In the mix that is "American culture," the line between acceptance and rejection can be hard to cross. But being accepted, writes PNS commentator Dorothy Chin, may have some less-than desirable aspects as well -- as in the case of acupuncture, now viewed by many Americans as the Chinese equivalent to aspirin. Chin is a psychotherapist and writer living in southern California.

Talking about health with two colleagues recently, I mentioned that I had just had an acupuncture treatment for the first time.

They expressed great surprise, even disbelief -- presumably because I am Chinese and they are not. I explained that acupuncture was not really the Chinese equivalent of aspirin, but was sought only by those with ailments known to respond to this approach.

Certainly, I told them, most Chinese people my age have never had acupuncture treatment.

My colleagues, I learned, use acupuncture regularly. They became evangelical. "Ooh, it's great!" said one, rolling her eyes. "I go every few weeks!" said the other. As I listened, I wondered when acupuncture became part of the repertoire of self-pampering?

Don't get me wrong -- I indulge in body worship as much as the next Southern Californian. I've splurged on massage and shiatsu, anointed myself with oils named Stress Relief and Peace of Mind, and soaked in eucalyptus-scented waters alongside my natural fiber loofah.

But acupuncture! That's what my mother got for persistent and disorienting headaches from an injury. Serious stuff. One doesn't run to get ones nerves poked with needles without having a big problem. But I get the distinct impression that acupuncture has now entered the pantheon of California new age health trends -- something akin to aromatherapy.

In fact, as I hear more and more about things like acupuncture, I get a slight twinge in my neck. As an immigrant who is probably as assimilated into American culture as possible, I can remember when I tried very deliberately to fit in by knowing American music, sports, fashion -- at the time, disco, baseball, and bell-bottoms. I got used to putting aside all things Chinese.

So I had two sides. On one side was stuff I talked to Americans about -- stress, yogurt, New York Times best-sellers. On the other side were things I assumed only my family and I knew -- bitter black tea, certain foods for certain ailments. Acupuncture and tai chi were firmly in the non-American category -- or so I thought.

But now, I find that to be hip I should know all these "ethnic" things from my own culture (which I never think of as "ethnic"), except these things have somehow changed. For example, on television Katie Couric interviews experts, all white. "So, Dr. Smith, what about this chi, this energy?" Definitely weird.

On the one hand, I was glad they didn't have an old Chinese with a wispy white beard saying, "ah... but Confucius say, tai chi good." Still, it was odd that no Chinese people were there to talk about things that were so -- well, so Chinese. It was as if this stuff was all voodoo unless explained by a white culture broker.

But is this wrong? Don't all cultures adapt and use elements from other cultures? The pizza and sushi here aren't exactly what you'd find in Italy or Japan, but they taste pretty good, and we have more to choose from. I suppose California Roll appears on Tokyo menus too, so Japanese palates can enjoy the brilliant pairing of crab and avocado. Just the other day, my mother, a Chinese immigrant, called a Korean cafe to order sushi -- we are now the world, like it or not.

What I fear is the Santa Fe phenomenon -- Indian art and jewelry have become part of a loose amalgamation known as "southwest art," their history and culture lost in the marketing of turquoise and silver and little sand tableaus.

I worry that the vast system of knowledge underlying acupuncture, based on centuries of practice, will be lost, ground up by the big teeth of the consumer machine which leaves only what is pretty and shiny -- and devoid of authenticity and substance.