The first time I tasted kombucha was in 2010, at a Whole Foods in San Francisco. As I drank the ice-cold bottle of GT’s Multi-Green, I was surprised by how familiar it was: Its sharpness reminded me of long-fermented Taiwanese fruit vinegars and suan cai, while its funk called to mind the diverse array of ferments, such as furu, tempe, belachan, and doubanjiang, that flavored my ’80s Malaysian childhood. After I immigrated to Australia in the ’90s, my white friends mocked these ferments as “smelly,” “gross,” and “weird.” But 20 years later, the large refrigerated probiotic beverage section at Whole Foods was dominated by a funky drink, covered with psychedelic labels and buzzwords like “rejuvenate,” “restore,” and “regenerate.” And just as I’ve seen the popularity of kombucha continue to grow, I’ve watched as many of the once-ridiculed ferments of my childhood have been declared not just acceptable, but trendy by white people eager to festishize and commoditize them.