” (“It had like over eight different kinds of alcohol.”) Niou is thirty-three and lively, with a hearty laugh that is charmingly at odds with her delicate features and waifish frame.

When we spoke, Election Day was still a few days away, but Niou was widely expected to win the State Assembly seat that had been held for almost forty years by Sheldon Silver, who left office last year after being convicted on federal corruption charges. The hard part of the campaign had been winning a six-way Democratic primary in September, and afterward Niou suddenly found herself clinking glasses with some of her old Winnie’s customers. “The association leaders, the business folks”—Niou grinned—“I think I’m still serving them, just in a different capacity. With no Hawaiian Punch in my arsenal.”

Niou walked across the street to Columbus Park, where seniors, almost all of them Chinese, gather daily to practice Tai Chi and to chat. “It’s time for change,” Niou said, as she strolled. “But I just never thought I would be change.” Before mounting her campaign, Niou spent three years working as the chief of staff to Ron Kim, the assemblyman who represents Flushing, Queens, and who, until now, has been the lone Asian-American in the assembly. Niou confessed that she doesn’t much like being in the public eye—“the functions, fund-raising, the endless galas”—and declared a preference for the details of policy work. “Plus, as someone relatively young, a woman, and Asian, you never think it’s your turn because of this internalized inferiority crap, and the worst part is other people agree with you.” Niou made a gesture at her face and rolled her eyes. “It’s always because you are too_ _something. Too much makeup, not enough makeup. Too feminine, not feminine enough. Too nice, not nice enough.”

Niou grew up on the West Coast, and moved to New York in 2010, to get her master's degree in public administration at Baruch College. But she said that she thinks of her move to New York as its own kind of homecoming, and refers to Manhattan as a “place where you can meet your best friend on the subway.” Niou was raised in Beaverton, Oregon, by Chinese-American immigrants, and remembers a childhood troubled by a perpetual feeling of difference. “Other kids got lunch packs and sandwiches and I opened up plastic container of lukewarm chicken wings.” She remembered a day during the first grade, when she found herself in a janitor’s closet, where her classmates took turns spitting on her and taunting her with racial slurs. “The weird thing is that I didn’t hate the bullies as much as I hated my mother for making me Chinese.”

During Niou’s campaign, her parents, who are both now retired, flew in to help out. “They were both supportive and wary,” she said. “They kept asking, ‘Why can’t you get a normal job?’ ” Niou confessed that the stress and anxiety of running took its toll. She faced questions from critics about her competence and the influence of her ethnic background. “This race is not about identity politics—but, at the same time, I’m also proud to be Chinese-American, you know?” Looking ahead to her job as an assemblywoman, she planned to focus on raising the minimum wage to fifteen dollars an hour, getting more public schools built in her district, and pushing for ethics reform within the legislature.

Niou circled the park twice before pausing in front of a quartet of elderly men playing traditional Chinese instruments. “The thing is, as hard as I think it is to navigate American politics, being the child of immigrants and having to deal with the shame of ostracization or whatever, I just have to think of my mom.” Niou said. “She was like ten years younger than I am now, and just shipped herself off to this totally bizarre place on the other side of the world where she knew nothing and no one. And she made it work!” The young politician shook her head and then looked at her watch. It was a quarter past six, and she had an event to attend in midtown. “If I accomplish half as much as she did, I’ll count myself lucky.”